The Satanic Brides of Dracula by Lucas Thorn

Author:Lucas Thorn [Thorn, Lucas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lateral Books
Published: 2018-01-17T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The town was on a near-vertical slope. Little houses crushed together, battered and bruised by weather, and looking across the placid belly of a large lake. Mountains looming above. Mist clinging to the street.

Snow had been and gone, leaving patches of white. Ice hung like fangs from gutters.

A little orange hall squatted in the middle of the town. Candles in the windows called the vampires closer. Promising music and the warm rush of blood.

As Franz led the wagons into town, he looked over his shoulder.

Called; “It is good to see civilization again, isn’t it? Even if it is dreadfully primitive.”

“Stop!” Hailwic’s voice rang clear in the frigid night.

Dimiti pulled hard on the reins while Franz looked back in confusion before hurrying to obey.

“What is it, Hailwic?” Vasilja asked, impatience edging her voice. “Listen to the music. I want to go inside.”

“And I want to bite,” Senka said.

“Hush.”

The blonde vampire stood tall on her wagon. Had dropped the reins and her head was crooked to the wind.

Slowly drew the revolver and sniffed the air.

Inhaled deep.

“Dimiti?” Her voice was colder than the lake. “Get your guns.”

The first shot blasted a hole in the wood near Senka’s hand. She let out a yelp and snatched her hand away from the splintered wood.

Second shot should have put a hole in her chest, but Dimiti flung himself at her and they rolled off the wagon and into the mud. He let out a grunt of pain. Hers was irritation and surprise as she pushed him off.

Vasilja was already moving, flying toward one of the houses, arms outstretched. Mad cackle bubbling across her lips. Bullets smashed through the glass windows from within, tunnelling air in search of the vampire’s flesh, but she was a blur.

She hit a window on the upper floor like a comet. Glass and shrapnel exploded inward.

Hailwic dropped to the ground, eyes searching for Senka.

Franz ducked behind his wagon and scrambled to get under it.

His ox took three bullets and dropped, making the wagon creak and shake.

“Oh, Lord God,” the little man moaned. “What have I done? I didn’t mean it, Lord. I didn’t. Please save me. I don’t want to die. I can repent. I swear to you. I can.”

Someone’s voice shouted; “Now! Do it now!”

And the hall exploded.

A massive fireball ripped it apart as the bomb inside was triggered. Splinters of wood speared in all directions, shredding anything in their path.

Fire whooshed outward, chewing into houses immediately at hand. Then flared outward with frightening speed. Each flame flashing across the divide between structures and licking hungrily at wood. In a world chilled by the dead of Winter, heat had been starved and made up for it now with inferno.

Vasilja flew down the stairs, white dress trailing behind. Curled around a corner and twirled her torso to avoid a bullet to her lung. Then dove onto the gunman with a shriek. One hand grabbed his shoulder.

The other his throat.

And, with manic joy, she tore him open.

Adored the scream, its musical cry shrill in her ears.

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