The Sons of Satrina: A Sons of Satrina Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

and quickly. Then, an unexpected blow to his temple sent him crashing into the wall, taking an antique mirror down with him. They crashed to the floor together, blood splattering up the walls and shards of mirrors splintering all over the rug where he fell. Stars were swimming in his vision as he turned to defend himself when more blows rained down on him. Red liquid clouded his sight, but his hearing was as sharp as a pin. Bartholomew heard a low, menacing chuckle.
    Rage ran through his body like a lightning bolt, more than annoyed that he had been caught off guard.  Rage that they had managed to knock him to his knees.
    “So?” a voice said. “This is the great leader.” It was not posed as a question.  They knew damn well who he was. It was spat out like a snide comment with a scathing, sarcastic emphasis on the ‘great’.
    Hazily, through the fountain of red, Bartholomew could see a young man standing to attention in from of him.  He was clad in tattered denim and battered leather. One glance at the guy’s teeth told him everything he needed to know.
    This was when he knew.
    His time had finally come.
    This really was the end for him. Somehow, someway, they had found him. They had entered his home.  They were here for him. This was an assassination mission for them.
    They were the Lamia Mortuorum.
    “You thought you were so untouchable, hidden away in here from the world in your safe little bubble. Bet you don’t feel quite so untouchable now, do you?” and with a sharp laugh, a swift kick was delivered to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Bartholomew curled up on the floor as pain coursed through every single inch of his body.
    Feeling hot breath on his cheek, one of the assailants whispered into his ear, “Any last words, old man?”
    Bartholomew almost laughed at that. Or would have if he could have, but his mouth was rapidly filling with blood. He had only very recently started to show any visible signs of ageing.  Only the creaking joints and the salt and pepper in his hair gave any indication to his waning youth.  But, he still had plenty of vigour in him to go down with dignity.
    Just as the resolve to fight back started to stiffen his spine, he felt the cool pin prick touch of the sharp end of a blade pressing tightly to his throat.
    Bartholomew knew that this really was the end for him now. A sudden rush of price for his race ran through his veins and with blood streaming down his face, he smiled courageously.
    “You are an abomination. You will never succeed. We will never surrender. You may take my life. You may destroy my flesh. But, you will never take my words. We are mortal beings, but our words remain immortal. My legacy is everlasting. We will prevail.”
    Bartholomew ignored the blade as it sliced a shallow gash in the tender flesh of his neck and knelt up.  He straightened his posture and waited for the final blow. With certainty, he knew that he would now be united with his Goddess, Satrina.  He would die safe in the knowledge that the Lamia Matris would continue after his departure from this world and would continue to reign supreme.
    Closing his eyes, he welcomed his fate.
    It was time.
    “Screw you, old man.”
    And Bartholomew felt nothing as he passed on.

Chapter Four.
     
    Waking up the next morning, Jackson crawled out of his surprisingly comfortable new bed and made his way slowly down to the communal bathroom. He was hoping to beat the rest of the guys to it and keep the peace he’d been experiencing going a bit longer. Also, he was feeling a little off this morning. He didn’t think that he’d be able to cope with the noise on top of this monster headache. This was worse than any hangover he’d ever experienced. The stark artificial lighting stabbed at his eyes.
    It was early enough that the place was deathly quiet when he got down there. It gave him plenty of time to shower and get ready for one of the toughest days that he had yet to face. Training day