The Ravening (Blood Moon, Book 3) by Dawn Thompson

Author:Dawn Thompson [Thompson, Dawn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780505527271
Amazon: 0505527278
Publisher: Love Spell
Published: 2008-02-01T23:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Sixteen

Milosh was ready to concede that Somnus possessed more brains than he did. When they reached the tor, the phantom horse balked and pranced and champed back on the bit in his mouth until he had drawn blood, as if he knew what dangers lay ahead for his master.

"I like this no better than you," Milosh said to the shuddering beast as they rounded the rowan tree at the foot of the rise, "… but it must be, so you may as well settle down and carry me up this hill. We have much to do and the day soon passes."

Somnus snorted, tossed his head about—long mane flying—and balked, stomping the ground, white clouds of breath puffing from his moist flared nostrils. Something was definitely not as it should be. It didn't matter. If Milosh's theory was correct, and he hadn't been able to destroy Sebastian because he hadn't been at his full power, lacking the hunger that would give him the edge, this was the only way. It had to be now, before he drank the draught that he prayed would restore him to the entity he had been for the past four hundred years. Still, there were no guarantees. There weren't even guarantees that the draught would work now that he had reverted back to the creature Sebastian had made of him; it had never been tested in such circumstances as these before. Whatever the situation, his path was clear. He needed to find Sebastian's resting place, and if he could, destroy him in it before the sun set. If he could not, and the creature escaped him, it would fall to him to destroy the resting place to prevent Sebastian from returning to it before dawn. That would mean avoiding the creature through the night; not a palatable prospect, and either way there would be minions abroad to protect Sebastian.

The first order of business would be to replace his tools. This would be no great feat, since he always carried a blade in his boot to whittle and hone new stakes when supplies were low whenever he hunted in human form. There were plenty of fallen timbers to choose from at the ruins that hadn't been compromised by the fire and drenching rain, and he would be able to find something to suffice for a hammer. He had used makeshift tools thousands of times before when, like now, things were less than equal. And he had the holy water; the reason he hadn't come in wolf form and made better time. Each entity had its attributes. The trick was selecting the right body for the task at hand; at this, he was a master, the best of his kind. It was the reason he had lasted so long prowling through time fraught with entities normal humans refused to even accept existed.

What bothered him marginally was the way Somnus was behaving. Other than his own instincts he trusted none but those of the horse underneath him.

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