Read I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) for Free Online Page B

something.
    “These ears have heard centuries, child. You
must speak up.”
    “Boone,” the burnt thing spat out the name.
“The one called Boone.”
    “And you allowed him to do this to you?”
Rainford almost couldn’t conceive it. When he was a child and then
a younger, people spoke of the children of the night in horrific
awe. Their anger was legendary and their wraith was feared.
    The wounded vampire looked from Rainford to
Kreshnik and then down at the floor.
    Rainford almost couldn’t conceive that this
child of the night had allowed a human being to disfigure it in
such a manner. Almost . This younger generation struck
Rainford as effete and louche, as degenerate.
    The dark Lord shook his head in disdain.
“What do they call you, child?”
    The appellation was meant to belittle and
demean this time, and it did, adding further embarrassment to the
pain and misery caused the creature by a human being.
    “Shane, my Lord…”
    “Speak up!”
    “My name is Shane, my Lord.”
    “Your wounds will heal, Shane. But the
humiliation this human caused you will never completely fade. There
is only one way of addressing it. Do you know what that is?”
    “Revenge, my Lord?” Shane’s voice trembled
between fear of Rainford and hatred for the human, Boone.
    “Revenge? No, child. Justice . Revenge
is subsumed in the domain of justice. What is justice, if it is not
an exchange? This man, Boone, who took from you…you long to take
from him, do you not?”
    The insanity in Shane’s eyes intensified.
“Yes, my Lord.”
    “And you,” Rainford turned his gaze from the
burnt Shane to Kreshnik, who was already looking at him from under
his hat. “You stood by and allowed this to transpire?”
    The Albanian. What monstrosity was this thing
Rainford’s Eastern European brethren had created in their
laboratories? Genetic manipulation that allowed vampires to walk in
the light of day? The twenty-first century meeting the dark ages,
science wed to myth.
    Kreshnik whispered something in reply. It
spoke in a lisp Rainford associated with the aristocracy of the
Ancien Regime. Where those men and women and their courtiers had
been weak and their elocution affected, this thing facing him was
monstrous and too young to have witnessed pre-revolutionary
France.
    Rainford had been a formidable opponent in
his day, but he was old now and rapidly weakening. He was a
creature who had long ago ceased to know fear, yet he wondered, if
push came to shove, did he have what it took to end an abomination
such as this thing before him? Rainford spoke over a dozen
languages but he rarely understood what Kreshnik said. The
Albanian, however, seemed to comprehend Rainford. And, what was
more, it still obeyed, however grudgingly.
    “Boone.” Kreshnik whispered the name and
Rainford understood.
    “Yes, a name I am hearing too much of these
days.” Rainford shook his head in annoyance. “You understand,” he
addressed the kneeling woman, “that the moment this man Boone
touched you with that silver you were rendered useless to us,
yes?”
    He didn’t wait for her to answer.
    “As we speak there is silver coursing through
your bloodstream, in and out of your arteries and veins. A
miniscule amount, yes. A negligible amount to one of your kind,
yes. But not to ours. You do understand this?”
    “Please, just let me go—I’ll never tell
anyone—”
    “I am not concerned that you will ‘tell
anyone’.” Rainford smiled. “After all, who would believe you?”
    She looked up at him and there were tears in
her eyes, streaking down her face.
    “You entered service willingly, did you
not?”
    The dark Lord thought again how she had been
fetching once, this one, beautiful.
    “Please—”
    “Did you not?” The dark Lord’s voice remained
calm.
    “Yes, but—”
    “Circumstances do not allow for buts or whatfors ,” he declared. “Circumstances allow for what is . For what has been done, has been done. And what has been
promised, has