Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
With a roiling in his gut, Grath recognized Madeline’s nemesis—Amanda Harrington. The woman had been what most humans would call “a real bitch” but she hadn’t deserved to have her head chopped off and placed on a shelf!
Madeline is going to be next on that shelf if I don’t get in there, he thought feeling sick. Could he burst through the door and get to her before that bastard Luke could cut off her head?
I have to—it’s my only chance, Grath told himself,
Stealthily, he crept back to the door and tried it—only to find it locked. He pushed on it carefully and heard it creak just a little, but it was solidly built and the bolt that held it closed was reinforced somehow. It was too strong for Grath to break.
There was a horrible reek of corruption and death coming from the small crack under the door. Probably from the decaying heads, he speculated. He didn’t know how anyone could stand it—even humans with their poor sense of smell must be bothered by such a foul odor.
Have to get Madeline out of that fucking place! But how?
He looked for another way into the cabin. The window was too small for someone his size. Even if he broke it, he couldn’t get through it. And that would only alert that bastard, Hartsford, that he was coming. It would give him plenty of time to cut off Madeline’s head! Shit—what was he going to do?
Grath could feel the anger building up inside him—the Rage that a Kindred warrior always goes into when he feels his female is threatened. And with it came the fire—the flames that were part of his heritage were rising until his body temperature was boiling hot.
Suddenly, he seemed to hear the voice of the Goddess again.
“Use what you have inside to save her!” she had said. Could she have meant his flame?
Grath went back to the door and put his hand on the latch again. This time, he poured the heat through his hands, willing them to get hot, hotter, hottest. He had never tried this before—he had spent his life trying to tamp down the flame inside him. But now he called on it, willed it to grow bigger, to spill out through his hands and fingertips, to get hot enough to melt the lock…
He just hoped he would be in time.
FORTY-FIVE
MATTIE
Keep him talking, Mattie told herself. Just keep him talking.
“So…so how long have you been doing your, er, art?” she asked weakly, looking up at Luke.
“Oh, ever since high school,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve been lucky to find many young women to help me.” He nodded to the horrible shelf of “artwork” behind him. “Mostly I pick them up in another town or city and bring them here. I don’t generally choose subjects from Christmasville—I don’t want to draw too much attention and I’m afraid the authorities wouldn’t understand my artistic vision.”
You’re right about that! Mattie thought, but didn’t say.
“Um, so this first…artwork,” she croaked, barely getting the words out as she pointed at the oldest skull at the far end of the shelf. “Who…who was she?”
Luke shrugged.
“Just a prostitute from a truck stop. She had a terrible life, really—selling herself to men like the dirty whore she was.” He frowned. “Sleeping around just like my mom did on my dad. I did her a favor really—she’s better off on my shelf than spreading her legs for strange men. Just like my mom.”
“I…I thought your mom died of cancer,” Mattie whispered, feeling sick.
“Oh, that’s what Dad and I told everyone. But she didn’t—she’s right there—the fourth one from the end,” Luke said, pointing to the far end of the shelf where the oldest heads were stored.
Mattie felt like she was going to be sick. He had killed his own mother?
“So…your dad knows about…about your artwork?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah!” Luke nodded amiably. “Dad knows—he keeps my secret. Says that filthy whores are better off on the shelf.”
Mattie felt sick. Kindly old Mr. Hartsford down at the hardware store with his pot belly and gray hair—he knew that his son was a monster and hadn’t said anything about it? Even when Luke had killed his own mom? It was almost too horrible to contemplate!
“Whores, all of them filthy whores!” Luke said again, gesturing with the still-dripping machete at the shelf.
“But…But I’m not a whore,” Mattie told him, hoping against hope that he would let her go if she could make him believe it. “I work for the Kindred. I’m just visiting my family for the holidays, you know?”
Luke’s face darkened.
“But you live up on that Kindred Mother Ship, don’t you? I bet you let all those big bastards fuck you whenever they want to!”
“No, I don’t! Honestly, I don’t!” Mattie exclaimed. “The Kindred don’t sleep around—they find one woman and bond to her for life.”