The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three) (47 page)

He growled in pain, his arms trembling under the stress. He had to haul himself out of there ASAP. He emerged from the pit like a demonic entity, drenched in sweat, bleeding and dirty, his clothes ragged and torn.

He gave himself one more effort, one last push. He hauled his leg up and over and he was there. He rolled away, and jumped up to his feet, one thought now in his mind: Magdalena.

He snapped his head to the side. She was hunched over, watching him from her position, her eyes wide with surprise. Dom rolled his own eyes down; they fell on the crossbow. It was hanging off the ledge just ahead of him. Magdalena’s eyes flicked down toward it. She flinched, then reacted. Dom didn’t hesitate; he hopped over the pit, bent down and snatched up the crossbow.

Magdalena thundered over, just as Dom managed to pick up the crossbow. She stormed over to him, screeching, her hands clawing the air. Her wide stride cleared the distance between them in a flash.

Now, in a squatting position, Dom threw the crossbow up her way. He had barely a second to aim and fire before she was on him. He utilized every precious moment of that second to make his aim true, to hit that sweet spot just above her saggy left breast.

Come on, Dom, come on, Dom. You got one shot. Take it. Take it. Take it!

He squinted one eye. Her mammoth shadow descended over him. He caught the sweet spot in his sights.

“Gotcha!” he whispered, and pulled the trigger.

The skewer split the air in two; it homed in on its target like a guided missile. She flung her claws toward his head and he grimaced in fear, knowing there was nothing he could do but hope, pray. Hope and pray his aim was true.

Those hot talons swiped the air, about to tear his head clean off his shoulders, just as the skewer punched through her chest.

Black blood spurted into the air. Magdalena came to an abrupt halt, the impact of the skewer destroying her momentum. Her arms flew back away from Dom’s head, and she hunched over, a scream bolting from her mouth, rocking the chamber. Her face began trembling, then contorted in pain and shock and disbelief all at once as she staggered back a step or two. With a dumb gaze, she stared down at the thing sticking out of her chest. She grabbed it and tried to yank it out, but it wouldn’t budge. She then bent and twisted it in jerky movements, her whole body convulsing.

Dom watched on in apprehension, his breathing shallow. He didn’t know what was happening. All he could do was wait.

Magdalena’s face snapped up to meet him. He flinched. Her jaw dropped, her eyes brimmed with incredulity. She began shaking her head, then reached her face for the ceiling. She then released a hellish wail that bounced off every wall around them and back again. Dom threw his hands up to his ears, the sound almost piercing his eardrums as much as one of Vincent’s sonic booms.

He clenched his teeth against the din, while Magdalena thrashed the air as if trying to fight it. She then went rigid, her arms turning to steel, her fingers curled into claws. She offered a brief spasm, and her noise was abruptly cut off. Her arms and legs ran out of juice; they fell limp as if she were a puppet and the puppeteer had just cut her strings.

She fell back, thudding onto the stone floor like a felled oak.

She stayed where she was.

Everything went calm, only the ongoing hissing from down below audible.

Dom watched her body with wide eyes. He kept watching, waiting for her to get back up. But, she remained motionless; a corpse with a metal skewer standing erect from her upper chest.

After a few apprehensive seconds, a jolt of relief panged his stomach. His chest finally released. He collapsed onto his back, a panting, sodden mess sprawled across the ancient stone.

“I did it,” he gasped, although he didn’t really believe it. A laugh then burst from his chest, almost choking him. “I did it!” he repeated and gave the crossbow a big kiss. But, he still didn’t quite believe it, like it was a dream, or a game, something unreal, something outside the boundaries of his conscious mind.

It was all too much, too quick. He rubbed his sweaty face, tears squeezing out from between his eyelids. All the fear, the uncertainty, the energy, the traveling; it was all a visceral blur. His strength had been sapped, his body ached, his mind pushed to the brink of insanity. And he’d made it. Somehow, against the odds, he’d made it.

He cried tears of joy. He’d made it.

Now, all he had to do was go get the Fangs and then find a way out.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

T
rixie threw her arms over her head, just as the thug began shooting his submachine gun in a wild fashion. She was pressed against the deck of the boat, Rafa and Alicia alongside her, all three of them like sardines.

The rat-a-tat-tat of the submachine gun accompanied by splintering wood peppered the air. Trixie closed her eyes tight.

Oh, crap! What are we gonna do?

Fear shuddered through her veins alongside the boat as it vibrated under the hail of bullets.

“
Puta!
” Rafa screamed, still gripping onto his crossbow like it was some kind of good luck charm.

More bullets pummeled into the frame of the boat. Trixie knew they couldn’t hold out forever. It was only a matter of time before the bullets ripped through the frame of the boat. The boat continued to judder under the lead storm.

The pressure inside Trixie’s mind exploded outward and she released a scream. The bullets rained on regardless. Trixie clutched her cheeks, her shrill cry continuing.

For a brief moment, the bullets stopped while the thug reloaded. But, the boat continued to shake of its own accord. Trixie ceased her scream. Her fear was swiftly replaced with bewilderment. Her brow furrowed. The boat was shaking, even though the bullets had stopped. There was a low rumble, a shimmering from below like the water had been jacked with electricity.

Trixie’s eyes darted left and right, her mind clouded with confusion.
What the hell’s—

The rumble then intensified and the boat rocked up and down like they were riding through a wild storm. River water gushed up onto the deck; she got a face full of dirty water that was like a slap to her senses.

She bolted upright. The trees around them were vibrating. Animals were scattering through the jungle, some screeching in terror. The world shimmered and shook, the boat rocking to and fro, back and forth on an increasingly unstable river.

Her head snapped back; the guy shooting at them teetered, then fell back on the deck.

“What’s happening?” Alicia screamed.

Trixie didn’t know. Before she could come up with an answer, the rumbling intensified to a quake. The world shook and swung in vicious arcs. She gripped hold of the frame of the boat, river water splashing up into her face, some of it flying down her throat. A menacing rumble below sounded out like a drumbeat preluding war.

A giant crack split the air, followed by a hollow splinter. Trixie’s eyes bulged; a palm tree in the near distance succumbed to the pressure and fell across the river. It landed in the water, creating an intense wave that rushed up to both boats and sent them bobbing like a cork on a tidal wave.

They were thrown up and down, Trixie’s butt leaving the deck, then hitting it once more.

Fear tore through her mind. She had no idea what was going on, or what to do about it. The river suddenly had a life of its own, and they were at its mercy.

The quake continued unabated, the world juddered. From nowhere, the trees overhead began shedding giant seed pods that splashed into the river like bombs, adding to the chaos. Leaves and twigs rained down like confetti.

Trixie suddenly remembered what happened after Leviah died. There was an intense, ongoing storm like something from the Bible. She frowned. Was that what was happening here? Had Dom killed Magdalena? Was that why this quake was happening?

Before she could fully contemplate, a colossal splintering sound severed the atmosphere in two. She froze in terror. She stared agape at the tree just ahead as it began levering forward. It picked up pace as it went. Trixie watched on as it collapsed across the river, exactly where the other boat was stationed. She winced. A scream bolted out from the other boat. The monks were pointing helplessly up at the tree as it fell. Gravity took control of the tree and it moved at full speed. The monks barely had time to do anything when the tree slammed into their boat, obliterating it on impact. One of the monks bore the brunt of the trunk and was pushed under the water. The other two were sent flying off in different directions. The resulting wave zipped up to Trixie’s boat.

“Hold on!” Trixie yelled.

The wave hit them and they were buoying again. Trixie held on, her body thrown from side-to-side, up and down. Her side jarred against the deck and she groaned. When the wave dissipated, she looked back at where the enemy boat had been. Now there were just pieces of floating wood, tremoring on the vibrating water. The remaining monk and thug were desperately swimming in the current. Trixie didn’t fancy their chances.

A small grin opened up on her face. That was one way of dealing with them. But, they were still in trouble. All it took was a tree falling on
them
and they were all done for. A seedpod bombed into the river just next to them and they were rocking once more.

Trixie snapped her head around to face the other two, just as she got another splash of water in the face. “We gotta get outta here!” she screeched. “NOW!”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

R
eality set in hard. This wasn’t over. Dom had to get back in the game or it would all be for nothing. Get the Fangs and get out!

He whipped his head up to meet Magdalena’s prone body. She was motionless. All around him that incessant hissing continued, their mother, the Unholy Mother, had finally been extinguished.

Dom took a long breath, and then rose to his feet, his body aching and battered. With a small limp, he staggered over to her side, her massive frame coming into view. Her glazed eyes stared longingly at the ceiling, pure black and bloodshot. Her jaw was agape, her twisted and bent fangs prominent. Dom winced; he wondered how many snakes those things had torn asunder over the centuries in this very room.

He ran his eyes down her grotesque body; the skewer had hit the bullseye, puncturing her very heart. The vamp’s Achilles heel. Her chest had burst open under the pressure, the skin torn like fabric. He gulped, his eyes coming down further. Those mummified arms and legs stitched to her waist were splayed left and right; thin, emaciated, with the texture of beef jerky. Dom could hardly believe he’d actually taken this brute on and survived.

His eyes then zoned in on the things lying on her neck. The Fangs of Moroz. They sat there, ready and waiting for him. That’s what Vincent sent him here for.

Go get em!

He steadied himself, then shuffled in closer. He bent down, the intricate swirls tattooed into her rubbery skin in full view. They twirled across her body like whirlpools.

With a trembling hand, he reached across her body toward her neck, careful and slow as if attempting to steal honey from a beehive. He held his breath as his fingertips edged closer to those fangs around her neck. The prize; the thing they’d traveled so far and wide for.

Easy, Dom. Easy
,
he told himself, globules of sweat forming on his brow and dripping down his forehead. Even though she was dead, he still didn’t want to even touch her.

He wiggled his fingertips on the air as they drew closer to her neck.

Easy, easy.
..

He brushed the nearest of the Fangs of Moroz and a surge of ice shot through him like an electrical charge. He began trembling, his body temperature plunging, the very blood in his veins running frosty. He withstood the urge to pull back and curled his fingers around the necklace, his knuckles rubbing against her tough skin. He grabbed hold of the chain and gave it a sharp pull. It snapped in two as it came away.

He stood and looked down at the things now in his hand. The Fangs of Moroz. He had them. Finally. A sense of triumph shot up into his chest.

And then ice began to pulsate up his arm. He glared down at the Fangs in confusion. A deep-rooted iciness was spreading around his body as the seconds ticked by. A deep freeze. His breath was stolen from his chest; he struggled to inhale his next. Then, a voice spoke to him. A long dead, cold voice from the void.

“You killed those people,”
it said in a hot whisper.
“You... liked it, didn’t you?”

Dom’s eyes widened. Images of the guy he dropped from the edge of the I-Sore Tower tumbled down his mind. Then, those guys in the boat he shot with the crossbow. He saw himself, laughing, enjoying the act of murder, basking in the joy of bloodlust.

“How about my daughter?”
the voice then ventured.
“You enjoyed taking her. You found her satisfying. I can feel it.”

Dom shook his head. “No,” he uttered.

“Yes!”
retorted that voice.
“You enjoy the power, the satisfaction of extinguishing life, of putting out that flame. You like spilling blood. You relish the way it flows and gleams, both vampire and human. Join us. Join us, and I will make you all powerful. I will help you quench your thirst for power, satiate your bloodlust. I will make you whole.”