Unmasked | Book 1 in "Dark Descendants" (Editing)

Chapter 34

Thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two...

Who would do this? Blood soaked into the boy's hair. Nearby, somebody jumped down from a tree and landed cat-like on the grass before taking off in one direction.

Twenty-seven, twenty-six, twenty five...

The handle hadn't glowed yet. What was taking so long? This boy was a demon. The knife was made for ridding the world of abominations like him, permanently. It should have killed him instantly.

Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen...

Brain activity steadily decreased. Death was only seconds away now, until the suffering ended. His eye-lashes fluttered, brushed against his cheeks. He couldn't think at all, even if he wanted to. All he felt was pain. It seemed as though his nervous system would be the last to shut down.

Ten, nine, eight...

An older boy stepped inside the crypt.

Five, four...

A head turned and a pair of eyes landed on a lying figure on the floor.

Three, two...

ONE.

A soft red glow emanating from a certain symbol at the tip of the hilt cast its light in all directions.

A hand closed over the hilt and the knife was wrenched out of Joseph Draganov's back. The glow dimmed down again to nothingness, like a dying flame. His eyes sprang open and he took in a mouthful of air, his body spasming as his lungs forced out the foreign particles that accompanied the inhaled air. Bile rose in his dry, scratchy throat. He tried to blink away the black that had previously infiltrated his sight, simultaneously calming his wild breathing rate.

Groaning in the effort, he had just enough strength to turn himself onto his back. He was breathing hard now, confused but relieved.

Fallon weighed the weapon in his hand, glancing at the symbol that almost ensured his brother's departure from this world. The only thing that saved him was his demonic gift of pure speed. His jaw clenched in anger and the skin around his mouth was white with rage. There was the look of a killer bright in his eyes.

"Where is he?" he demanded venomously.

*****

Nathan ran. He didn't know where he was going, nor what to do when he confronted his sister. He just knew she'd find out he killed someone, the blood now smeared from his chin to his hand in an attempt to remove it proved it, and that he had to get away.

"NATHAN!"

He increased his speed until he felt like a flash of lightning crackling in the sky, the houses around him passing as a blur. He couldn't think. He only acted on impulse.

Nate jumped over a trash can and bolted for the entrance to the nearest building. A French restaurant.

"Hey! Can't you read?" cried a thickly-accented voice. Nate glanced up, halting in his steps. "Caution: floors slippery when wet."

"Je suis désolé, Monsieur," Nate said in a hurry, his past French lessons only a faint memory. I am sorry, Sir.

The seating-host yelled something more at him, then mumbled to himself. Something about "kids these days," Nate had just enough time to notice, before he took off again. The host shouted again, but this time Nate didn't bother translating in his mind. He had seen a flash of crimson irises behind the glass door and knew she was right behind him.