Read Online The Demonata #10: Hell's Heroes by Darren Shan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Darren Shan
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them. “Change of plan. Let him work on the eyes.”
The werewolves stare at me. Sighing, I thicken the cords in my throat and growl their new instructions. Once the message has penetrated, they explore the trees around us, chasing each other through them, munching strips of flesh and breaking off bones to gnaw.
“Is the water safe to drink?” Kirilli asks, stepping towards the dark pool.
“It’s not water,” I tell him. “If you get close, it will pull you in and eat you.”
“Nice,” Shark grunts. “You know how to pick the perfect spot for a date.”
“Are there any computers here?” Timas asks, studying the trees.
“This is the universe of the Demonata,” I remind him. “The home of magic and monsters, nightmares and madness. Of course there are no bloody computers!”
“Why not?” he asks. “Maybe demons like to surf the web too.”
I roll my eyes, but inside I’m smiling. They’re a weird, wounded lot, but I can rely on every one of them to stand by me in a fight. Well, maybe not Kirilli if his yellow streak kicks in… or Timas if he gets bored… or Kernel once he takes off for his rendezvous with the Old Creatures… or Shark if the brace holding his guts in place cracks open…
“What are you grinning at?” Shark asks.
“You wouldn’t like it if I told you,” I chuckle. To hell with the odds—at least they’re my friends. If things go bad, I’d rather die in the company of this bunch of misfits than with anyone else.
Kernel’s still working on his eyes. They’re starting to come together. At the moment they look like a runny egg that’s been poured back into the two halves of its shell. The rest of us are sitting nearby. Moe and Curly lie by my feet, panting after their playful chase.
I’m in the middle of telling Shark and Timas about Beranabus’s soul, how we found it inside the Shadow and freed it, what he told us before he departed. I’m interrupted by choking noises. Glancing over, I spot Curly shaking her head and retching. I grin, figuring she swallowed a bone the wrong way, but then Moe growls and edges away from her. I sense something’s wrong.
“Move back,” I tell the others. They shuffle away, Kernel too, knowing better than to question me. Moe is snarling, his teeth bared, eyeing Curly darkly.
The female werewolf rolls around, whining and gasping. I howl a question, but she either doesn’t hear or can’t respond. She’s clawing at her face. I howl again, trying to calm her, but she staggers to her feet and whirls away, making horrible sounds. She crashes into a tree, rebounds, and picks up speed. She’s unconsciously heading for the pool. I see the liquid draw towards the edge closest to us. It senses a victim and is getting ready to pounce.
I race after the distressed werewolf and tackle her. She lashes out at me, but feebly, no power in the punch. I get a glimpse of her face and shudder. Her flesh is bubbling as if she’s been dunked in a bucket of acid. Her eyes bulge, and her tongue swishes madly from one side of her mouth to the other.
“What’s wrong with her?” Kirilli yells.
“Damned if I know,” I mutter, nudging her away from the pool, ready to defend myself if she attacks.
Curly lurches to her knees, then throws herself down and buries her face in the soil. She thrashes wildly, sending clouds of dust shooting into the air. She slams her face harder into the ground, as if she wants to destroy it.
Curly screams, squeezes her head, then slumps. Her hands fall away. Her legs shiver, then go still. She lies facedown, breathing shallowly, silent. I edge closer, wary, expecting her to leap up and attack. But she’s not playing possum. She doesn’t move as I poke her with my right foot, or when I kneel beside her and pull her head up by her hair.
There are gasps from the others when they see her face. I frown at them, then rotate her head. As her face swings into view, I see what disturbed them. Her features have altered. There’s
The werewolves stare at me. Sighing, I thicken the cords in my throat and growl their new instructions. Once the message has penetrated, they explore the trees around us, chasing each other through them, munching strips of flesh and breaking off bones to gnaw.
“Is the water safe to drink?” Kirilli asks, stepping towards the dark pool.
“It’s not water,” I tell him. “If you get close, it will pull you in and eat you.”
“Nice,” Shark grunts. “You know how to pick the perfect spot for a date.”
“Are there any computers here?” Timas asks, studying the trees.
“This is the universe of the Demonata,” I remind him. “The home of magic and monsters, nightmares and madness. Of course there are no bloody computers!”
“Why not?” he asks. “Maybe demons like to surf the web too.”
I roll my eyes, but inside I’m smiling. They’re a weird, wounded lot, but I can rely on every one of them to stand by me in a fight. Well, maybe not Kirilli if his yellow streak kicks in… or Timas if he gets bored… or Kernel once he takes off for his rendezvous with the Old Creatures… or Shark if the brace holding his guts in place cracks open…
“What are you grinning at?” Shark asks.
“You wouldn’t like it if I told you,” I chuckle. To hell with the odds—at least they’re my friends. If things go bad, I’d rather die in the company of this bunch of misfits than with anyone else.
Kernel’s still working on his eyes. They’re starting to come together. At the moment they look like a runny egg that’s been poured back into the two halves of its shell. The rest of us are sitting nearby. Moe and Curly lie by my feet, panting after their playful chase.
I’m in the middle of telling Shark and Timas about Beranabus’s soul, how we found it inside the Shadow and freed it, what he told us before he departed. I’m interrupted by choking noises. Glancing over, I spot Curly shaking her head and retching. I grin, figuring she swallowed a bone the wrong way, but then Moe growls and edges away from her. I sense something’s wrong.
“Move back,” I tell the others. They shuffle away, Kernel too, knowing better than to question me. Moe is snarling, his teeth bared, eyeing Curly darkly.
The female werewolf rolls around, whining and gasping. I howl a question, but she either doesn’t hear or can’t respond. She’s clawing at her face. I howl again, trying to calm her, but she staggers to her feet and whirls away, making horrible sounds. She crashes into a tree, rebounds, and picks up speed. She’s unconsciously heading for the pool. I see the liquid draw towards the edge closest to us. It senses a victim and is getting ready to pounce.
I race after the distressed werewolf and tackle her. She lashes out at me, but feebly, no power in the punch. I get a glimpse of her face and shudder. Her flesh is bubbling as if she’s been dunked in a bucket of acid. Her eyes bulge, and her tongue swishes madly from one side of her mouth to the other.
“What’s wrong with her?” Kirilli yells.
“Damned if I know,” I mutter, nudging her away from the pool, ready to defend myself if she attacks.
Curly lurches to her knees, then throws herself down and buries her face in the soil. She thrashes wildly, sending clouds of dust shooting into the air. She slams her face harder into the ground, as if she wants to destroy it.
Curly screams, squeezes her head, then slumps. Her hands fall away. Her legs shiver, then go still. She lies facedown, breathing shallowly, silent. I edge closer, wary, expecting her to leap up and attack. But she’s not playing possum. She doesn’t move as I poke her with my right foot, or when I kneel beside her and pull her head up by her hair.
There are gasps from the others when they see her face. I frown at them, then rotate her head. As her face swings into view, I see what disturbed them. Her features have altered. There’s
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