Sword And Blood (Vampire Musketeer Book 1) by Hoyt Sarah & Marques Sarah

Author:Hoyt, Sarah & Marques, Sarah [Hoyt, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: musketeers, vampires, athos, angel, fantasy, sword-fights, intrigue
Publisher: Goldport Press
Published: 2016-04-05T04:00:00+00:00

From the Terror of Night

D’ARTAGNAN had to escape. He trembled with the urgency of it. He lay on the floor of the carriage, his nose pressed on the fine grit and dirt there, breathing hard. From outside came odd sounds—screams and slashes and the occasionally blood-curdling scream of dying vampires.

The horses, always restless, got increasingly more so, pounding their hooves and tossing about, causing the carriage to rock and sway in place. But when it started moving forward—a horse clearly having taken it upon himself to run, one of the men in the carriage with d’Artagnan let out a muffled curse.

“I’ll go, Jean,” another said. D’Artagnan heard him leave the carriage and a few moments later the slow movement of the carriage stopped. But then there was another scream, and this one seemed to be not vampire but human and horse, mingled, and the carriage started moving forward, at first slowly, to the sound of trotting hooves, and then with increasing speed.

The two men above d’Artagnan exclaimed and were thrown against walls.

I must escape now, d’Artagnan though. It is the only chance and the only choice. He wondered if he’d survive the drop from the carriage that was now going at a fair clip, but as he saw no other escape, lest he were turned or, worse, used as the bait in a trap to take those more important than he. Dying seemed a third alternative and welcome, though d’Artagnan didn’t risk his life lightly.

This was the calculation of a moment. Before his captors could recover their balance in the swaying carriage, he squirmed until he was on his back and facing close to where he thought the door was—from a memory of hearing it open. He gathered his feet up, as the interconnected network of ropes nearly wrenched his arms out of their sockets. The carriage fortuitously swayed toward the door, so his body slid nearer it, and he let down his feet with all his might.

He felt them crash against wood and then he was airborne. In the echoing screams from above, he rolled down what felt like a steep slope covered in pine needles, leaves, and the occasional rock.

The rolling seemed endless and dizzying. He hadn’t expected to be out in a single movement. He expected to have to open the door and then wriggle out to escape.

He rolled to a stop against what felt like a small shrub or a sapling, which suddenly gave way causing him to roll faster, farther. And then, again, suddenly he stopped.

His body bruised and scratched, he took a deep breath. Then another.

He was completely trussed up in—he assumed—the middle of a forest. He assumed, too, that pursuit would soon come, perhaps already nearer than he hoped. Whether the pursuers were his original captors or the vampires who’d tried to attack the humans and the horses, he neither knew nor cared. The difference was little: merely a matter of whether he would be killed or turned or used as a pawn.

There must be a way to set himself free.

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