The Empath (2 of 3 free samples)

---

COPYRIGHT
The Empath by Bonnie Vanak. Copyright 2007 by Bonnie Vanak.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

---

Previous | Next

CHAPTER 1 (CONT'D)

The elderly one lifted his head. Smiled. Gleaming white teeth flashed. Crocodile teeth, sharp, pointed.

"Jesus," whispered the fat hunter. "What the hell is that?"

"Early Halloween party," his friend joked, his voice cracking. "Or cheap dentures?"

Nicolas smelled the men's fear. He knew his enemy smelled it, too. It stank like sour sweat.

"Enough," the elderly mage said softly. He signaled.

They advanced as one unit, like a column of army ants. One by one they shape-shifted, clothing vanishing from their human forms, fur erupting on their bodies. Their magick, dark and powerful, transformed them far easier than Nicolas's powers.

Silent as fog, eyes glowing like hot coals, they prowled forward on four legs. One blinked slowly. Night vision registered the eyes turning black as empty pits.

The eyes, always the eyes, told their true nature, no matter what their form.

Wolf in him rose up, thirsting for blood, action. Caught between revealing himself to outsiders, and needing wolf to attack, he hesitated. Instinct urged him to run, wait for better odds. Humans had caused this evil. Still, he felt a flickering compassion for the hunters. He scanned the approaching enemy for the weak link.

The humans' fear turned to terror. "Holy mother of God," the taller one screamed. "Wolves!"

They fired.

Gunfire crackled. Bullets fell before meeting their target. Jaws agape, the humans stared. Identical masks of fear tightened their faces. The pungent odor of helpless urine filled the air.

In that instant, the Morphs attacked.

Now. Daggers materialized in his hands as he sprang forward to engage them. Six Morphs jumped him. Razor-sharp teeth sank into his neck; claws swiped his legs and torso. Cloth shredded like thin paper. He grunted and swung out with the knives, stabbing their hearts. They died, screaming. He sliced, stabbed again, wincing as their acid blood splashed over him. Again. No use. Each time he struck one down, another materialized. Cloning themselves.

A damn animal army.

Warmth dribbled down his throat. Nicolas ignored the burning pain, struggled with his clothing to shift. The hell with the mortals. They were dead already.

As he tore off his clothing, they fell on him, shifting once more. Fur erupted on their bodies; claws grew, shifting yet again. He cursed their ability to change into any animal form. Enormous brown bears roared. Four slammed him against the tree trunk. Pinned, his arms and legs useless, Nicolas could not summon his magick.

"Good God Almighty," one hunter screamed.

Struggling in the Morphs' grip, Nicolas felt blood drain, bones ache.

The others turned to the human prey. Nicolas struggled harder, wanting to save the hunters' sorry asses. Knowing it was too late.

Jaws yawning open, saliva dripping from their yellowed fangs, the pack converged on the hapless men. Screams mingled with the sounds of tearing flesh. Blood splattered on the oaks, dripping viscous black. The hunters were all dead.

Previous | Next