Bloodrush by Bryan Smith

By Bryan Smith

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Sample text

All-consuming thirst. The angled slashes across the woman’s torso were deep and blood continued to spill out of them. He watched as a thick stream of crimson slid down her inner thigh, then into the crook behind her knee and down the back of her atrophied calf. He kept watching in helpless fascination as the life continued to leak out of her, his frustration growing with each wasted droplet of precious blood. This was torture of a most exquisitely cruel variety. The thing he desired most—needed most—was so tantalizingly close…and yet so completely beyond his reach.

A presence coming toward him—from the direction he’d been facing a moment ago. Death is coming for me. This is the end of my life. If this was truly the end, he could at least face it with some degree of dignity. Better that than to go stumbling blindly into the featureless darkness. He’d trip over something and go sprawling to the ground within moments, then wind up crawling and begging pitifully for his life as Death bore down on him. And probably pissing his pants in the bargain. Screw that.

Further retreat was impossible. Disobedience was unthinkable. His head was hurting and his stomach was in knots. He hunched down, hiding his face with his shaking hands. Somewhere very nearby someone was whimpering. In a moment he realized the sound was coming from his own throat. He felt like something low, something less than a man. He was a worm beneath her boot, waiting to be stepped on and crushed out of existence. “I’m sorry. ” His mouth snapped shut. “Drop your hands and stand up straight.

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