Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2) by Ambrose Ibsen Read Free Book Online Page B

handle appeared forged of something dark and weighty, like stone.
    Had the Grim Reaper turned up to settle a score with the Veiled Order?
    Something told me that this was the source of the zombies. The necromancer we'd been seeking. Judging by the marks on his face, he was at least a zealous practitioner of the craft, and the fact that he'd just torn the guts out of one of my men made it clear he wasn't on our side.
    “Hey,” I shouted, leveling a steely gaze on him. Usually, a demonic gaze was enough to put the scare in any mortal man. I'd tried it a few times recently at bars and had found great success in scaring people off before they dared start something.
    This bastard, though, didn't flinch. He met my gaze, something of the zombie's vacancy in his eyes, and smiled.
    A smile on that face was all wrong. I shivered as his stony lips curled into a grin.
    “Didn't I see you in one of the Star Wars prequel movies?” I mocked, trying to keep my cool. Something about this dude was sending up a red flag in my head. The energy that poured off of him was unlike anything I'd ever felt. Enemies in the past, though powerful, hadn't been anything like this. Aside from his being built like a brick shithouse, there was that fearsome weapon in his grasp. I'd long lost my fear of sharp, pointy things. Even blessed, silver weaponry wasn't enough to do me in.
    So, why was I losing my shit over this guy's scythe?
    The man's gaze narrowed. In the moonlight his eyes looked almost yellow. Holding out the scythe with two hands, he cocked his head to the side, like he was judging the best angle from which to cut me down. “I see,” he said in a voice that was nothing but calm, insidious bass. “They've sent a demon.” He chuckled to himself, his stance temporarily relaxing. “It's far too late. The Veiled Order can't stop what I've set in motion. Tell your masters they're too late, demon. Let them know that this world has a new master. Death will reign.”
    Joe was stumbling around behind me, crisping up the last of the zombies. He caught a glimpse of the man with the scythe and blanched. “S-should I bake him, too?” he asked me.
    I shook my head. This guy was mine. The zombies were tricky in large numbers but hadn't provided a substantial challenge. This guy, however, had danger written all over him, and if there's anything in this world I can't resist it's getting in over my head.
    “You the one digging up these bodies and raising the dead?” I asked. “Looks to me like that didn't work out so well. Have a look around,” I continued, motioning to the masses of charred, twitching corpses on the ground. “The Veiled Order isn't scared of you. Your little army here can't stand against us. You think too highly of yourself, bud.”
    The man nodded, the smirk he wore transformed into something more savage. Squatting down, he jumped into the air, landing neatly on the roof of the mausoleum. His voice reached my ears from above, through all of the chaos. “This is but a minor setback.”
    “Where do you think you're going?” I took a running jump and scaled the side of the monument, grabbing onto a gutter and swinging onto the roof. “I don't remember giving you permission to leave.”
    “Well, then, I suppose you should stop me. I'd hate for a dog like you to return empty-handed to his masters.” The necromancer pointed the end of the scythe at me as though I were a billiard ball destined for the corner pocket.
    All systems were go. Gadreel gave me the green light; we both agreed that shutting this guy up was a necessity. I lunged towards him, fists balled, and delivered a demon-sized sucker punch.
    Which he blocked.
    The handle of the scythe, which must've been made of granite, was what met my fist. The movement on the necromancer's part had been so swift, so fluid, that I hadn't realized he was mounting a defense till my blow was fully struck. My knuckles met the scythe handle, and from the moment I touched the thing I felt a