He splashed through stagnant puddles and other vile things city dwellers poured into gutters.
Chasing through the shadows, shielded lamp in one hand, sword in the other, Martin cringed when a dark shape dropped from the roof to shuffle sideways down the alley. Though vaguely man-shaped, the thing’s resemblance ended there.
Its glowing amethyst eyes locked on Martin. Then, the thing turned and fled.
Martin paused, leaning back against a rain-slicked clapboard wall to catch his breath. He’d caught wind of his quarry—it wouldn’t escape. The dock warehouses on this side of the street, abandoned since nightfall, offered many nooks and crannies for nesting by otherworldly beasts. The stench of a trash-filled canal assaulted Martin’s nose, the tainted scent alleviated somewhat by a steady drizzle.
Hammering footfalls shattered his respite. “Down there! He went down there!” a voice shouted. What? Who was that?
But,down there.So, toward him. Martin went on alert, scanning the night for his enemy, and whoever else he might encounter.
He spun on his heels. Was that the faint scraping of scale over stone, the flick of a forked tongue testing the air? He flattened against the wall. How stupid to think he could hide from eyes more suited to darkness than daylight.
A slither, a hiss, a defeated sigh. The thing slunk closer.Thump, thump, thumpwent Martin’s wildly pounding heart.
A high-pitched voice pleaded, “Don’t hurt me. I mean no harm.”
The piteous whine sent chills marching up Martin’s spine. Bracing himself, he held his lantern aloft and unshielded the flame.
These beings never spoke to him as an equal. No, they ran and ran until he caught them; they challenged him with bravado or escaped, though few had escaped once he’d learned his craft.
This one stopped… and asked for mercy. He’d never witnessed such. Weren’t they like animals? Killing without regard?
Stooped on the opposite side of the narrow alleyway, a creature huddled against an empty packing crate, licking its green lips with a reptilian tongue. Vertically slitted purple irises glittered in the lantern’s feeble light. “I don’t want to hurt you,” it mewled again.
The stuff of nightmares sat hunch-shouldered before Martin. Had this shriveled, scaled being once been a man? Or was it something else entirely? Surely Gran had never spoken of such a being. Martin fought a shudder.
The creature appeared helpless—and would until the moment the claws it currently hid sank into a victim’s throat.
“This isn’t my first hunt.” Martin’s breath hovered in front of his face a moment before becoming one with the eerie nighttime mist. He barely registered the absence of rain, too busy watching the treacherous predator with wary eyes, extending his sword toward a scaled throat.
He’d seen the damage from such claws as the being possessed. Many a throat fell victim to the razor-sharp teeth of the thing’s ilk. The horrors wandered the streets at night. People couldn’t see the hideous creatures, didn’t know they were there.
Until the creatures struck.
The dying couldn’t tell Martin what killed them.
He forcibly calmed, luring the beast into false security. Soft footfalls mixed with the pattering of water falling from the warehouse’s eaves.
He’d deal with whoever approached later, keeping his eyes on his adversary. Chances were, whoever it was couldn’t see the evil anyway. If only he could feel emotions or intents from the creatures like he did from people. But he didn’t have time to focus on whoever approached.
Slowly, slowly the pathetic longing fled a face the color of gutter slime, replaced by a visage of pure hunger. The forked tongue flicked out again, and the thing smiled. In a far more confident voice, the eternally damned being said, “You know what I want of you, then, what I am. I’m sure to receive a handsome reward for a mage. Make your move,priest.”
Priest?
Chapter Sixteen
Theclatteringofbootsupon stone forced Martin to look away, just for a second. Then, a brown cassock came into view. An actual priest?
“Ah, what have we here?” Keeping a safe distance, the newcomer peered down at the scaled monster.
The creature hissed, backing away, the wall at its back preventing escape. “I mean no harm,” it whimpered, bravado fleeing in the face of a holy man.
The priest squatted, coming far closer to a shadow-dweller than Martin dared. He’d once gotten close and nearly bore scars across his cheek.
A dagger glinted against the creature’s throat, tilting its head upward. After a moment, the priest stood. “You mean no harm, hmm? I suppose you’ve stained your claws with innocent blood by accident. You know the penalty?” The hooded man kept his tone even, without malice or condemnation.
Who was this? Where had he come from? Sure, Martin had seen priests before, but hunting night creatures?
