Haunted by the King of Death Read Online Free PDF

low in his throat at the sight, the darkness that flowed through his veins growing blacker as his mind whispered dangerous words, taunting him with the fact someone had stolen his prey.
    He had been weak again, and now someone had taken what was his.
    He hunched forwards and roared out his fury, and both the demon and the vampire stopped with their axe and sword in mid swing.
    He would kill both of them. The demon for the fun of it and the vampire because the impudent bastard had stolen his prey.
    No one took what was his.
    No one.
    He ran at both males and the vampire was gone in a flash, disappearing from the fray like the pathetic creature he was. He would deal with him later. He snarled as the demon swung the axe at him and threw himself feet first under the blow, skidding across the ground and ending up next to the first demon.
    Grave grinned.
    He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword and slowly pulled it free of the corpse as he rose onto his feet.
    His senses warned of the demon behind him.
    He took his time wiping the blade clean on the corpse’s leathers.
    Could almost feel the fetid breath of the second demon on the back of his neck and hear the whisper of death as the axe sliced through the air aimed for his head.
    Fool.
    Grave dropped to his knees and the demon’s axe cut through the air above him. He twisted as he shoved onto his feet and arced his blade upwards, cutting across the demon’s broad chest. The male bellowed and stumbled back two steps before recovering and swinging the axe again. Grave dodged right but the blade nicked his shoulder, cutting through his black shirt, and the scent of his own blood laced the air, strong on his senses.
    He saw red.
    In a blur of speed, he came around behind the demon and drove his sword forwards, piercing deep into the male’s side, a wound meant to slow rather than kill.
    This one had cut him, and that meant this one died by his fangs.
    The male staggered forwards and tried to turn, but Grave leaped on his back and tipped him off balance. The demon landed face first on the bloodied black earth and Grave slammed into his bare back. He grabbed the demon’s left horn and yanked his head back as he struck hard, sinking his fangs into the right side of his throat. The male struggled, bucking wildly, and Grave bit deeper and raked his fangs through the male’s flesh, cutting long grooves into his skin. Blood poured from the wound, flowing so quickly he almost choked on it as he tried to swallow it all, his bloodlust demanding he didn’t waste a drop.
    He gulped it down and groaned as the demon’s struggles weakened and his heart began to falter. There was no sweeter thrill than this for him, not anymore. War. Gods how he craved it.
    Each blow that bruised his flesh, shattered bone and tore muscle.
    Each dance with death.
    He would wage war for free, but the Preux Chevaliers traditionally worked for the highest bidder, and who was he to turn down a tidy sum of gold?
    He had been raised an aristocrat, born to one of the most powerful pureblood vampire families, and as an aristocrat he had grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort and convenience, and that required money.
    He wasn’t an elite, those born to a family with lowly turned humans in their ranks or sired by such a creature.
    He was an aristocrat.
    A pureblood.
    As all in the Preux Chevaliers were.
    They were the most powerful of their kind. Faster, stronger, superior in every way to an elite. Bred from the purest blood, able to trace their ancestry back to the elves.
    But with pure blood came what many in the vampire world viewed as a terrible curse—bloodlust.
    He released the demon when his heart gave out and sat back on him, breathing hard and grinning as his blood thundered in his veins, pleasure rolling hot and sweet through him.
    Pleasure his bloodlust gave to him.
    Pleasure that had become his everything.
    Only a fool would deny themselves the ecstasy of sating their bloodlust. With