who tried to stop them or protect their female comrades. "They are just claiming their payment."
West shook the old madman loose. "Payment?!" Once the dog-creatures had completely stripped the three women, and the corpses of the men they killed, they flung them over their shoulders and carried them back into the mausoleum. The women wailed for help, but their cries soon faded as the monsters bore them away into whatever hell they came from.
"Yes, Lieutenant, their payment. In exchange for destroying the zombie threat, they will claim as many women as they please, as well as children. They will not harm any man who does not interfere with them."
"You bastard!" He raised his pistol, but before he could shoot the dog-beasts seized him. One tore the pistol from his grip, while another clamped its jaws on the wrist of the hand holding the machete. Screaming in pain, he let it go.
As the canine monstrosities forced him onto his knees, Whateley continued. "The women and children will not be harmed; my friends need to reinvigorate their race with fresh blood. But their payment will not end there. They will cull mankind as needed, taking as their prey anyone not strong and fit. In doing so they will improve the human stock while supplementing their usual mortuary diet with fresh meat."
"You're a worst monster than they are, betraying your kind to their slavery!"
Whateley laughed. "You fool, they're not monsters, they're human, like us. They are us; they're the future of mankind. Anyone who wants to can become one of them; anyone who chooses not to will become breeders to produce new generations, or cattle to feed them. The choice is yours, Lieutenant, as it will be for everyone still alive. I have already made my choice, and I will be joining them today."
The dog-beasts released him, and he looked up into Whateley's face. The old man grinned, savoring his victory, but then he saw the title of his book. He had seen it before, but it had made no sense to him; suddenly it did:
Cultes des Goules.
Dropping his eyes, he realized Whateley was right: he had to choose, and he did. Launching to his feet, he flung himself at the ancient lunatic and wrapped his hands around his throat. With any luck, he would kill him before his "friends" pulled him off.
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About the Author
Kevin L. O'Brien was born with a pen in his hand.
Well, not quite, but he has been writing for as long as he can remember, at least since First Grade. Writing has always been his first, true love, but it hasn't always been his career. He worked for 15 years as a biomedical researcher, then for 3 years as a web designer. However, after 30 years of trying to be published in print with little success, he has decided to try his hand at self-publishing. Most of his works will be sold as ebooks through various online retailers, but he also plans to make some available for free exclusively on Goodreads.
He writes primarily speculative fiction--fantasy, science fiction, horror, and their sub-genres--but he also likes to try his hand at thrillers, suspense, mystery, and even westerns. However, his stories tend to have a fantasy element, no matter how subtle.
Most of his stories involve the following three main characters:
Medb hErenn [https://www.medbherenn.com/]--One-time queen of Ireland, she is over 3500 years old. A warrior and a sorceress, she cannot be harmed by any weapon made by the hand of man.
Eile and Sunny, Team Girl [https://www.teamgirlforever.com/]--They are two adorable, vivacious, fun-loving young women whose motto is ONWARD TO ADVENTURE!!! Yet trouble follows them like a love-sick puppy wherever they go.
Sir Differel Van Helsing [https://www.sir-differel.com/]--The descendent of Abraham Van Helsing and King Arthur, she heads the Caerleon Order, the premier monster-hunting organization of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth. She commands Dracula, the most powerful vampire extant, and the greatsword Caliburn, better known as Excalibur.
He also writes a series of sword & sorcery stories set in an alternative universe known as the Lands of the Dreams of Men.
Kevin lives in Denver with his family and 4 cats.
For more information, see the Songs of the Seanchai [https://www.seanchaisongs.com/].
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Discover other titles by Kevin L. O'Brien:
A fidus Aranea, Adventurer's Honeymoon, Barbarians R Us, The Beast of Exmoor, The Christmas Vampires, Dark Vengeance, A Deliberation of Morality, Desperate Acts, Disposable Commodities, Do Unto Others, Far-Sight, Feline Savior, Felis ex Machina, The Golden Mushroom, Gourmand Hag, Gratuitous Crossover, Gruff Tolls, Immanuel, In an Octopus's Garden, Inseparable, The Lions of Inganok, Man Friday, Masie's Mind, No Torrent Like Greed, Oak Do Hate, One-Percenter Vendetta, Post-Traumatic Redemption, The Price of Folly, Pride and Fall, Redshirt, Rhapsody in Orange, Sacrificial Offering, Shenanigans, The Steel Gazelle, The Temple of Ubasti, A Typical Friday Night
Enjoy these other titles at fine ebook retailers everywhere.
Available on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/story/list/20075368
The Denver Walker, The Differential Damsel, Dribble & Maggot in the Land of Dreams, Fun 'n' Games, Jigsaw Dragon, A Little Hospitality, The Peril Gem, Road to Hell, The Surrogate, Survival and Sacrifice, We Deliver, Youthful Indiscretion
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Connect with Kevin L. O'Brien Online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KLOB_writer
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kevin.l.obrien.1
Website: https://www.seanchaisongs.com/
DeviantArt: https://teamgirl-differel.deviantart.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Kevin_L_OBrien
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Sample Excerpts
From "Felis ex Machina"
One of the problems with being a time traveler is finding a way to support yourself in the past, since rarely can you take sufficient funds with you. This is especially the case if you intend to pass yourself off as a well-heeled gentleman of leisure. I am a scholar of the mythology of the Outre Beings, and I had returned to England of the Victorian Age to do research on the pervasiveness of that mythology in British society. As such, I needed to adopt a persona that would allow me to conduct my investigations freely. That of a dilettante aristocrat seemed the most useful, but that in turn required having a fair amount of wealth to perpetuate the lifestyle, and despite my ingenuity in establishing a nest egg, I was soon forced to find a source of income. Considering my profession, the most obvious choice was that of a consulting detective. Of course, the irony of the situation was not lost on me. As a child I had devoured the stories of Sherlock Holmes, and now I had a chance to emulate him in Victorian London. How could I resist?
Naturally, I have my equivalents of John Watson, Irene Adler, Mrs. Hudson, and Giles Lestrade, but I also have additional assets that Holmes could never dream of. Despite the limitations of the device I use to travel through time, I am able to bring with me any item I can carry. As such, I have a number of accoutrements that make investigation easier, especially since I have neither Holmes's talent for observation nor his powers of deductive reasoning. And I have Bastet, my familiar and companion. Though she is invaluable in too many ways to briefly list, she is especially useful as a mnemonic device: people tend to remember the consulting detective with the uncannily perceptive cat.
Jade and I had just settled to enjoy an evening alone when Mrs. Peele, our landlady, knocked at the door to the suite of rooms I rent. She had in her hand a message, delivered, she said, by commissionaire. I read it over briefly, then handed it to Jade as I took off my dressing gown and began to put on suitable evening attire.
"It is from Gerrarde," I said.
"I can see that," she replied in a testy tone of voice. Jade is her professional name; her full name is Miss Annabelle Camille. She is a remarkable woman in many ways, not the least of which for her stunning looks, statuesque figure, and rich mahogany hair. Her trade is acting and singing, but her true profession is that of adventuress. When
I first arrived in 1880, she was between "clients" and had latched onto me as her next conquest. Before I was able to discourage her, however, she had learned who I really was, so it became necessary for me to keep her close so as to ensure her silence. That in turn meant making her my partner (in more ways than one), but so far I have not had cause to regret it; she can be most diverting, and she has access to sources of information I do not have and can go places I cannot.
She tossed the message onto a nearby table and took off her robe. "Why would he need to see us this late in the day?" She sounded somewhat perturbed. Carmichael Gerrarde is an inspector with the Criminal Investigation Division of Scotland Yard; he is also a good friend, and one of only four people, including Jade, who know who and what I really am.
"I would imagine he has a case on which he would like to consult with us."
She smirked as she squirmed into her best evening dress. "Why am I not surprised?" She does not have much confidence in Gerrarde's abilities as an investigator. While it is true that he tends to solve his cases through dogged persistence and systematic diligence rather than imaginative brilliance, he is nonetheless a highly competent detective in his own right, not to mention a
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