The Human-Undead War Trilogy (Book 1): Dark Intentions by Jonathan Edwardk Ondrashek Read Free Book Online

that of an average human establishment.  
    There were vandals and looters, carpenters and mechanics, florists, vendors, police, firemen. Undead merchants had renovated and reopened abandoned shops, though only the most profitable were allowed within Castle Safehold’s walls. They sold electronics—televisions, cameras, and gaming systems; clothing—shoes, brand-name shirts and pants, and even undergarments and lingerie; vehicles; books and magazines; human blood; drugs.  
    The groundskeeper never felt like he was in the company of blood-sucking vampires. It was like being in a busy marketplace in New York City. There were even punks running rampant, robbing Undead at arrow-point. 
    An elbow jabbed into his side and the groundskeeper’s reminiscent thoughts were broken. A dull, throbbing pain brought him to his knees. He braced his moist ribs, injuring himself further, and fell to the ground. He gasped, short, ragged breaths hindered by the dirt his flailing limbs had disturbed. 
    A short, young male knelt beside him and bent close. “Hello, old man,” he whispered. 
    The groundskeeper recognized the man as Frank Hammers, an American drug smuggler who peddled his merchandise in Haven. Frank Hammers, son of the Undead Army’s General. Frank Hammers, the only one who would gain from his death. 
    With the groundskeeper removed, Frank would become the vizier to the Master.  
    It hadn’t been an elbow that caused his injury but rather a small green pocketknife that dripped crimson blood, gripped in Frank’s scaly hand. The blonde Undead scraped a finger over the blade and then placed the digit in his mouth, sucking. A crooked smile lit his face as his eyes rolled back until they were white.  
    “Delicious,” he said, still sucking on his finger. 
    The groundskeeper uttered a relentless string of curses between gasps. They gurgled, and spittle—not words—passed his lips. Everything was dull, out of focus. His thoughts were scattered and incoherent as more of his life seeped out into the dirt. 
    Finally, may death claim me!   
    No! There’s so much more to do! I’m not done yet!  
    Just give up!  
    A sudden hush fell over the courtyard. Frank returned to a standing position, biting his lip as a shadow engulfed him. A cherubic, balding man stepped into view and sat down, cradling the groundskeeper’s head as he continued gasping for breath. Strange grunts and hummed syllables flowed from the priest’s lips. His hands flew over the groundskeeper’s body, massaging. A sweet smell like that of roses wafted into the groundskeeper’s nose, numbing the pain. 
    He was being robbed of death. 
    Good, now I can continue with my plan.  
    You’ll never do it. You are weak, pathetic, not even human anymore.  
    Shut-up!  
    The groundskeeper placed his hands over his ears and thrashed his head, his breath no longer a burden to his frail lungs, sight sharper than ever. He relaxed, basking in the energy that flowed from the priest’s hands and into his body. The priest had wondrous powers.  
    Magical powers. 
    The priest lifted two jars out from within his robes. Rice-sized maggots squirmed in one. Slimy black creatures stuck to the glass inside the other, mouths wide. A handful of maggots was dropped on the groundskeeper’s ribcage, cleaning the exposed, tender meat beneath in seconds. Then several leeches were plucked out and placed on the wound. They squirmed on his ribcage, knitting together broken veins and stitching the skin flaps back together. 
    The groundskeeper wouldn’t have been surprised if they took a little extra blood into their systems. They were a vampire cross-breed, a by-product of the Master’s recent experimentations. 
    “What is this? Treachery, young Hammers?” questioned a deep, resounding voice.  
    The crowd, which had gathered to sneer at the groundskeeper’s near-lifeless husk, stepped back in unison. They avoided the speaker’s