[PREVIEW - This book is now available in paperback, hardcover, and e-book]
• Book 1 of the Numen Chronicles •
Alucard's a reclusive, former god-hunting vampire lord. Zalith's a promiscuous warlord who comes from old money and an ancient demon bloodl...
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**Please note that the main character's dialogue has an accent which might feel confusing. If you wish to read this story without the accent, you can find the [N.A.E] version of this book on my profile**
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| Alucard |
Alucard flicked the blood from his rapier and watched the werewolf's severed head drop to the ground to join the beast's twitching body. A satisfied smirk stretched across his pale face, baring the tips of his fangs. It brought him relief knowing he was closer to his task's completion, and all he had to do now was face the Alpha.
With a vicious snarl, the white-furred wolf which stood across the field rose to its hind legs in a display of threat.
But Alucard wasn't unnerved. He extended his claws from his fingertips and awaited the beast's charge. And when it burst towards him—kicking the ground beneath its feet up in its wake—Alucard sprung forward much faster than it could comprehend. He arrived at its side before the grass where he'd been standing settled and gripped the wolf's throat, digging his claws into its skin. It yelped when he lifted it off its feet and slammed its back into the ground, and before it could attempt to defend itself, Alucard sliced the Alpha's head from its body.
It was done.
He flicked his sword, removing as much of the blood from it as he could, and then with the crimson, white fur-trimmed cape he wore over his shoulders, he cleaned his blade and sheathed it at his side. From his pocket, he pulled a folded sack large enough for the beast's head, which he picked up by its muzzle with a disgusted grunt. He unfolded the sack, eased the head inside, and glanced at each dead wolf.
They were all there, and with a jerk of his hand, he sent them up in blood-red flames. Although he'd severed their heads, he wanted to ensure none of them would become hellhounds. That was the last thing he needed. Killing werewolves for the people of the city was tiring enough; if he had to deal with their reanimated corpses, too, he'd feel as though his work was worth more than the treaty he was trying to create with the humans.
He headed into the woods and navigated the late-night gloom to where he left his black stallion. Its crimson eyes shone like a beacon, and from its nostrils oozed dark, twisting fog.
"Vank you vor vaiting," he said, his Dor-Sanguian accent thick and distinguishable.
In response, the possessed horse snorted and waited while Alucard attached the sack to its saddle.
