Damoren Read Online Free PDF

mutilated victims had been found beneath the house. The story had made national headlines.
    Memories of Atlanta flashed th rough his mind. He turned the page to see copies of police photographs of the scene. Charred bodies, their limbs contorted into dance-like poses, lay sprawled out across a tarp. Closeups of bullet holes, still visible in their crinkled skin or punched through their blackened skulls. Matt’s fingers flipped faster. It was the biggest pack of werewolves he’d ever found. They operated a brothel outside the city. The things he saw, the bodies, the torture. He’d seen many horrors, but that house was seared into his mind forever, branded by the nightmares within. He’d sent those bitches to hell, even taking the last one down with the blade affixed beneath Dämoren’s barrel. Once finished, and whatever evidence of his presence removed, he’d burned it down. Police, the FBI, even private bounty hunters, hired by the girl’s families, all worked the case. Many, no doubt, still did. And now, one had found him.
    Without making it even a quarter through the packet, he jammed the pages back into the file. His finger fumbling, he tied it shut, then swung back to the ladder and hurried back down. Maybe they didn’t know he was here yet. Maybe they thought that he had killed Rachel Fidell and the other women. And where was the aswang? In his rush, he didn’t see the little curl of rusted metal peeling out from the ladder rung. It bit into his palm and Matt winced, clenching his teeth. Blood oozed freely, but it didn’t appear to be serious. Cursing, he continued down, leaving wet smudges on every other bar. No time to clean them now .
    Matt reached the catwalk and ran. He shot down the clanging stairs two at a time. How did they find me? No. That doesn’t matter now. He’d get back to the States, change his name, change his face. Right now, he just needed to get away.
    He glanced through the broken windows, but didn ’t see anyone outside. No helicopters circled above, with men sliding down ropes beneath them. Gravel and shards of broken bottles crunched under foot as he hurried out of the building and across the yard toward the fence. He’d ducked through the torn chain link and started toward his car when he saw movement through the woods ahead.
    A gray vehicle rumbled up the gravel road. Matt recognized it as the Range Rover from the motel. Through the tinted glass, he made out two figures inside. The vehicle pulled up and stopped in the forty feet remaining between Matt and his car.
    Matt took a step back. There was nowhere to run. His thoughts automatically moved to the machinegun slung under his long jacket.
    The driver side door opened and an older man in a dark suit with no tie stepped out, his hands lifted, palms outward. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hollis.” His accent sounded German. “We don’t mean you any harm.”
    The passenger side door opened and the brown-haired man from the motel emerged, loosely holding a black and gold sword, its blade extending a hand-length before bowing forward in a long curve.
    “I am Max Schmidt,” the German said. “This is Allan Havlock and his sword, Ibenus. We are with the Valducans and only wish to talk with you.”
    Matt looked to the old man, then to his companion. The machinegun still pressed in his mind as a viable option. His gaze then moved to the strange sword. He’d seen one like that in a museum once. Egyptian; likely ancient. It was pristine. He’d never seen another holy weapon before.
    “ Are you familiar with the Valducans, Mr. Hollis?” Schmidt asked. “Did Clay Mercer tell you about us?”
    Matt nodded. “Demon hunters. Kind of like Templars or something.”
    The German and his swordsman companion both gave pursed smiles, like they thought it was funny, but kind of offensive at the same time.
    “Something like that,” Schmidt said. “Descended from a holy order. Is that all he told you?”
    “ No.” Matt drew Dämoren out from