By Wm. Mark Simmons
A 12 months in the past, Chris Csejthe (pronounced "Say-thee") was once thoroughly human-then a blood transfusion with the Lord of the Undead replaced every thing. Now he's a hunted guy, sought via human and vampire alike for the secrets and techniques he is familiar with and the powers that his mutated blood could bestow. up to now he is dodged undead assassins, werewolves, a 6,000-year-old Egyptian necromancer, and Vlad Dracula himself. yet now he is particularly acquired difficulties. The useless are turning up on his doorstep after darkish to invite for justice and the police need to know the place all these corpses are coming from. Undead terrorists are checking out a doomsday virus on his new place of origin and he is stuck within the crossfire among a white supremacist military and the resurrected Civil struggle lifeless. His werewolf lover, jealous of his useless wife's ghost, has left him. And the centuries-old and nonetheless very attractive (and very lethal) Countess Bathory is decided to have his uniquely remodeled blood for her personal darkish reasons. Now, greater than ever, existence sucks!
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Extra info for Dead on My Feet (The Halflife Chronicles)
The “Witch of Cachtice” made sense in only one context. The ruins of a castle remain today in the Slovak Republic—Cachtice, Slovakia, to be precise. Once upon a time it lay within the borders of Hungary and was known by a different name. It was the ancestral home of Countess Erzsébet Báthory, who practiced the dark arts and came to believe that the blood of virgins would keep her eternally young and beautiful. During the opening years of the seventeenth century, she murdered over six hundred young women, practicing abominable tortures and draining their bodies of blood for her horrific beauty regimen.
A great jet of fire shot out from the oven’s opening like a great blowtorch and I blistered my hands getting the steel-and-tempered-glass door to close over it. “I promise,” I whispered to the writhing knot of flames on the other side of the glass. I heard the sound of footfalls on the stairs. Time to leave. Chapter Three Once upon a time my barbarian ancestors roamed large portions of east central Europe—sort of like the bison’s dominance of the North American prairie before the coming of the white man.
Marinette Bois-Chèche will haunt your dreams until you unmask her. ” “That’s not her real name,” I said stubbornly. ” “You do not know her real name, you only think you do. Do not forget that she is a liar. She has always been a liar. Her true power is in those she deceives. ” “Your accent is slipping,” I said. ” “They say this is very important. ” What do you say to that? There was nothing to say to that. I forced my feet to carry me away from the fearful quality of her voice. I was careful not to slam the door.