Screaming, the Mundane clutched at the weapon, trying to stop John from pulling it free, eyes bulging. Mouth open, the Mundane shrieked, a scream which reached a pitch I hadn't thought possible, until I saw what was happening to his face, that is. In the blink of an eye, the skin of his face grew taut, as if it was a canvass pulled over a frame far too large for it. There was a tearing sound, bloody spraying in all directions as the Mundane's skin split.
Vampyre blade. He's got a bloody Vampyre blade! They were horrific weapons, drawing both blood and soul from their victims, removing them completely from existence on the metaphysical plane, causing pain that was physical and spiritual in nature, filling the victim with the terrible knowledge of their fate. Only the evilest, most depraved members of the Magical community used such weapons, and they were hunted down, Marked, as soon as it was discovered they had such weapons in their possession.
'No!' Dawn didn't wait for the body to finish falling before she attacked John, face full of rage. The sticks were a blur, the heavy wood whooshing as she launched blow after blow at him. Overhead, backhand, forehand, twisting thrust to the eye, upward blow to the groin. Every single one was blocked. Everything happened in a handful of seconds. Mundanes were still trying to leave. Screams filled the street now that the Mundane was dead, but no one stepped forward to intervene again. John counter-attacked, using a strike by Dawn to get inside her guard. Shield hand up, he parried one blow, caught another with his knife, then lunged forward and head-butted her square in the face. Even over the sounds of panic, I could hear the impact. Groaning, hands up, Dawn was unable to block the rear-leg front kick that blasted her from her feet as John slammed his foot into her pelvic area.
Broken hand or not I activated my Sword and charged forward. Pushing my Shield forward, I used it to block his knife as I thrust my Sword forward. John turned aside my blade with a quick shift of his own Shield.
He swung, his knife cutting through the air before me, the tip grazing the end of my nose, yet more pain to add to the injuries I’d already suffered. Even a wound as trifling as that sent pain through my body. Even though I knew different, I felt sure he'd cut my nose from my face. As he collected himself, I stepped in, both arms braced to check his next attack, a vicious backhand. Fast, faster than I thought he would be, I nearly got my feet set before his arm slammed into my forearms, his blade humming, singing even. I could feel the thing hungering for my blood. A Vampyre blade was never sated.
I Cast Lightning, but I was too tired to draw much power, so I gave him more of a jolt than anything else. Cattle wire probably had more juice than me at that point.
‘Bitch,’ he said. Then as we strained against each other, he released his hold on the blade, caught it with his other hand, and rammed it into my gut.
‘Cunt,’ I gasped, then shrieked as the blade drew on me sucking my soul from my body. Desperately, I kicked out, stamping down hard on his knee. There was a crunch, like someone biting down on celery. His time to scream. Staggering away from me, he pulled the blade free. I placed a hand over the wound, trying to ignore the feel of the gaping flesh beneath my fingers.
Dawn stepped in, taking advantage, her sticks zipping through the air before clacking as they met John’s blade. Every strike she launched at him he blocked, but each time he did so, she got closer to breaking through. I barely saw what happened next. Two strikes, one high, one low. The high one blocked by the knife, the low one by a forearm that snapped, quickly followed by a spinning sidekick through his guard. Her foot dug deep into his gut, folding him over so the back of his head was exposed. Landing forward, she dropped her whole weight into a strike with the butt of her stick.
John finally collapsed to the ground, clutching at his wounds, an anguished look on his face. Even now, even though I knew he was a traitor and had been behind all the attempts on our lives, the sight made my heart ache. I loved him. He was my mentor. The pain in his eyes surely mirrored the pain I was feeling. Physical and mental. Grief for a friend lost, a relationship that would always be tarnished by a betrayal as great as that of Horus and the God-Emperor.
‘Why, John? Why the fuck would you ally yourself with someone like Fachan?’ I dropped to my knees next to him, knocking away his blade as I spoke.
‘Why do you pissing think?’ he spat, blood flecking his lips. ‘Do you know how it feels to see the oracles your people are able to work, but that you refuse to share with us, the Mundanes.’ He spat that word, throwing it as an insult. A slur.
‘You know why we can’t share, John,’ I replied, reaching for his hand. ‘The Accord—’
‘Means fuck all. You Heal your own people all the time. Cancer? Heal. Heart disease, Heal. My father died because he couldn’t get the treatment he needed. Because we didn’t know how to perform that sort of operation in those days. And yet, you bastards could have Healed him with a few words and a wave of the hand.’
‘If we broke the Accord, that would mean we would have had to share the world with the Fae. We’d be back to the DreamTime, living as slaves.’
‘No. They’ve changed. They just want to be able to live in this reality like they used to.’ he choked those last words out as blood welled out of his mouth in a thick tide.
‘John, Fachan and his ilk will never change. They’re as certain of their superiority as the Merlins are. Can you see the Merlins, the Marshalls, the Rasputins, the Shamans sharing power with the Fae and the M…’ I caught myself as I saw the fire in his eyes, ‘those who have no Magical powers?’
‘If Fachan had released the Hound, there would have been no hiding it. No…’ he coughed, the blood even thicker than before, looking like flesh was in it, ‘denying it. Fuck, this hurts.’ The air wheezed from his mouth, he clutched at my arm, gripping it as a spasm of pain racked his body.
Dawn looked up from where she was still trying to pour KwikClot into his wounds, giving a slight shake of her head as tears ran freely.
‘You know I can’t Heal you, don’t you?’ I said, holding the arm that was gripping me.
‘I’m a Mark, of course you can’t, my dear.’ He patted me with his other blood-soaked hand. ‘There isn’t a hope in hell for me. Marks don’t get trials. Finish it.’
Dawn gasped. ‘What the fuck? Finish it? What the hell?’
‘I’m a Mark, Dawn. You’re contracted to kill me. Not Heal me. Marks like me don’t get trials. They get dead.’ He bent forward, clutching at himself, moaning in pain, then coughing up yet more blood.
‘Turn away, Dawn.’ I looked her dead in the eyes, willing my face to remain calm, to hide the feelings raging inside me. My throat felt full, my eyes raw with tears yet unshed. ‘Please, babes, just turn away.’
She gave a nod, more a jerk of her head, bloodied hands covering her mouth, body heaving with her sobs. Without a word, she stood and staggered away.
‘Jane, I always thought it could come to this. I’m glad it’s you. You were the daughter I never had. Kill me, please. It hurts so much.’
Leaning in, I cradled his head, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Settling myself, I sent an arc of Lightning directly into his brain. Feet spamming on the ground, he arched his back for a second, gasped, then sagged back to the ground.
I rocked onto my heels, staring at a man who had been friend and mentor. And then the dam broke, a cry ripped itself free from my throat, and I felt Dawn’s arms wrap themselves around me, the both of us crying our hearts out.
Traitors don’t get to have funerals. Usually because it’s best for them to just disappear rather than have people know their fate. Dead traitors become martyrs. Missing traitors become nightmares, what ifs, traitors to their fellow traitors.
All of this crossed my mind as Dawn, and I dug into the hard ground on Haldan Hill, cursing the stones every time our spades dug into the ground. Even though I’d done a rapid heal on my wounds, it felt as though acid was burning away at my gut. After a while, it was done. Grunting and groaning, we lifted John’s body and gently placed it in
to the grave. We emptied a sack of quick lime over the body, then carefully shovelled the earth back, distributing the dirt replaced by John’s body around the area, making sure no casual walker would realise what had happened.
Finished, we bowed our heads one last time. Our grief was still strong but lacked the raw emotion that had washed over us.
‘Does it ever get easier?’ asked Dawn.
‘Never. I’ve buried fifteen friends. Each time hurts just as much. Coping gets easier, though. Much as I wish it didn’t.'
Not that I'd killed those fifteen. Most had been lost carrying out their duty, trying to complete a Mark. Others had died because of carrying out Marks. No matter how evil someone might be, they usually have someone who loves them, and who they love in turn. And sometimes, those people would want revenge. Deadly revenge.
‘Sorry to intrude,’ we spun, weapons up as soon as we heard the voice, ‘but I thought it best to introduce myself as soon as possible.’ The speaker was a man. Black, shoulder-length hair, carefully groomed stubble, in his early thirties, slightly tanned skin. He looked fit and, as he stepped out of the shadows, moved like an athlete. I could practically hear Dawn salivating next to me despite her grief.
‘I’m Julian, your new Handler. I have a Mark.’
Thank you, I cannot put into words just how much I appreciate that you not bought/KU'd this book, but that you also finished it and are now reading this!
We share at least one thing in common. The love of reading. I struggled to learn to read and at one point was classified as 'Educationally Sub-normal'. However, once I got the bug that was it. The first real book I actually remember reading was The Hobbit when I was in primary school. I was probably 9 or 10. That was my gateway into the fantasy gener and I was HOOKED!
Another hook that got my creative juices flowing was Dungeons and Dragons. My parents took in a brother and sister from a boarding school during short holidays they called 'exeats', because their parents were away in Saudi Arabia. The first weekend they arrived, he took out the Dungeons and Dragons Basic set, showed me how to roll up a character and I jumped feet first into a world I never knew existed. It was glorious!
Even now, as I write, I read. I can't not read. To think of not reading is anathema to me. Simply incomprehensible.
And as I read to escape, so do I also write to escape. I want action, adventures and hard times, but I also want to create characters that I would be proud to call my friends (not the villains of course, but Jane and Dawn would make excellent buddies).
Recently I've been writing both military science fiction (my Bitter Defeat series), urban fantasy (this series), and GameLit/LitRPG (my Permadeath trilogy and my Lone Wolf trilogy with Mountaindale Press).
Please, if you enjoyed this book give it a 4* rating on Amazon. Unfortunately (and I'm not leading you on here!) 3* are counted NEGATIVELY by Amazon. It makes no sense to you or me, but a 4* review is a 'I liked it' review. Reviews and especially those which are written encourage me. It lets me know that I'm doing something right.
US Amazon
UK Amazon
Ever since I came up with the idea of Jane, I’ve wanted to do more with her character than anyone has ever done before.
Thanks to my regular job requiring that I travel to far-gone places such as Leeds and London, coupled with my usual journeys, I’ve been able to create social media profiles that take the world building I’ve started in this book, and expand upon it through the eyes of Jane.
You can see what Jane’s been up to on her travels with Dawn by visiting her social media profiles.
Jane Doe Social Media
Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/janedoechronicles/
Facebook Page - https://www.facebook.com/janedoechronicles/
Facebook Profile - https://www.facebook.com/jane.doeagent
Twitter - https://twitter.com/JaneDoeAgent
Wordpress - https://janedoechronicles.wordpress.com/
#Picturesmeanbusiness is a campaign run by illustrators who believe that artists from all walks of life should get the recognition they deserve. I fully agree with, and support, this campaign. And so, please read the passage below from my illustrator.
My name is Christian Bentulan. I am a professional book cover designer and artist for almost two years. I am hard working and determined. I pay attention to them all. I enjoy keeping myself busy and give one hundred percent to every project I work on. I enjoy working with authors in creating the perfect design for their books. I started creating logos early in my career as a graphic designer, but I realized that making book covers using photo manipulation/matte painting is my passion. All of the covers that you see on this site are original. I hope you enjoy them, and look forward to working with you on your next project.
http://www.coversbychristian.com
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