S K Yule - The Darkest 03 - Darkest Intentions.pdf - zachomikowane - Em3A

Darkest Intentions

Cover art by Anastasia Rabiyah © January 2011

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used

form.

ISBN: 978-1-936279-65-4

Amira Press, LLC

Charlotte, NC 28227

www.amirapress.com

Chapter One

Malachileanedagainsttheblackironrailingthatrantheperimeterofthesidewalkhe’dbeen

scoutingforthepasthour.Hewastiredandhadn’tseenthebackofhiseyelidsfordays.Sleepwasn’this

friend. In fact, he only dozed when he absolutely had to. Once he closed his eyes, the nightmares came

out to play hard and ruthless, laughing at his unconscious vulnerability while plaguing and torturing his

pronemindwithmemorieshe’dspentyearstryingtorepress.Hewasnearlyathousand years old and

thought the dreams would have disappeared over time—at the very least diminished—but even

centurieshadn’tbeenabletoenticethehauntingrecollectionstofade.Theywereasclearasifthey

happened yesterday.

He took a long drag off his cig and flipped the cherry on the cracked cement under his booted

feet. He glanced up at the night sky, and millions of twinkling stars blinked back at him. A fat harvest

moonhunginthedarknessmarkingtheautumnalequinox.Hedidn’treallycareabout such trivial

bullshitasmoonphasesbuthe’dlearnedalotofitthroughouthislongexistence.LikethatNorth

Carolina became the twelfth state in seventeen eighty-nine, or that a hummingbird could flap its wings

up to two hundred times per second during courtship, or that in Denver, it was illegal to lend your

vacuum to your next door neighbor.

The last useless fact came from one of the teenage girls who worked in the grocery store a

couple blocks from his house. Susie, or Sandy, or something that beganwithan‘S’hedidn’tknowher

name for sure, but he did know one thing about her. The girl was never without a piece of gum in her

mouthandsheneverstoppedchompingitwhileshetalkedhislegoffeverytimehe’dbeenforcedtogo

through her checkout lane. The conversation was always one-sidedashereallydidn’tliketalkingto

people much, but he had to admit to being intrigued, somewhat, by the useless font of crap that Sheila,

or Sara, or whatever her name was spit out of her yap as easily as a seven-year-old recited the alphabet.

He grunted and pushed away from the railing. He liked the little town of Ransom, Colorado.

He’dlivedhereforthepastfiftyyearsandeveryoneprettymuchlefthimalone.Thatwasthemain

reasonhe’dstayed. Unfortunately, all good things had to end at some point. The past few months, his

normal routine of hunting shadowdrifters and keeping to himself had changed drastically.

Somehowhe’dgottenhimselfstuckinthemiddleofafuckedupmessofanuprising of drifters.

Thelittlebastards’normwastokeeptotheshadowswreakasmuchchaostortureanddamageas

possiblethenrunlikehellwhenahuntergotclose.Nearlyayearagohe’dbeencontactedbyshe

Aleksandrov, a hunter who lives in St. Louis.He’dheardofsheofcoursebuthadneveractuallymet

themanuntilrecently.He’dattendedseveralmeetingsattheleksandrovhousesincethatcallalong

with two other hunters, Dominic Zelasko and Conrad Reyes. The Aleksandrov brothers, Ashe, A iston and

ldinhadbeenthefirsthunterstonoticethedrifter’sincreasinglypeculiarbehavior.

The things had become more aggressive, begun working together, and had been saying strange

thingsabouthavingaleader.They’devenstartedshowingsomefighting skills, giving some credence to

the claim they had a leader because someone had to be training the inadequate little shits. The drifters

preferred weapon had always been their poisonous talons. Albeit not lethal to a vampire like himself,

the venom was capable of seriously weakening him, which could in turn give the enemy the upper hand.

Not to mention the damn things could rip flesh and muscle to shreds.

Mostofthehuntershe’dknownhadremorsewhentheyhadtokilladrifter.Heontheother

handwasastrongbelieverthatonewasresponsibleforone’sownactions—no matter how stupid or

idiotic they may be. Selling your soul to Satan in return for the gift of never feeling emotional pain from

loss again was a very dumb choice. It might seem an easy fix for the grief a vampire might feel after

countlessyearsofexistence.Watchingeveryoneyouloveddieoverandoverpotentiallyforeverwasn’t

easy, but it was a fact of life. Death was unstoppable and created a balance to nature. Everyone couldn’t

live forever. Even he could die. Not easily, but it could happen.

He palmed a lighter and pack of cigs from the pocket of his leather jacket and tapped on the

bottom until another stick fell out. He shoved the pack back into his pocket and held the flame to the

end until it burnt orange red. He took a long pull off the stick and let the smoke burn his lungs before

exhaling slowly. While the Aleksandrov brothers wore long dusters to hide their favored weapon, a

sword, he preferred a shorter jacket and a dagger in each boot.

At six-foot-sevenhedidn’tneedanythingencumberinghismovementandheavyleather

swirlingaroundhislegsfeltsmothering.Hewasn’tclumsybyanymeansnovampireheknewwasbut

hestilldidn’tseethepointofadding to his already huge frame.

Thebackofhisnecktingledandhescannedtheareaslowly.Thedrifterhe’d been hunting the

past few nights was about to make an appearance. Malachi tossed his newly lit cig to the sidewalk and

shielded himself, becoming invisible to everyone except other vampires, and his viata amant .

Hesnorted.He’dneverfindalifemateandevenifhedidhe’dneverruinherlifebyshackling

hertohissorryass.Hedidn’twantawoman—didn’tneedone—andhewassureevenfatewouldn’tbe

fucked up enough to saddle some poor soul with him. No, he had no worries where that was concerned.

Malachi Mannering was damaged goods and good for nothing where relationships were concerned.

He prowled quietly down the sidewalk toward the park grounds. Being shielded gave him the

advantage of moving freely in the open, and provided an opportunity for ambush on his target. He

listenedforanyoutofplacesoundandwatchedformovementsintheshadows.Itdidn’tmakesense

that the drifter would be in the park at this time of night. The park was usually empty from dusk on, and

humansweredrifters’ favorite prey. As he neared the entrance, he cocked his head to the side. A soft

sob floated on the air.

Mostpeoplewouldhavemissedthequietanguishedsoundsbuthisearsweren’ttypical.In

fact, all of his senses were as far from average as any humancouldimagine.Hecouldhearadog’sbark

miles away, see an ant crawling up a tree while standing on the top of a building five hundred feet away,

and smell bread baking in the bakery the next town over. He could also read and compel minds and feel

strong human emotions. Not to mention his special ability, the one that allowed him to call upon

electricity. Most vampires had an ability of sorts, but most only used them in extreme instances as it

weakenedthem.Herarelyneededtouseitbutcouldn’tdeny the smell of roasting drifter always put

him in a good mood, or a good mood for him anyway.

As he walked toward the park, the sobs grew louder. Whoever was crying might have fooled the

normal person into thinking simple sorrow was the cause of such an outpouring of tears, but he could

practically taste the humiliation, anger and regret mixed with that sorrow.

Ithadsuddenlybecomeobviouswhythedrifterhadpickedthepark.Theintendedvictim’s

private moment of emotional breakdown was no doubt drawingthething’sattention.Itwashisjobasa

hunter to protect humans from drifters. To exterminate the creatures that thrived on stolen souls, to

send them to Hell where they belonged and release those imprisoned orbs, allowing them to finally

travel to the next plain of life. Tonight was no exception. He would stop the drifter from stealing

anything ever again.

He followed the sobbing to its source. Sitting on a secluded bench surrounded by trees was a

tiny, red-haired woman. Her shoulders were hunched toward her chest and shook as she cried. She was

oblivious to the danger lurking nearby. Malachi stopped and silently waited. Within moments, a shadow

moved out of the copse to the right. He pulled a dagger from his left boot and stalked the drifter.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The drifter tensed, signaling Malachi that it had somehow realized it was

being hunted, and what should have been a quick, easy job turned complicated.

“Shit!”Malachidroppedhisshieldandbecamevisibleonceagain.Heburst forward in a blurred,

dead-out run, but the drifter was too close to its target.

He watched the woman jump and spin around in response to his expletive right before the

drifter was on her. He was going to be too late for this one. Hell I am. He stopped five feet from the

drifter who now had the woman by the throat.

“That’scloseenoughhunter.”Thedrifterpulledthewomantighteragainsthim.

Theredhead’seyeswerehugewithfrightbutMalachiwasimpressedwithhersilent

composure. Most of thewomenhe’dbeenaroundwouldhavebeenscreamingbloodymurderiffaced

with the same situation.

“Lethergodrifter.”Heletthewordsslidefromhislipslacedwiththelethalpromiseofdeath.

A laugh that could only be described as a hoarse cackleescapedthecreature’slips.“Why?So

youcankillme?”

S K Yule - The Darkest 03 - Darkest Intentions.pdf

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