Blood Claim Laura Mykles (best classic novels txt) 📖

feel the cold on his bare skin, just the smooth-cut end of the stake. “Beg me not to kill you."

"No,” Luke said. Lathe raised the stake high over both their heads, and Luke couldn't stop himself squeezing his eyes shut.

"Beg me!"

"Go to hell!"

Lathe reversed the stake and smashed it down into Luke's shoulder. The pain was muted with the adrenaline in his system, but he knew he'd be feeling it later. It still stole the thought from his head and left him broken. In the trees, a bird cawed, and for a second it sounded like Cory. Lathe picked him up by the throat. “I should feed you to Brutus and laugh as he finishes the job he started last night,” he said. “But maybe I would like to drink from you until there's nothing left to bleed first."

Something black landed on the grass, and a moment later Cory stood up. “Leave him alone,” he said quietly.

"Oh, Cory. How good of you to join us. I thought you'd at least wait until after I slit your ex-lover's throat."

"Get out of here,” Luke managed, though it hurt to take the breath necessary to form the words. “What are you doing?"

"Saving you,” Cory said. “Let him go, Lathe."

"You've got to be kidding me. I let him go, you fly away, and I'll have nothing."

Cory stepped into the light. He picked up the flashlight, turned it off, and then reached into the car a second later and killed the headlights. Brutus returned with a snarl and backed Cory away from where Lathe stood with his nails still digging into Luke's throat. “Now you hold all the cards. Please. I'm here. You can do what you want with me. Just let Luke go."

"I could have you both,” Lathe said.

"But that was never the plan, now was it?” Cory said with an easy smile. He was so good at this. He even reached up and took Lathe's arm, the one that was holding Luke down. He tugged on his glove with his teeth, putting his marked hand over Lathe's. “Let him go. Please."

"You swear on his life that you will not try to escape?” Lathe snarled, baring his fangs.

"On his life,” Cory said, tracing lines down Lathe's arm. “I swear."

"What are you doing, Cory?” Luke demanded, once Lathe backed away enough for Luke to breathe. He grabbed Lathe's wrist, but Lathe was stronger than he was and just used Luke's grip to pull him up and throw him aside. Brutus was on him in the next second, his teeth inches from Luke's throat, and his tissue remembered how cold it had been. He didn't want to, but his arms came up to protect his throat. “I told you to let him go,” Cory snapped.

"Once you go inside the house,” Lathe said. “Step past the threshold, and I'll let him go."

"Swear on your life,” Cory said.

"Cory, don't,” Luke called, and Brutus growled more. “Don't do this. Please.” Luke didn't dare move, not with the great beast over him, so he rested his head on the frozen ground.

"You should have let me handle it,” Cory said, voice flat. “I have your word?"

"You do,” Lathe said with a bow. “After you."

"After me,” Cory repeated. The restaurant's front door glowed a sickly blue, and even from where Luke was lying he could see the former occupants—the weeping woman, the suicide victim, the man with the razor blade, all beckoning Cory inside. “No!” Luke shouted, and cried out as Brutus put one of his huge paws squarely onto Luke's chest. He felt the bones bend with the weight.

"I'm sorry, Luke,” Cory repeated. He turned, face hard. “Those things I said to you this evening, I want you to know that I meant every single word of them.” He stepped backward into the light. There was another pulse of brilliant light, and then the front door slammed shut. Brutus growled again, waiting for permission from his master to tear Luke's throat out, and Lathe left him flat against his back for a very long moment.

"Isn't that sweet,” Lathe said mockingly. “I should kill you regardless."

Luke closed his eyes again. In that second, it didn't really matter anymore, and if Lathe was looking for more of a reaction, Luke at least took pleasure in that. “If you're going to do it, do it,” he said.

"A century of hiding out, protecting your little ‘life,’ as it were, and that's the most self-preservation you have? Frankly, I am disappointed."

A sliver of drool from Brutus's teeth dripped onto Luke's skin and ran down the curve of his jaw, burning his flesh with the cold. He didn't swallow. “And I would be disappointed if you didn't kill me. Just do it."

"No,” Lathe said, as though he'd just come to that decision. He probably just had. “I won't. You'll survive, and you can take with you the memory of what your little lover did for you when you couldn't be half arsed about him."

Luke snorted. It showed what Lathe knew, and he didn't bother to correct him. Brutus let him go, and when Luke sat up, things shifted in his chest that never should have been able to move. He went to his car, the keys still in the ignition, and every step he took he still expected to feel Brutus's teeth on him.

"Just so you know, Luke, if you had staked me the moment you put the flashlight on me, you would have taken me out,” Lathe said.

"If you hurt him,” Luke said, but his words felt flat even to him.

"I'm not going to hurt him,” Lathe said, and smiled for the first time. “I'm going to kill him. Go now, boy, or you'll be joining him."

Brutus snarled. “I can't leave him,” Luke said, even as Brutus snapped at his leg. He jerked back.

"Get in the car and drive off. This is your last warning. I go back inside, Brutus will have his fill. Corbin made his choice for you. Are you just going to throw