Preacher:Sons of Sangue

By: Patricia A. Rasey


Fuck the consequences! A woman needed help.

Bobby noted movement just beyond a row of hedges, heard the discernable sound of a blade piercing flesh, over and over. Easily clearing the trimmed, six-foot height of the bushes in a single leap, Bobby landed a few feet shy of a large man. He was bent over a nearly unconscious female, ready to plunge the large bloodied hunting knife back into her chest. The man’s crazed focus turned to Bobby.

His eyes rounded. “Jesus Christ! What the hell are you?”

“The fucking Grim Reaper, asshole, come to collect your soul.”

Before the man could udder a confession, Bobby gripped him one-handed by the throat and lifted him from the nearly dying woman. The knife dropped from the man’s hand. He gasped for air, his hands clutching at the one gripping his throat like a vice. Bobby tossed him like a rag doll to the cement patio several feet away. The man, more of a monster than the one who stood before him, didn’t stand a chance. Bobby closed the distance in a blink of an eye. His fangs pierced the man’s carotid seconds before he ripped it from his throat.

Bobby felt no remorse as the man’s hands covered the gash and his life gurgled from him. A tiny moan from the woman lying near the bushes brought his focus around, telling him she still lived and there was a chance yet to save her. Blood covered her chest and arms and he had no idea how long she had or if she’d live. He’d need to act and fast. He bent down and scooped the tiny woman into his arms and headed for the street.

Ogunquit Beach wasn’t far from US-1, where he had spotted a hospital sign heading north. Wasting no time, he sprinted down Beach Street and took to the highway. What would’ve been easily a forty-minute walk for a mere mortal, Bobby made it in a little under six minutes by foot. He skirted the rounded emergency entrance and laid the woman gently on the tarmac, far enough away from the security cameras that they would be useless in identifying him. He pulled the woman’s phone he had noted tucked into her back pocket, swiped it open, and thanked the good Lord for no lock code. A quick swipe through the apps he found White Pages loaded.

A few seconds later, he had the emergency number for the hospital and dialed. After telling the woman on the phone where to find the critically injured woman, he used her shirt to wipe his prints from the phone and left it laying on top of her. He had barely cleared the side of the building when he heard the whoosh of the doors opening, with a sudden flurry of activity. Whoever she was, she’d be well-cared for. Hopefully, he wasn’t too late.

Moments later, he entered the beach house. The lights flipped on, damn near blinding him. “What the fuck?” He shielded his eyes.

Ivy’s mouth gaped. “What the hell happened?”

Bobby didn’t suppose a stroll on the beach would begin to explain his whereabouts, not with blood rimming his mouth and soiling his clothes.





Chapter 6




“Chad!” Tena shrieked as she ran through the tiny rental, skidding to a halt when she reached him. “Wake up!”

She shook the sofa bed, damn near rolling her roomy onto the floor. His eyes popped open, and in his haste to sit, he flopped to the floor. Promptly gaining his footing, Chad gaped at her open-mouthed, clearly wondering if she had lost her marbles.

Maybe she had.

The bloodshed!

Her limbs shook and her fingers trembled.

“Call 911!” Tena’s chest heaved, fighting for breath. “Where’s my phone? Where’s yours? We need to get the hell out of here.”

Chad skirted the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, Tena. Come on,” he coaxed, “take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

She drew in a few shaky breaths, attempting to calm her racing heart. Trying to remain on her feet, Tena placed a hand on a side table when her knees threatened to buckle. What the hell had she just seen? “I think I’m going to puke.”

Chad grabbed a small wastebasket and shoved it at her. Tena leaned over the green plastic bucket and emptied what little she had in her stomach. Handing her a wet washcloth, he asked, “Better?”

Tena pointed a shaking finger to the door facing the back patio and line of bushes separating their rental from the beach. “There’s a dead man on our patio.”

“What?” Chad yelped, his brow furrowing. “Girl, are you playing with me?”

She shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes. “I heard muffled screams. You were sawing logs and wouldn’t wake up when I shook you. So I crawled out of bed and walked to the sliding doors. It was dark, but it looked like someone was picking up something near the hedge, a body maybe”—she fanned her face with her hand—“I can’t be sure, and then whoever or whatever it was disappeared around the bushes. That’s when I saw the dead man on the patio. Oh, dear God.”

Chad motioned for Tena to sit. She complied. Another minute and she would’ve collapsed. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Tena covered her face with her hands and sucked in much needed oxygen. The mattress dipped. Chad took a seat beside her and drew her against his side, placing a kiss on the top of her head.