DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2) by Ben Patterson Read Free Book Online Page A

I’ve spent killing, and for the buckets of follower blood on my hands.”
    “I didn’t ask for your mortal life,” said the voice. “I ask
for theirs. Where does your heart lie, with her who forgives you, or with those
who insist you die? Choose wisely where your greater loyalty lies. This may be
the last chance to get it right.”
    Stan frowned, “Do you really want to know the limit to my
loyalty? Then check this; if the so-called immortal one requires a life, He can
have mine. I was dead anyway.”
    “That answer is unacceptable.”
    “Then this is finished. If you’re heart-set on killing
someone, then you must condemn me, too. I stand with these men.”
    “Is that your final decision?”
    Stan considered the others knowing his next two words would
change everything.
    “It is.”

Chapter Eight
    Searing pain overwhelmed Stan’s mind, instantly clouding any
sense of his surroundings. Incredible pressure squeezed his entire body while
every muscle felt torn, consumed by fire, blast frozen, and melting away, all
at the same time. As though gripped by a giant beast, razor-sharp claws grabbed
and flung him into nothingness. Tumbling out of control, all went black.
    When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself in
such tremendous agony he barely noticed the cold, hard floor on which he lay.
He spread his arms and legs in search of something to grip or cling to, as the
room rolled and swam, but his efforts were in vain.
    His stomach ruthlessly clenched, churned, and tossed,
refusing to settle.
    As he struggled to sit, intense pain shot through his
temples, slamming him back to the floor. He knew but one thing, could almost
see it, really. Claws slashed and teeth ground, as death stalked him with plans
to completely devour him if given the chance.
    “NO!” The word burst out of his agony as Stan refused to
give in to the torture or the bewildering confusion attacking him. Struggling
to sit once again, he paused before pushing himself to his feet. Determined to
stand, he swayed, trying to compose himself.
    When his eyes adjusted, he saw Lilia lying near him. Though
unconscious, she writhed and convulsed in her own internal war.
    “I deserve this!” he screamed. “Not her! Not her.”
    Tears and sweat streamed freely down his face, as he stood
there, defiant.
    “For the sake of her love for You, Great One, stop hurting
her!”
    Then as abruptly as it had begun, the torture stopped.
Exhausted and dazed, he collapsed to the floor, fading in and out of
consciousness.
    When his mind finally settled and began to function somewhat
normally, he inhaled, but the simple act of drawing a breath argued with a
deep-seated ache in his ribs. Although a struggle, his lungs still worked in
any event. Was he still alive? Could he be? Could he have survived or was this
a lie, a tease, a cheat imposed by lifelessness itself?
    He glanced at Lilia, tried to at least , but a
stabbing pain in his neck caught him off guard. What light there was came from
a hallway leading out of the room. It was enough to see by, but what he saw
near him shocked him cold. Sometime during their encasement in torture, she had stopped moving.
    Stan groaned as he rolled onto his hands and knees,
preparing to crawl to her side. Every muscle and joint screamed its agony. He
reached a tentative hand to touch her neck. He felt for the carotid artery and
found a pulse. Lightheaded from the release of tension, he sat back, breathing
a sigh of relief. There was something he had to attend to. He tried to focus,
but his thoughts were slow to return. Two men . . . two dangerous men
. . . where were they? He looked around for them but they were gone.
    Guardedly, he stretched and flexed in every direction to
work off the aches and pains, but a little drummer inside his skull hammered
with unrelenting stubbornness. The little villain even made seeing straight
difficult.
    If Lilia awoke in as much pain as hewasin,hedidn’twanther tosufferthiscold,hard