Blood and Stone

BLOOD AND STONE

(STONE SOLDIERS #3)

C.E. Martin

Copyright 2013 by C.E. Martin

www.StoneSoldiers.info

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places and events are purely fictional and not based on any real event. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is an amazing coincidence and nothing more.

All Rights Reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without the express written permission of the author,
[email protected]
, with the exception of excerpts for the purposes of review or discussion, as explained in the Fair Use Act.

Dedicated to God and my Family

WARNING: This novel contains extreme violence and pulp action that may be too intense for some readers.

STONE SOLDIERS: The Series

Mythical

Brothers in Stone

Blood and Stone

Shades of War

Black Knight Down

Armageddon Z

Seven Deadly Sons

Our Story Thus Far...

In the 21st Century, the United States is protected from the paranormal and the supernatural by the men and women of Detachment 1039, the Black Sabers.

When a prehistoric giant was freed from his ancient submerged tomb, he began killing America citizens—consuming their hearts to steal their memories, their form, their very lifeforce and even their special abilities.

Colonel Mark Kenslir and the Detachment’s Stone Soldiers tracked the creature down in Arizona and attempted to stop it. But the giant possessed the ability not only to shapeshift into people, but monsters as well.

Teenagers Josie Winters and Jimmy Kane found Kenslir, left for dead in the desert by the giant and helped him find and destroy it. Or so they thought.

The giant Ketzkahtel returned from the dead and resurrected his brother from a subterranean tomb in the desert. Together, the shapeshifters attacked Detachment 1039's headquarters, killing dozens of soldiers and scientists.

In the battle, Ketzkahtel was finally, permanently killed. But his brother Tezcahtlip escaped and is at large in the world once more...

CHAPTER ONE

Her name, her real name, was Vadoma Petulengro and she was flying. This was not a new sensation for Vadoma—she had flown countless times before. Usually though, it was under her own power.

Tonight, Vadoma was being carried.

Its great leathery wings flapped loudly in the night air as the creature carrying Vadoma soared over the desert. It grasped the immobilized woman with black hair and pale skin with both of its front claws—claws that were tipped with three-inch-long talons. The four-legged monster had a long tail that stretched out behind it as it flew—nearly fifteen feet of tough muscle, bone and sinew, sheathed in the same metallic-red scales that covered the rest of its body. Its head was the size of a horse’s, the mouth filled with dozens of sharp teeth.

Vadoma was the captive of a dragon.

For most people, the mere presence of a dragon would have been frightening. But Vadoma knew all about the creatures. She was a practitioner of the dark arts, and had wielded magic since she was a small child. Little mystery remained in the world for her, past or present.

The dragon’s wings began to beat more furiously now—it was descending. The desert floor rushed up to meet them, a dark stretch of sand and scrub. At the last moment, the dragon reared back, landing on its hind legs and powerful tail. It dropped Vadoma from its front claws.

The sorceress landed roughly in the sand, but still could not move. The control over her mind the creature was somehow exerting was unbreakable. She lay unmoving, on her side in the sand, staring at the dragon’s feet.

The feet began to change color, shrinking slightly as they transformed from the taloned claws of the dragon into something more human. Six-toed feet, massive in size, with wiry, copper-colored hair on the toes and instep.

The feet moved her captor closer, thick red hair now sprouting from every pore, covering the former dragon in thick, red, fur-like hair.

Vadoma suddenly sat up, then stood, robotically. The being was controlling her mind telepathically again.

Vadoma turned, noting as she did so that her captor was now a furry, gorilla-like being, nearly nine feet tall, fully covered in thick red hair. The sorceress was made to bend over and pick up a shovel laying in the sand

Bright light sprang into being from behind her, emanating from the giant. The golden brilliance seemed familiar to the sorceress. She wondered where she had seen it before as she began to dig in the sand.

After ten minutes of digging, her work illuminated from the bright light coming from the giant’s extended hand, Vadoma had accomplished two things. She had dug a shallow grave and she remembered where she had seen the golden light. It was the trademark of one of her rivals from the Strip, Brilliance, the parahuman singer.

Like Vadoma, Brilliance was a former costumed vigilante who now worked as a performer, entertaining the masses in Las Vegas. In fact, Vadoma had been listening to the singer’s trademark song. “My light will go on” when she was captured by the shapeshifting, giant-dragon.

It had been a typical evening for Vadoma. She had finished her last show of the night and retired to her quarters. On her large balcony, enjoying a drink, she had been stunned when the red dragon had landed beside her. Then she had become rigid, unable to move as it controlled her body telepathically. Then it brought her here, to the desert. To dig her own grave.

“Correct,” the giant said as Vadoma turned to face him. She could see in the fading light from his hand his mouth was full of a double row of teeth. “That is indeed your grave, Femagick.”

Vadoma wanted to scream, to fight, to do something. But all she could do was be angry. The giant telepath had complete control of her. She felt her body walk forward as the giant began to shrink, his red hair absorbing back into his skin.

The giant transformed into a slim, pale, brown-haired man of average looks. Standing naked before Vadoma, who was known to the general populace as the sorceress Femagick, the shapeshifter seemed frail and helpless.

Suddenly, his right arm snaked out, his hand held stiff and flat, like a knife. With superhuman strength, he thrust his fingertips through Vadoma’s robe and skin. His hand punched through her flesh, into her chest cavity. Then it reached up, to her heart. Frail-looking fingers grasped the organ with inhuman strength.

Then the giant ripped Femagick’s heart from her chest.

The world darkened for the sorceress as her life faded. Her body fell over backwards, landing in the grave she had been forced to dig.

The shapeshifter swelled to giant size once more as he lifted the warm heart to his mouth and took a bite. Power surged through his enormous, muscled body as he chewed the warm meat. Memories suddenly opened up for him—Vadoma’s memories.

The giant grinned with delight as he finished off the heart. Before Vadoma, he had planned on taking only a few more hearts in Las Vegas, then moving south and starting his great plan. But the sorceress’ memories held great promise. Promise of a feast not so very far away.

The shapeshifter shed his giant form and leapt from the ground, his leathery wings beating at the air. He would fly northwest, to feast. But first, he had one more stop to make in Las Vegas.

CHAPTER TWO

Special Agent Pam Keegan of the FBI was hot. She could feel the sweat pouring out of her, soaking the starched white nurse’s uniform she was wearing. Her short blonde hair was feeling flat and limp and stuck to the back of her neck.

The petite agent reached up and began to unbutton her shirt.

“I thought we talked about that,” the man with her said.

He was large, well over six-feet tall, with jet black hair cut in an out of date flattop. The navy blue polo shirt and tan cargo pocket pants he wore failed to conceal the enormous muscles of his body. Even though they were in a full-sized passenger van, Colonel Mark Kenslir’s sheer size made the vehicle look small.

“I’m dying over here,” Pam said. “How are you not even sweating?”

“Doesn’t seem hot to me,” Mark said. He reached over and turned on the air conditioner, setting it on maximum.

Pam leaned forward and held the neck of her shirt open to let the cold air from the dashboard vent blow in. She didn’t care this revealed a great deal of her large breasts—she knew Colonel Kenslir wouldn’t even give her a second glance. He’d made that clear several times over the past month.

Pam slowly began to feel better as the Florida countryside swept by outside the van. They were headed north, away from Miami. Just the two of them, in a large van with lots of room. Pam had pointed that out right away, and just gotten an emotionless, robot-like stare from the Colonel and his weird black-green eyes.

“I guess you’ve been in the hottest deserts?” Pam asked.

“And I’ve been burned alive. Twice. Nothing else seems hot after that.”

If anyone else had said it, Pam would have called them a liar. But she’d seen enough in the past month to know Kenslir wasn’t lying. “You’ve died before?”

“Six times now,” the Colonel responded, eyes on the road.

Pam frowned. She’d been trying to make conversation ever since they left Miami in the white passenger van. As dates went, this was clearly the worst one ever. She had thought when the Colonel had asked her to accompany him on a short trip, that she had finally worn him down after weeks of flirting and all but throwing herself at him. She’d been particularly intrigued when he asked her to dress like a nurse for the trip.

Pam decided to try striking up a conversation one more time.“So, you were married?” She’d managed to pry that out of Josie Winters back at base.

“I am.” The Colonel managed to look more grim than normal when he said it. Pam didn’t care. She wanted to talk to pass the time. An hour of silent driving was just too much.

“Where’s your ring?”

“Cambodia.”

“Lose it in the war?” Pam asked. She still couldn’t get over the fact that Kenslir looked like he was in his mid-thirties but was actually eighty-three years old.

“And my hand.”

“Your hand? How do you lose a hand?”

“RPG.”

“Someone shot you in the hand with an RPG?”

“No, I caught an RPG, it exploded, and I lost my hand along with my wedding ring.”

“Why would you do that—catch an RPG?”

“It was headed toward a helicopter loaded with wounded.”

“So where’s your wife?” That was something Winters had refused to talk about. She’d only brought the subject up when she’d seen Pam flirting with the Colonel one day.

Kenslir finally took his eyes off the road and looked over at Pam with a grim look. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

Pam Keegan sat up a little in her seat. “Did she leave you?” Maybe she had a chance after all.

Kenslir looked back at the road. “Not quite.” He wished Keegan would get the hint and change the subject. He’d have to find out who even told her about his wife when he got back to base.

“So, she’s still around?” Keegan was confused. The Colonel spent most evenings alone in his quarters, down the hall from her own. She’d tried to invite herself over several times but the old man in the young man’s body had politely turned her down. Repeatedly.

“My wife was petrified by a basilisk in 1962,” Kenslir said. If Agent Pam Keegan was anything, it was persistent. He knew better than to hope she would just give up.

Keegan was surprised. “That’s the same year you got cursed, right?”

“Yes. Same incident.”

A new thought occurred to the agent. “So, if your wife has been petrified all these years, and you’ve died now, six times... doesn’t that mean you’re not married anymore?”

Kenslir was genuinely taken aback by the question and gave Pam a surprised look.

The blonde smiled broadly. “I mean, it is until death do you part, right?”

Mark Kenslir looked back at the road ahead and increased his speed slightly. He was regretting not asking Josie to come along for this trip.

***

Josie Winters thought this was a bad idea. A very bad idea. She knew Victor was supposedly indestructible now, but neither one of them really knew much about their new abilities.

Josie rubbed her hands together, then wiped them on the legs of her gray sweat suit. She always started the day now in gray Army sweats, with white sneakers, and her long black hair held back in a pony tail.

“C’mon, Josie,” Victor, also in sweats, said from across the room. “You can do it.”

Victor smiled at her, which was still unsettling even after a month. His teeth were the same gray, stone material his lips, face and entire body were made of.

Josie concentrated, focusing on the water bottle Victor was holding in his outstretched left arm. The outside of the bottle began to turn gray with frost.

“Doing great!” Victor said. He was twenty feet away from her, in the training room they’d been using for the past month, honing their skills. “Keep going.”

Josie redoubled her efforts and the bottle continued to frost over, the moisture in the air turning to ice crystals around the bottle.

“Whoa!” Victor said after a second. He dropped the bottle and pulled his hand back. He reflexively massaged it with his other stone hand. Then he realized what he was doing and stopped.

Josie raced across the room. “Are you okay?”

Victor smiled again, bending over to pick up the water bottle he had dropped. “I’m okay, my hand just got a little cold.”

The stone man handed the bottle to Josie as she approached. The water inside the bottle was frozen solid. “See, you’re getting better.”

“But I need to work on my precision,” Josie said. She turned away from Victor and looked at a table on the other side of the large, fifty foot-wide room. The table was covered with dozens of bottles of water, lined up in eight rows.

Josie concentrated on the first bottle, and it began to frost over—as did the bottle next to it. Josie frowned and tried again, concentrating on a bottle to the right. It frosted over, as well as the bottle on either side.

“Rrrr!” Josie grumbled.

Victor patted her on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re doing great, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then looked at the rows of stacked bottles again. She picked one on the far side and concentrated. This time just the one bottle frosted over.

“That’s awesome!” Victor exclaimed.

Josie let herself smile. “If we ever have to fight water bottles, I’ll be ready.”

“Not so fast,” Victor said. He walked over to the table and grabbed several unfrozen bottles. “Let’s see how you do against moving targets.”