Haunted by the King of Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

every step closer to the edge that he took, that ecstasy only grew more intense, more satisfying, until he was chasing the next high, aching for it to be better than the last.
    His crimson eyes scanned the battle that had moved further from him, nearing the black mountains that formed the border between the Seventh Realm and the Devil’s domain, the path the demons of the Sixth had taken to avoid entering the Fifth to reach the Seventh.
    He gave himself another minute to savour the high of his kill and then lumbered onto his feet, pulled his blade free and cleaned it on the dead male’s dark gold leathers. He could feel his bloodlust fading again, satisfied for now, but it would soon rise again, returning to embrace him and deliver him another high, and another victory.
    Grave prowled through the corpses towards the battle, itching with the need to hurl himself into another fight, to feel fists striking his flesh and cracking his bones. The darkness that had been ebbing away began to flow back again, slowly filling his veins as he stalked towards his next victim, hungry for more.
    Itching for another fix.
    He singled out the male he had decided led the Sixth Realm demons, one who stood at least three inches taller than the rest and he had caught barking orders at the others. He wielded his broadsword with devastating skill, cutting down a demon of the Seventh and injuring one of Grave’s men in the process. The demon commander whirled to face three vampires who had come up behind him, and Grave snarled as he spotted his second in command among them.
    “Asher,” Grave barked and the blond looked in his direction. Grave shifted his gaze from him to the demon and snarled, “Mine.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, Asher bowed his head and signalled to his two men, and together they backed away from the demon as he turned to face Grave.
    The male shoved bloodstained fingers through his wild chestnut hair, preening it back from his face, and smirked at him. Crimson coated every inch of his broad bare chest and had soaked into his deep gold leathers, forming dark veins across the material. The demon flexed the fingers of his other hand around the hilt of his broadsword, a blade that matched Grave in height, and stared him down, his golden eyes glowing brightly in the darkness.
    “Come, Little Vampire.” The warrior crooked a clawed finger, his English sounding rough with his demonic accent, and grinned again, flashing fangs as his horns curled from behind his pointed ears, twisting around like a ram’s. “Let us see who is the true King of Death.”
    Grave readied his blade and pressed the ball of his right foot into the black earth, preparing to launch at the male and do just that.
    Darkness rolled over the land, visceral power that pressed down on him and chilled his blood.
    Around him, the battle stilled, warriors frozen in position, locked in combat for a heartbeat before they all broke apart and turned as one towards the black mountains.
    Grave looked there.
    A male stood on a huge rock at the base of the mountain, just metres beyond the edge of the battle. He towered over them, black eyes surveying every warrior below him, gold elliptical pupils flashing as his gaze shifted quickly from one male to the next. His stance was casual, the black gauntlet covering the lower half of his right arm resting on the hilt of a huge black broadsword that stood beside him, the point buried into the solid rock, but Grave had the feeling this male hadn’t come to the edge of the Devil’s domain just to watch them fight.
    The demon straightened and curled his clawed fingers over the pommel of his sword as his black eyebrows pinched low and his broad lips flattened.
    Grave watched him closely, wary of the newcomer. He was young, appearing little more than in his early twenties to mortal eyes, but that meant nothing when it came to demons, especially those of the Devil’s ranks.
    This male could easily decimate both sides of the