Van Helsing Rising - Helen Scott Page 0,3
probably won’t last the night. Whatever the hell those scientists were doing to them, these creatures feel like bodies without souls. Like already the fucking grim reaper himself has carted off that essential part that makes a person…human. I can’t even bring myself to see them as people. Because if any of these people die, I’ll take this as a failure.
And I can’t take more failures in my life.
Across my shoulder is a tattoo, a mark for every person who died because I wasn’t good enough, fast enough, or smart enough. I’d learned a long time ago that I’d end up covering my body with marks if I didn’t learn to differentiate between those lives I had to hold myself responsible for and those lives that were just a scattering of dust from this world. Souls lost and forgotten, not even remembered by me.
As if my dark thoughts brought death himself, I watch as one of the men rolls onto his side and barfs, foamy white exploding from his lips and leaking beneath him. His eyes open, and two white eyes glow eerily in the darkness.
“Be careful, Slayer,” he rasps. “She is an abomination.” And then he makes a horrible sound, a painful coughing that rises from his belly.
When his eyes dull, I stretch my senses out, finding what I already know. His heart has stopped. His words were probably just the nonsense of a dying man who had been through hell in that facility.
My stomach flips, but I look away from him. His death isn’t on me. It’s the responsibility of those bastard scientists, or whatever the fuck they were.
I don’t mean to look at the goddess again, but I do. She’s in a cage by herself. Somehow, I can’t bring myself to stuff her into the other two cages with the sickly-looking people.
My mind slides to the moment I’d walked into her cell and spotted her lying on that cold, stone bed. Her skin was pale and so damn cold to the touch that I thought she was dead. But then her chest had risen, and I’d been startled enough to pause in my task.
Her face is stunning. I mean, so hot that if she walked into our bar every man would lose his damn mind. And it doesn’t help that her body is incredible. I’m a man who appreciates beauty in all forms: curvy-as-fuck, thin, short, tall. I just like my women confident. But this woman, she is something else altogether.
I think my dick would get hard for her if she is dumb as a doorknob, and that is saying something. I hate my women dumb.
The van rolls to a stop, and I put my gun away and tear my gaze from the beautiful blonde. In my mind, I’m already trying to forget her. Even though there’s something about her that makes me think she isn’t on death’s door like the others, logic says it’ll just be a matter of time before she’s dead too.
It’s a shame.
But not my problem.
I hear the gates to our compound open and know that if I had windows, I’d spot our bar. This late on a Friday night, it’s probably full of the guys, and any friends or family they trust. Bikes will be parked around the whole damn place, with a few odd cars here and there as well, and old rock will be playing while Gunner, our bartender, fills up beer after beer. Just the thought of my favorite dark beer makes my mouth feel dry, but I straighten my back and push the desire away.
It isn’t time for fun. Not yet.
We drive for a few more minutes, and I know the gate surrounding the more private area of the compound will be opening, after security gets a good look at us. This gate’s almost soundless. A slight noise that a human would never hear, but my keen ears pick up. And then we’re rolling forward again.
When we finally stop, it only takes a moment for the engine to die and the doors in the back of the van to open. I rise instantly and my twin opens the door, his gaze snapping to the blonde. I study him when I see a flash of relief come and go in his hazel eyes. That’s not good.
“They’re meat bags,” I tell him, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
He looks back at me, and I see his mask fall into place. But unfortunately for him, I know what that