Underworld: Blood Enemy Read Online Free PDF

unsuccessfully to get away from the steaming iron. “Mercy! Mercy!”
    Soren paid little heed to the young lycan’s hysterics; he was used to such displays. He nodded at a pair of nearby Death Dealers, who stepped forward to subdue the thrashing youth. The first guard calmly kneed the lycan in his privates, leaving him stunned and breathless, while the second guard wrapped an arm around the boy’s arms and chest to keep him from waving them about. “Stay still,”
    the second Death Dealer barked, “or we’ll break every bone in your body, one by one!”
    Despite the threats and abuse, the quaking lycan flinched as Soren ripped off the sleeve of the youth’s greasy tunic, exposing his right arm. Held back by his steel collar and chains, the lycan snapped impotently at Soren and the guards with his fangs. Spittle sprayed from his lips—until Soren calmly pressed the glowing end of the branding iron against the youth’s bicep.
    An inhuman howl erupted from the young lycan’s throat. Smoke rose from his arm where the heated silver seared his skin. The smell of burning flesh turned Lucian’s stomach.
    In a heartbeat, it was over. Soren drew back the iron, revealing the mark now branded onto the lycan’s arm for all time, an ornate letter M .
    For Marcus.
    Lucian caught himself rubbing his own right arm, where a similar brand adorned his own bicep, except that Lucian bore a V upon his flesh instead, testifying that he had begun his service during one of Viktor’s reigns. Mercifully, he had little memory of the branding itself, which had taken place when he was but a young pup; unlike these prisoners, he had been born in servitude.
    Soren worked his way along the line of prisoners, branding each in turn. The excruciating procedure yielded a succession of anguished shrieks and howls, but when at last the dire business was complete, he signaled Lady Ilona that the captives were ready to be escorted back to the castle.
    The highborn vampiress wasted no time turning her horse around and leading the procession back the way they had come. Although the starry sky remained as black as pitch, Lucian knew the vampires would be anxious to return to their stronghold before dawn. Sunlight posed a more lethal threat to their kind than any rampaging werewolf.
    He contemplated the dispirited prisoners as they stumbled past him, whimpering in pain and distress. As the highest-ranking lycan at the castle, it would be his responsibility, in part, to turn these trembling vermin into decent servants. Looking over the unsightly throng, he feared he had his work cut out for him.
    No matter, he thought. They will learn to obey the vampires — or suffer the consequences.
    His gaze fell upon the scarlet-haired lycan female he had personally subdued earlier. Separated from her child, who was now in a canvas bag slung over the shoulder of a marching Death Dealer, she trudged sullenly after the prisoner in front of her, tugged along by the chain affixed to her neck.
    The right shoulder of her stolen habit had been torn asunder, laying bare her arm and breast. The freshly burned M on the former showed blood-red against her dirty brown flesh.
    The woman lifted her head, and her eyes met his. He offered her an encouraging smile, to assure her that her future was not nearly so dismal as she might imagine. In truth, he had rescued her from a life of barbarism. She will thank me someday, he thought.
    Tonight, however, hatred blazed in the woman’s blue eyes. She spat at him as she passed, the gobbet of saliva striking Lucian on the cheek.
    Her defiant gesture was swiftly rewarded with a lash from Soren’s whip. The silver vertebrae snapped against her bare shoulder, and steam rose from a crimson welt. The woman’s fangs snapped shut, biting back a scream.
    Lucian wiped the spit from his cheek as he watched the woman stagger away, her chastened form receding into the shadowy woods. Soren’s whip cracked overhead, spurring the lycans behind her to pick