Oleander, Son of Drakkar by Leigh Jarrett

Author:Leigh Jarrett [Jarrett, Leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steambath Press
Published: 2016-01-31T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Timothy peered out, frantically searching for a way to escape the dank, grimy corner of the stall he had scurried into, his back pressed tight against the pungent, cobwebbed wall, fearing for his life.

It had seemed innocent enough, slipping into the stable to catch a covert glimpse at the preparations underway for their venture north.

It had turned out to be anything but.

He gathered his coat around him, terrified he would be noticed hiding in the shadows, and promptly torn to pieces.

There were far more of Oleander's turned men and women than he ever could have imagined. He had estimated more than two hundred lurking about in the nearby moonlit pastures, before making his way inside, out of the cold, where countless more were gathered.

Timothy nearly brought to tears, shuddered, shielding his eyes from the horrific carnage unfolding before him.

Of all the vampires circulating throughout the stable, there was one in particular that had him cowering in the dark. His most horrific nightmares realized in one whom he had allowed himself to believe was different somehow.

Once amongst what he had ascertained to be Oleander's commanders, the man whose lips had melted against his, stirring such intense desire within him ...had turned into the violent, crazed creature whose screams had terrified him as a child—his gentle, serene face distorted by unfathomable rage as he dispensed bloody, brutal retribution for crimes the likes of which he knew not. The language of clicks, hisses, and posturing, unintelligible, and staggering in that he had no knowledge of its existence.

Timothy jumped, clutching his stomach, as bile rose in his throat. The latest skirmish, once he could distinguish actual body parts, had left three men and one women shredded to pieces, the throat of the last still clasped between Oleander's gnashing, bloody teeth.

He recalled how pleased Oleander had been to find his fangs intact when he had awoken. Now they were—

His stomach lurched as he turned toward the wall, chunks of his breakfast spattering onto the cobble stone floor. Seeing those fangs in action, witnessing the way Oleander's jaw appeared to unlatch before he attacked, howling and shrieking, his hands pulling full-grown men's chests open, twisting and yanking their hearts out, biting into them—

Placing his hand on the wall to steady himself, Timothy convulsed, coughing through another bout of vomit, liquid stinging his nasal passages as it bypassed the steady, throat encompassing flow to escape through his nose.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder, nearly sending him into shock.

"Are you alright?"

Timothy looked up. "Laramie?"

Laramie peered around, attempting to determine if anyone had noticed Timothy tucked into the rear corner of the stable. His human scent was pervasive, but most of his brethren appeared to be fixated on the spectacle unfolding in the open space leading to outside.

Regardless, Timothy needed to be removed—immediately.

"What are you doing here?" He shook Timothy's shoulders and slapped his cheek to gain his attention. "Timothy."

Timothy swallowed, bile biting at his throat again. Oleander had stripped the spine clean away from his most recent victim's body, simply by grasping his neck, digging his fingers in, and tugging.

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