by Patti Larsen
Red lowered the gun. She wanted to run away, terror making her knees weak, her stomach clench. She wasn’t ready to face him. Granny raised her on nightmare stories of her oldest foe.
Whack. That sound. Back in the alley. Red’s hand tightened on her gun. Wolf whimpered and huddled lower, fur vibrating as he shivered.
Whack. Something flashed in the dark and the lone street light went out.
WHACK. Closer. And then it came, low and deep, humming to the core of her bones.
The laughter of The Huntsman.
Red drew a breath, caught a whiff of wood smoke and pine needles. Something heavy came down on her wrist. The bones powdered, gun falling to her feet. She ducked, the pain making her stagger. The air above her whooshed, her long blonde ponytail falling victim to the flash of his axe.
He laughed again. Red dropped and rolled, finally crying out as the bones in her wrist ground together. She felt the hot, wet pool beneath her soak through her jeans. Red dove over her grandmother’s body as the air rippled again, jumping away from the flutter of fabric as the keen blade removed the hood of her cloak.
Wolf whined like a puppy when his body stopped her from going further. His paws pushed against her, shoving her aside, as though her very touch would call up the wrath of The Huntsman.
Red fell on something hard as Wolf howled in agony, the hum of air cut short with a deep whack. Her unbroken left hand found what gouged her stomach. She pulled it free and rolled over onto her back, lifting Granny’s pink handled .357 Magnum as she did, putting three bullets into the darkness above her.
The silence was the worst sound she ever heard. Then, a groan. A clatter. Red shoved herself to the right, almost on top of Granny as he fell beside her, crashing to the pavement. Red choked on the dust and dirty air, hunting through Granny’s pockets in the dark, finding at last the smooth square she was looking for.
Red thumbed the top from the lighter and spun the ignitor. A thick flame leapt to life, casting wide shadows that danced against the darkness. Red squinted in the bright, her shaking hand moving away from her face, eyes blinking spots from her vision.
She flinched from the motionless pile of fur to her right and looked down. The Huntsman was dead. Had to be. On his face in the filth, Granny’s blood pool oozing between his parted lips. One eye stared at the ground with glassy intensity. Red found herself panting, hunched over her shattered wrist. She lashed out with one foot, a solid kick to the body. The Huntsman rocked from the blow but didn’t respond.
Red fished a cigar from her dented silver case and lit one on the open flame. She leaned back, using Granny as her support, no change there, and took a deep drag.
“Burn in Hell, Grandpa.”
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About the Author
Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I’m doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I’ve tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), was in an all-girl improv troupe for five glorious years (if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible). I’ve even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker. My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.
Now with multiple series in happy publication, I live on beautiful and magical Prince Edward Island (I know you’ve heard of Anne of Green Gables) with my very patient husband and six massive cats.
I love-love-love hearing from you! You can reach me (and I promise I’ll message back) at [email protected]. And if you’re eager for your next dose of Patti Larsen books (usually about one release a month) come join my mailing list! All the best up and coming, giveaways, contests and, of course, my observations on the world (aren’t you just dying to know what I think about everything?) all in one place: http://smarturl.it/PattiLarsenEmail.
Last—but not least!—I hope you enjoyed what you read! Your happiness is my happiness. And I’d love to hear just what you thought. A review where you found this book would mean the world to me—reviews feed writers more than you will ever know. So, loved it (or not so much), your honest review would make my day. Thank you!
