The Preternatural Chronicles: Books 0-3

by Hunter Blain

  I retracted the primitive manifestation while we tackled three men who were standing in complete surprise and horror at what was happening.

  “It’s all a bad movie, boys,” I said with eyes glowing a red so bright that it was like a Mack truck driver had his foot on the brakes. Gang members around us were squinting and trying to shield their eyes as three bloodtentacles slithered out from my palms and into the pulsating necks of the three men I had pinned. They fought and screamed a high-pitched call of unbridled terror before succumbing to their fate.

  My hand very nearly came off the wheel that time as the three bodies’ adrenaline-filled blood coursed through my veins, absorbing the energy and making me stronger.

  Shots rang out, interrupting my reverie, as the remaining wholesome taxpayers broke out fully automatic weapons. One had a Glock with an extended mag that he sprayed wildly in my direction, unable to control the kick in his panic. A few others had AKs and were squeezing the triggers in a death grip that emptied their magazines in a matter of seconds. From a back room, a big motherfucker carried a semiauto shotgun complete with a huge drum for the shells. He unloaded, and those slugs fucking hurt as they found their target. They didn’t contain silver or iron, but packed a punch befitting an elephant. It was like being slugged in the arm by your girlfriend, who thought you could take it. You pretended like it didn’t hurt, but it did. You knew it, she knew it, your eyes watered a little. Kinda like that.

  One slug slammed directly into my head, ripping my gray beanie off and knocking my brain around in my skull. I’d have to remember that shotguns with slugs hurt. Either that or I was weaker from my battle with the stupid horned beast than I’d thought. That bastard had burned off all my reserves, including what little delicious angel blood I had left. These McBadGuys weren’t even a fraction as amazing as the angel blood had been. Then again, even a dehydrated man baking in the sun of a desert thought that puddle water came straight from God himself.

  I flipped through the air, letting my body go horizontal as I willed a bloodchain with a spiked ball at the end of its length. As I twisted, I used the momentum to launch the ball at the huge bastard with the auto shotty, and shattered the weapon. As the ball found its home in the abdominal cavity of the surprised Goliath of a man, I expanded the spikes in a burst that pierced the entire length of the man’s torso in all directions. I inhaled his blood before he died, and oh, he had so much to give. Sending out my essence again, I asked all the entranced innocents to lie on the ground. They did so methodically and uniformly—first dropping to one knee and then the other before placing their hands on the ground and lowering themselves until they lay flat.

  While still drinking from my bro-tein shake, I willed a large curving blade to extend from my hand to my shoulder several feet. I positioned my hand across my body, as if trying to touch my opposite shoulder, and then swung my hand out in a blur while extending the blade. It caught the machine gun–wielding men at the waist, and they were bisected cleanly as the blade lodged into the sheet metal wall. Their top halves rested on my blade, while their legs collapsed to the ground, no longer receiving signals from their brains. Crimson life flowed from their organs and severed arteries and into my blade. I focused and willed the surplus of crimson life from their legs to flow into me as well. The motion reminded me of lying on a bed with my head hanging off the side and watching through a window as the raindrops seemed to flow upward.

  As I finished the Hungry Man-sized meal, I manifested a javelin and threw it into the bar. It pierced both the bar and the man cowering behind. I finished draining the machine gun goons and the bartender at the same time, letting my bloodweapons retreat into me.

  See, bud? That’s how it’s done. It’s called finesse and showmanship. PS rolled his eyes and proceeded to clap slowly.

  Should be a handful left. Let’s get them before they…

  Tires squealed outside. It sounded like two large SUVs had taken off in a hurry for some reason. Maybe they were late for church.

  After retrieving and stuffing my tattered gray beanie in my pocket, I willed all the women left to exit out the back hastily, but not before setting the alcohol-covered bar on fire. I should probably still return after I finished, though, and dispose of the mangled bodies at the very least.

  PS nudged me and pointed. Right! I burst through the sheet metal wall like it was aluminum foil and landed on the parking lot, crouching. After a quick glance around to orientate myself, I exploded off the ground, shattering concrete, and soared into the air in the direction of the SUVs. As I hovered into position several yards up, I shot two bloodspears into the ground on either side of the frontmost vehicle and pulled myself down. I rocketed toward the black, meal-filled SUV like a rocket about to hit a tank. I slammed through the roof and the car flipped end over end from the impact. Their buddies driving behind couldn’t stop in time and crashed into the tumbling metal coffin. The impact was deafening, at least to mortal ears.

  It was all in slow motion to me. My teeth found the neck of the driver while an ice pick went through the neck of the passenger, siphoning their blood with gusto. It was like when the waiter brought your salad out with the meal and you were forced to down it while barely chewing so you could get to your main course before it cooled.

  I drained them both in record time and turned in midair while the SUV did a barrel roll around me. The last remaining man, who was in the process of urinating himself, was lucky enough to receive a more personal dining experience. I slammed my fist into his stomach and blood erupted out of his nose and mouth. I got hold of the blood in midair and forced it all into my mouth, a horrific stream of crimson connecting us like a morbid Lady and the Tramp. Once his blood started flowing, the rest followed suit like a good little lemming, and I drained him before the vehicle had completed another roll and came to a stop on its roof.

  I burst out the back and saw where the other SUV had already stopped and had begun smoking under the hood. The two remaining men were out and fleeing on foot, stumbling as they ran due to their brains getting rattled in the Michael Bay–style crash. They didn’t have the luxury of healing as quickly as I did, so I took my sweet time following them while their brains rebooted.

  I skipped dramatically with my hands flailing at my sides and my head rocking back and forth as I creepily sang, “La la la. La la la,” like a haunting Victorian schoolgirl.

  These tough guys, who had committed countless crimes against their fellow men, screamed at the top of their lungs like stuck pigs. As I skipped, I let my tried-and-true bloodropes slither out of my palms, making cracking noises like whips as my hands moved front to back in rhythm with my eerie lullaby.

  I lashed out with both ropes and caught the men’s ankles. They tumbled to the ground, crying in hopeless dismay. As I stood in place with a serious expression on my face, I let the ropes begin to slowly retreat toward me. The big, tough men’s nails broke on the asphalt as they tried to prevent their fate while they screamed “No, No, NO!” Rivulets of blood trailed behind, marking where their breaking fingers had failed to find enough purchase to stop their demise.

  “Oh yes,” I said slowly and without an ounce of humor, letting my voice grow deep. “We reap what we sow.” I let the ropes begin to crawl up their bodies like hungry tentacles until they had enveloped them like spaghetti on a fork, then I let the razors form. Little ones this time. I wanted to savor my delicious meal.

  I let the ropes slowly uncoil while still pressing against their bodies, the razors providing a sweet death by a thousand cuts. I sipped their essence like a fine wine as I let my eyes close. I moaned as the energy coursed through my body.

  Sirens rang out, breaking me from fully enjoying the rest of my meal. I squeezed the ropes as hard as I could, like draining every last drop from an orange. Only a single exhaling cry escaped the whimpering men before jagged bones pierced organs and the remainder of their life’s blood became mine. Finishing my food, I threw the men back into the car that had started to blaze
furiously. The night air blew the smell of burning rubber and gas into my nose, making my face screw up. I’d always hated that smell.

  I was about to turn and make my way from the crime scene when I noticed the first vehicle hadn’t caught on fire. I could see the gas tank as the car was upside down, so I focused my will, asking the molecules to excite. A small section the size of a lemon began to glow a faint red and then a bright orange as I worked. Within a few moments, the tank exploded in a torrent of angry flames ready to consume everything they could get their hands on.

  Red and blue lights illuminated the building next to me, chasing each other in a fast-paced dance and drawing my attention. I hurled myself down the street, away from the approaching mortals. The wind tugging at my hair made me acutely aware that I hadn’t been without my trusty beanie in several years. At least since the ’90s, I was sure. Thank Lilith for Da and his seamstress abilities.

  I felt alive and beyond strong, like when a mortal woke up after being debilitatingly sick and realizing how great it was to not be ill. Food tasted better, work wasn’t so drab, and even traffic was bearable for a day or two until you got used to being well again. Then it was all taken for granted again.

  Heading in the direction of my home, I manifested my bloodhelmet and sprinted at impressive speeds, even for a creature of the night. I ran through open fields underneath the main roads and through residential neighborhoods until I made my way to the cemetery. I briefly considered stopping at Valenta’s to catch him up on…Depweg. Ulric had Depweg, and here I was, gallivanting around like a drug addict on a huge high. That sobered me up as I made my way downstairs and into my lair.

  “Feeling better, I see,” Da said to me as I closed the door and strode into the living room with my chest puffed out. I was impervious at that moment, ready to take on anything. Even Ulric, who was several centuries older than I was. Hell, I’d take on Satan himself right now.

  “Yes. Tanks are topped off, and I’m ready to fight,” I said. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I think you need to go have a drink at Valenta’s,” Da said.

  “But…Depweg,” I stammered.

  “I think…” Da paused and looked at me for emphasis, “you need to go have a drink at Valenta’s, John.”

  “I agree,” Locke said. “Bring me back something tasty, would ya?”

  Brow scrunched up, I took the crystal clear message to go to Valenta’s.

  13

  After donning a hoodie instead of my trademarked WWII-era, Nazi-stolen trench coat, I was off. I scouted around Valenta’s to ensure the coast was clear, as supes were still after me for breaking the accords.

  What really pissed me off was that mortals had made up their collective minds since and decided that the footage was fake. In addition, those humans who had actually witnessed what I had done now experienced what was known as didn’t-fucking-happen-to-us. I was sure there was a legit terminology for it, but I liked my name better. Basically, when a human saw something they couldn’t believe, their brain skipped a beat and didn’t let its owner completely recall everything in clear detail. This had happened to me once when I was mortal and I’d watched my mother trip and fall down a flight of stone steps. One second she was walking while carrying a bucket of fresh milk or something, and the next she was writhing on the ground, stunned and disoriented. I’d just stood there, disbelieving what had just happened, and had had to convince myself that she must have fallen right before my very own eyes! Once I’d snapped out of it, I’d rushed to her aid, but it had felt like minutes of just staring as my brain restarted.

  I walked up the back steps to Val’s, noticing the missing chunks that the ogre had taken out, and rang the doorbell. I waited a full minute, or maybe it was three seconds, before pressing the button again, and again…and again. The door buzzed open angrily, or so I assumed.

  Valenta met me in the kitchen, where he nodded once. “Some boys out here I think’ll wanna help ya,” Valenta drawled while motioning to the main floor.

  I went through the swinging kitchen door and followed Valenta to the farthest corner from the front door. At a table were two identical twins who couldn’t even be old enough to drink, at least by their outward appearance. Well, I said identical, but there were slight differences between them. Judging by the height of the table, I could safely assume they were about 5’4”. One had a buzz cut while the other had a mop of brown hair. The twins were muscular and had black eyes that reminded me of staring into the orbs of a hungry shark. The buzz-cut twin had tight clothing and a tank top that revealed lots of skin, while the longer-haired brother preferred a baggier attire that covered all but his hands and head.

  “Boys,” Valenta started, “this here’s John. John, this’s Dawson an’ Joey.”

  “Hi,” said Joey while producing a slight smile. His loose clothing felt out of place with how much muscle he was hiding.

  “Sup bruh,” said Dawson with a huge grin. I could see over the table that he had on a fanny pack with pineapples on it.

  “Um, hi?” I greeted, confused.

  “John, these boys wanna help ya with yer current predicament,” Valenta said.

  “And that is?” I had no idea what these twins wanted.

  “Dude, we’re werwolves,” Dawson informed me while pointing back and forth between his brother and himself. I was slightly annoyed that he’d used the German pronunciation like Depweg…who was German.

  “Yeah. We heard that Depweg was taken, and we don’t like that, do we, Dawson?” Joey asked.

  “Hell nah, bruh,” his brother responded. Dawson was clearly the more animated twin while Joey liked to remain calm. It didn’t take long to deduce they were identical but with completely different personalities.

  “Plus, Depweg is kind of a legend among the weres,” Joey said admiringly. “He hasn’t had a pack in decades and is one of the oldest of us.”

  “He’s a fucking celebrity,” Dawson informed me, his grin never leaving his face. “We wanna be in his pack.”

  “We heard about you too, John,” Joey added. “Is it true you killed Locke and saved Depweg?”

  “Kinda a long story, but let’s go with yes,” I responded, leaving out the fact that Locke was in my lair playing dress-up with Da, or something along those lines.

  “Cool,” they said in unison while glancing at each other and then back to me. I didn’t speak twin, but I did speak dude, and a single glance could convey entire paragraphs in an instant.

  “So, you two are going to help me capture Ulric and rescue Depweg?” I asked.

  “Heck yes,” Joey answered.

  “Ya, man. We are gonna rip that Ulric fucker a new sphincter,” Dawson said. I chuckled and immediately knew we were going to get along just fine.

  “Can’t kill Ulric,” I informed them. A look of confusion crossed their faces while Valenta’s gaze shifted to the ground. He nodded, understanding the immense difficulty of the situation.

  “Um, why the fuck not?” Dawson asked.

  “Because when there is only one of us left, the apocalypse will start.”

  Valenta chimed in, his gaze never leaving the ground, “When the last vampire walks the Earth, the gates of Hell will open.”

  “Exactly. So, we will have to subdue and imprison him for, oh, I don’t know,” I looked down at my bare wrist, “hmm, forever.”

  “Well, this shit just got heavy, didn’t it, Joey?” Dawson asked, his huge grin fading to a close-lipped smile.

  Joey considered it for all of three seconds before shrugging and saying, “Yeah, but I’m still in. It’s Depweg, man.”

  “Bet!” Dawson responded with enthusiasm.

  “Bet what?” I asked. The twins looked at each other for a moment and then back at me before they both burst out laughing.

  “It means ‘yes,’ dude,” Joey explained.

  “Ah. That word is light alright,” I said. Dawson and Joey barked out laughing while slamming their hands on the table in pure hilarity.

&
nbsp; “Lit! The word is lit, bro!” Joey informed.

  “Damn kids and your 8-tracks,” I muttered. Even Valenta cracked a rare smile at that one. “Well, come along then, puppies.” As if I had hit pause, their laughter and table-banging stopped. Their eyes focused on me, calculating. “Just fucking with you, kids. Now, shall we, then?”

  “Sure thing, mosquito,” Dawson said as they both got up from their seats to stand in front of me. They were a full eight inches shorter than me, but they were just as wide as they were tall. Joey and Dawson stood with their massive chests puffed out, stern faces daring me to push more. Words didn’t bother me. I actually laughed when demons and their ilk tried to offend me with their name-calling—but these two had intentionally disrespected me. Maybe it was youthful rebellion or an attempt to establish dominance; either way, a lesson must be taught. Since they were wolves, I assumed a show of hierarchy was due. Better sooner than later.

  With a blur of motion that was too fast for their human eyes, I appeared behind the mouthy twins. I moved my palms to their necks and willed out my ropes, which curled around their necks like a noose. I could feel them about to turn, which prompted me to lift them off their feet and say, quite authoritatively, “I am more than half a millennium old, children. I have seen civilizations rise and fall. I was on one of the first rickety ships to the Americas. I have walked this earth longer than either of you can even fathom.” I willed tiny spikes to push against their skin but not break through. “Might I humbly suggest a quantum amount of respect? Hmm?” Neither twin responded. They simply let their hands fall from my ropes in a simultaneous show of submission and defiance. It impressed me because I knew they had to be extremely uncomfortable being held up by just their throats.

  After a few moments of silence, Valenta interjected, “Boy, think they understand. Now yer lil’ show’s over. Don’t skirt ’round the rules an’more.”

  I willed the ropes to dissolve into a singular mass and retract back into me rather than letting the ropes slither over their necks in the opposite direction. Then I blurred back in front of them, a smile plastered on my face that stopped just under my eyes.