Shadowbound: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Realm Protectors Book 2) by Spencer DeVeau Read Free Book Online Page A

arrow out the opposite way towards himself. Those curved spikes had a stranglehold on the Demon’s flesh and when the old man won the tug of war, the Demon screamed bloody murder. He stood over the corpse like he was King Arthur removing the sword from the stone.
    All Harold could do was watch with glazed over eyes — a mix of utter terror and firm admiration brewing in his gut.

C HAPTER 7

    A black and red streak of goop lined the old man’s face, just under his eyes. Smeared by a willing finger, like a football player caking on war paint before a big playoff game. The man’s skin looked harsh in the dying flames, but even so, Harold knew that a man like that would look harsh in any lighting. He had seen some things, picked up a few tricks along the way apparently, and Harold knew this was a man not to mess with.
    “Draw your blade, you pussy!” the man shouted. He raised his crossbow, took the arrow in his left hand, covered in the black, sticky blood of the dead Demon, and loaded it while pulling the string back with a loud click .
    A click that made Harold’s heart drop. The old man was lightning quick with the weapon and before Harold had time to make up his mind about which way to dive, the arrow struck him in his open palm. Pain burst out in a sea of volcanic fire. He turned his head, teeth bared to look at the damage and saw that his hand had been pinned into the wood of the throne.
    Below him, Sahara laid on her side, her Deathblade concealed by her body, and she didn’t move — hardly looked as if she were breathing.
    He snapped his gaze back at the man, who now stood on the carcass of the Demon, making him look a half a foot taller, a big, square-toothed grin on his face, teeth white and perfect, the only young and redeeming thing about him.
    Then the thought of dentures came into Harold’s mind, and despite the pain, he couldn’t help but return the smile.
    “This ain’t a time to smile, Demon. Your life’s on the line if you don’t start talking.”
    Another arrow whistled past him. The crow feathers brushed his cauliflower ear, but there had been no immediate burst of pain, meaning that the man had missed. And naturally, Harold — this new venom-induced Harold — let the old man have it: “My dead grandmother could shoot better than that. And she was born with no arms!”
    “If I wanted to, that arrow could’ve went straight through that Devil pupil ya got in your eyeball, son.”
    Harold didn’t doubt it, but a few days of Hell will do strange things to a man. Make him not much of a man at all. The next arrow that headed his way didn’t come close. Because, blade or not, he rushed the man. He was old after all, and Harold had slain a Vampire, beaten a Shadow Eater. What was a senior citizen going to do to him that hadn’t already been done? Harold had survived Spellfire and walked away with only a few burns. Tamed Wolves.
    He went straight for the man’s throat, like the Wolves had shown him. Though there were no more Wolves, and part of Harold’s mind told him there never would be again. But goddamn it, if he couldn’t exert his Alpha male dominance at least one more time before he came to terms with the fact that he might never hear the sounds of the Wolves again.
    But the old man was ready. And he didn’t throw a punch like a man who got to Denny’s at five in the morning for the early bird special every Sunday. The fist hit him square in the jaw. He felt his teeth jolt loose, the spill of blood trickle from his lip. Then the harsh carcass of the Demon when his back slammed into it. Blackness edged his vision.
    The old man’s boot came down on Harold’s chest with a thud, and held him there as the man reloaded the crossbow.
    “These ain’t normal arrow heads, my friend. These are the type that’ll make you melt from the inside. They don’t give a painless death.” He shook his head. “Nothing merciful about it, no.”
    “My kind?” Harold asked. “Cause I’m pretty