Lost Paladin: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 2)

by eden Hudson

  The Gatekeepers of Hell. A whole host of them.

  At first they had been too fast for me to stop every blow, but over the course of the fight I had slowed down so much that even a human would’ve been getting in hits on me. My arms were dead weight. I couldn’t have pried my fists open with a claw hammer. Blood and sweat rolled down my face in rivers.

  I’d been fighting for God knew how long. The only measure of time or distance I had was my fatigue and the certainty that I was getting closer to the wailing. Before, I’d thought the mournful, keening cries were throatless, endless, and directionless. Now I realized they were coming from the Pit. I could feel the screaming resonating in my eardrums and chest. It was in front of me—for a second, anyway, then I took a hit that spun me around. Now the screaming was…at my six. Another hit. Three o’clock. Or was it at my nine? Another. This one rattled my brain so much that the noise from the Pit faded out to a whine.

  They were letting me keep fighting. Any one of them could’ve stepped up and ended it at any second. I knew that the same way I’d known that Mikal was keeping me around, messing with my head, twisting things a little at a time because it more fun for her. Maybe that was what the Gatekeepers were doing. Hell, maybe this was the most fun they’d had in two millennia.

  One kicked for my knee, and by some miracle, I saw it coming out of the corner of my good eye. My block was sloppy, but the blow glanced off anyway. My bicep rejoiced at the split-second of relaxation, then burned as I forced my arm back up. Cramps locked up my right shoulder just as an inhuman fist shot toward my face. I couldn’t block in time, so I ducked and took it on the top of the head.

  I must’ve blacked out. When I came back around, I was on one knee. It felt like someone was taking swings at my ribs with a lead pipe. Bones cracked. Air whistled in my chest. I lunged for my feet, but I couldn’t stand. Hands grabbed me by the head and jerked downward. My nose crunched against a knee. Then I was on the ground.

  I wasn’t going to make it.

  Maybe that should’ve been obvious way before that very second, but I’d thought if I tried…if God had let me come down here…

  I rolled onto my stomach. Stretched one arm out as far as I could manage in the direction of the wailing, then the other. I couldn’t force my fingers to uncurl, but I pushed with my feet and scraped with my forearms and fists. Probably gained less than an inch.

  Shit. I really wasn’t going to make it.

  Tiffani was going to spend the rest of eternity in Hell because I failed. Unending death. Pain and torture that went on and on forever. She had saved me, gone through hell for me, and after all that, I was going to fail her.

  I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a spray of blood bubbles and spit. My lungs weren’t working right. I couldn’t even catch enough breath to say her name.

  The muscle in my shoulder spasmed and my arm shot out again. My wrist rested on the lip of something metal set into the floor. Bars.

  The screaming was louder than ever now. I hooked my clawed fingers around one of the bars and pulled myself closer. There was just enough heavenly glow left in my skin to illuminate a latch.

  No lock. Not even a pin.

  The beating had stopped. I pushed with one arm until I rolled onto my side, then looked up.

  The Gatekeepers were all standing back from the grate, watching.

  “The Pit,” their leader said. “You believe pain and struggle have meaning for you now, but therein lies true Hell.”

  Either it was all the blows to the head I’d taken or the reality of what I was about to do that made it seem as if the leader’s inhuman face was showing something almost like concern, as if he was trying to change my mind for my own good.

  I blinked to clear my vision, but the leader’s expression stayed the same.

  Tiffani. Getting to Tiffani was all that mattered.

  I let myself drop back onto my stomach and fumbled with the latch. Finally, it tripped. I fell into the Pit.

  Continue the fight with Last Battle (The Broken Bard Chronicles 3)!

  Acknowledgements

  Writing is a lonely process. That is, unless you’re me and you have thousands of characters’ voices in your head, constantly clamoring for your attention. Revising, publishing, and marketing can be some discouraging, confusing, and soul-crushing processes… Also unless you’re me, in which case you are surrounded by amazing people and NPs who make it all a lot less awful and bewildering. Everything bad about this book is my fault, but everything you enjoyed about this book was made possible by a select group of individuals who deserve all the thanks.

  First and foremost, obviously, God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. How about them communion crackers, amiright, HS?

  Sweet Espressions, the coffee shop where I wrote 90% of Lost Paladin, and consumed about 90,000 gallons of house blend with rose syrup. If you’re ever in Kirksville, you should go by. Tell ‘em eden sent you. Then they’ll ask you who eden is and you’ll say that weirdy who sat upstairs and typed all morning every morning.

  My highly elite team of advanced readers and cheerleaders—Matthew Ramey, Stacie Lee Hansen, Ember Gidson, Sandra Cvetkovich, Silvia d’Elena, Jessica Althoff, Robert B. Clark, Michelle Gilliam, Sara F., Rheagan Whitfield, Jay Michaelson, and Tim McBain.

  The Op boys and girl—Mr. Wm Green, Mr. Rn Khuri, and Mrs. Kns Edison—for everything this past year, including, but far from limited to, the music and the stickers.

  My siblings and siblings-in-law, who serve as the continued inspiration for the Whitney family’s camaraderie, loyalty, sibling rivalry, and inside jokes. Four friends…just laughing… Four spouses…just watching the clock…

  And my Joshua. Heaven would be Hell without you.

  About the Author

  I am invincible. I am a mutant. I have 3 hearts and was born with no eyes. I had eyes implanted later. I didn’t have hands, either, just stumps. When my eyes were implanted they asked if I would like hands as well and I said, “Yes, I’ll take those,” and pointed with my stump. But sometimes I’m a frog. A blue tree frog that sings before it rains and I change colors. I sit on your shoulder and sing in your ear as I turn purple.

  But I’m also a tattoo addict, coffee junkie, drummer, and aspiring skateboarder. Jesus actually is my homeboy.

  Copyright © eden Hudson 2015

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by DerangedDoctorDesign.com

  Lost Paladin, formerly published under the title Hell Bent, is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s mind or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons or non-persons, living or dead or undead is entirely coincidental, but would be really cool.