Dark Destiny (Dark Sentinel #1) - Lexxie Couper Page 0,88
with no other option.” He nodded to Raziel.
There was the sound of a scuffle, Amy screamed, and Raziel laughed.
“No,” Ven cried out, the word nothing more than a choked wheeze. He struggled onto his knees, fighting to get to his feet. Instead, he stumbled back to the ground, Pestilence’s grip on his hair ripping out tufts as he collapsed.
He watched, sick with horror and rage, as Raziel dragged Amy closer, claws puncturing the column of her neck just above the jugular. A surreal memory flashed through Ven’s head—kissing Amy on that very spot, her sweet, soft body moving under his, her wet sex gripping his length in rapid pulses the very moment he pierced her neck with his fangs and fed on her life force.
Oh, Amy…I’m sorry.
His stare found hers and guilt smashed through him. She was petrified and he could do nothing to save her.
He squeezed his eyes shut. No matter what Pestilence did, no matter what the First Horseman thought, he would not give up his brother. He would die, Amy would die, before that happened.
“Open your eyes, Steven.” Pestilence’s whispered order stabbed into his ear. “Let us see what happens when I fill her battered, diseased body with ants, shall we. Bull ants should do it. An Australian ant for an Australian monster. Quite apt really, particularly when you take into consideration the bull ant’s bite can induce anaphylactic shock in those allergic to insect stings.” He paused, and Ven opened his eyes, staring at Amy struggling in Raziel’s grip. “Did you know Amy was allergic to insect stings, Steve-O? I wonder how the…thing…she has become, thanks to Raziel, will react to a bull ant’s bite?” He chuckled, returning to his feet. “This should be fun.”
“Leave her alone,” Ven rasped. He tried to shift, to move. The entity inside him screamed. His overpowering hunger roared.
Pestilence cocked his head to the side. “You have a better option, Sentinel. I am more than happy to accommodate.”
Ven slid his stare to Amy imprisoned in Raziel’s insidious hold.
Amy…Patrick…Jesus, I can’t…
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. Don’t.
He opened his mouth…
“Hey! Pestilence!” she suddenly shouted, struggling against Raziel’s arms. Anger flashed across her ravaged face. “Do you know there’s a church in the USA that has declared the First Horseman less annoying than a hurricane? And another in Italy that’s stated of all the players in the Apocalypse, Pestilence is the least worrisome.”
Pestilence’s nostrils flared and he swung his head in Amy’s direction. “Excuse me?”
She grinned back at him, the expression cold. Hollow. “In Sweden, the First Horseman is seen as a false agent of the Apocalypse, an imposter riding on the coattails of the other more effective and fearsome three.”
Pestilence’s expression grew black. He narrowed his eyes, the knuckles of his fists stretched to a taut white.
Ven shook his head. “Amy, don’t.” He knew what she was doing and his lifeless heart twisted in agony.
But she didn’t stop. Her grin grew wider, her eyes fixed firmly on Pestilence.
“There’s a second-rate rock band called The Four Horsemen,” she shouted, “and only the Second, Third, and Fourth ‘Horsemen’ have fan clubs dedicated to them.”
Pestilence hissed, a ripple shuddering through his form. “How do you speak of such things?”
Amy shrugged, the action contemptuous and bored at once. “My dad stopped being a preacher when I was sixteen. He found the whole notion of the Apocalypse rather humorous.”
Another shudder rippled through Pestilence’s body. “Humorous?”
“Amy, no!” Ven shouted, pushing himself but an inch from the floor.
Amy’s grin turned cold, the expression triumphant even as her eyes—eyes he’d gladly have drowned in for the rest of his existence—grew lost. Sad. “And in most versions of the Christian Bible,” she went on, “the First Horseman is referred to as Strife. You, Pestilence, don’t exist at all.”
Two things happened at once. Pestilence’s human façade shattered, replaced by a skeletal monster of terrifying proportions, and Amy threw off Raziel’s hold and launched herself forward.
Straight into the enraged First Horseman’s shrieking charge. Head back. Arms wide. Her grin as wide and free as the burgeoning brown fire in her eyes.
Patrick closed his eyes, breathing in Fred’s subtle scent. He’d never forget it, no matter how long he—
An invisible wrecking ball smashed into his chest, sending him flying backward.
He manipulated the space around him and twisted mid-flight, landing on his feet to glare at the woman across the room from him. “Not fair.”
Fred cocked an eyebrow, studying him from the other side of the “training area” she’d created in her part