Hellbound: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Realm Protectors Book 1) by DeVeau Spencer

Author:DeVeau, Spencer [DeVeau, Spencer]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Perhaps Press
Published: 2016-04-19T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

He pulled his jacket collar up, trying to shield himself from the cameras, but they were moving closer. People chattering. Whispers.

And a lady screamed again, and he couldn’t help it, he had to turn his body towards the direction of the sound. The same lady, wearing her mud-splotched black dress, from before pointed with her mouth hanging open. Harold knew what she was pointing at before he noticed what was happening. He had seen it happen to Nik’s arm back in the blood bank.

Now he looked down at the Vampire’s blank face, watched the entry wound disintegrate into a pile of orange-tinged ashes, spreading to the rest of his body the same way flames on a piece of paper moved. And soon the Vampire was nothing but a pile of crisped clothes. Harold found himself hypnotized, ignoring the increasing volume of murmurs from the crowd.

They started clapping. A man wearing a top hat patted him on the back as he crossed in front of Harold’s line of sight, hawking a loogie onto the Vampire’s clothes. He walked over to the boy, scooped him up like a baby and whispered to him, gave him a little shake. The boy opened his eyes, looking up at the man with a sort of sleepy gaze. Then once he remembered what had happened, the trauma he had went through, he started to bawl like the child he was which was hardly heard over the dying howls inside of his mind.

His blade retracted right as the mom from the Chinese restaurant rushed through the crowd, catching eyes with Harold. The look of disgust erased from her face as she placed a shaky hand on her son, then turned and threw her arms around the Protector.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she said, wiping away tears from her eyes, smearing her black mascara. The cameras flashed again.

Blinding.

He answered with a slight nod, at a loss for words, then turned, ran passed the smiling faces, finding the nearest alley and slithered in. He walked and walked, going through the maze of backstreets and alleyways until he settled behind a few trashcans, the cold metal like ice on his skin. The ripped fabric of his trench coat fluttered in the wind.

Goddamn Vampire.

His hand went up against his throat, the skin tender and raw, painful to the touch, but he could already feel the healing working its magic. He slammed his head onto the trash can, a metallic ding rattling his brains. Why him? Why did he have to be like this?

The one time you get on TV and you look like a Zombie’s Asshole.

He didn’t know what to do anymore.

Footsteps came from behind him, ears perked up like a dog.

“Harold?” a woman said in a voice he instantly recognized as Sahara’s.

He stood up.

She looked him over, narrowing her eyes then curling her lip up.

“Thank god it’s you. If I found another bum, I’d kill myself. By the way, you look like shit,” she said.

“I’ll always look like that,” he said.

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