Stolen Souls

Начало книги

BLOOD HOT ON her hands. Red. The brightest red Galya had ever seen. Her mind tilted, her vision disappearing down a black tunnel.

No, don’t faint.

She gasped, pulled air in, and with it a copper smell that went to her stomach and grabbed it like a fist. Bile rose to her throat. She swallowed.

The man’s legs shook as she tried to withdraw the shard of glass, a strip of bed sheet wrapped around one end to form a grip for the improvised knife. She jerked. His eyes gaped. She twisted, feeling the glass grind against a hardness deep inside his neck until something snapped. The blade slipped free of the new mouth it had opened beneath his chin. Red bubbled from it and spread across his Lithuania football shirt, swamping the bright yellow.

Galya stepped back as the blood advanced across the linoleum flooring toward her bare feet. It licked at her toes, warm kisses from the dying man who slid down the wall as his eyes dimmed.

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