Blood Moons by Alianne Donnelly Page A
Authors: Alianne Donnelly
Tags: Science-Fiction, adventure, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Paranormal, Science Fiction & Fantasy
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happening to him?
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103
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
Chapter Nine
6th Day of the 4th Blood Moon, 3028
There were seventeen TVs in a room acoustically designed to deliver sound only to those people watching the individual movies. Each TV had an area that seated forty people.
And all of them were playing slasher flicks.
Wonderful. Just what Tristan needed—a werewolf movie.
And a bad one at that. He should have gone to the gym instead.
Ah, but there the pool's sensors would have detected traces of blood and then he'd be in deep shit indeed. Because the docs would want to know what he'd impaled his hands on.
He kept his hands in his pockets to hide the marks on his palms. The claws had gone almost clean through, not quite long enough to pierce through to the other side. He had bruises on the backs of his hands where they had tented the skin.
At least the good thing—if it could be called that—was that he was healing rapidly. Mind over matter? Hardly. It was just another part of the exciting New Alaska chemical gift package. The fun never stopped.
"Word on the block is you got yourself a sweet young thing in that burrow of yours."
Anthony Sinclair. The man was as wide as he was tall, and that was saying something, since he was as tall as Tristan.
Disgusting slimeball of a human being, he forced the weaker prisoners to wash those parts of him he couldn't reach in the 104
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
shower. And still he smelled like regurgitated molding sewage.
He plopped himself down into a chair, making it creak dangerously under his gargantuan weight while his greasy long hair swept the floor.
Tristan almost gagged. He turned to leave the other way and found his path blocked by Switch.
"Yeah," the scrawny guy agreed. "That's what we heard."
He was the human equivalent of a hyper weasel. His hair was spiked and he had dark circles around his crazed eyes from lack of sleep—his assigned treatment. Sinclair and Switch were joined at the hip. Wherever Sinclair went, Switch followed like a lapdog. He had no choice, really. At barely five feet four, he was the smallest of them all and his life literally depended on Sinclair's size. Parasite.
Tristan sat back down. No point fighting them here. He might get one lucky punch in before the guards rained down on them, and then he'd have to wait until the next ambush to finish it. Might as well save himself the trouble. But even while his mind decided this, his body went on alert, muscles tightening to ready for attack and senses sharpening to catch the smallest change in the environment.
"Word on the block is Sinclair is using your head as a vibrator," he said to Switch. "Should I believe it? It would explain those brown spots around your eyes. And your hair is sort of a shitty color."
Switch's expression turned wrathful, but before he could lash out as he was prone to do, Sinclair put a massive hand on Tristan's shoulder and turned him to face his armpit. "No 105
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
need to fight," he said pleasantly, ever the businessman looking to deal first and crush the opposition later. Often that was literally what he did. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement."
Tristan winced sarcastically. "I don't know, Blubber, I've had some bad experiences with whales before. They always find a way to renege."
Sinclair's chuckle jiggled parts of him in a ripple effect, releasing new and exotic scents from skin folds that hadn't been touched by air in years. "That mouth of yours is gonna get you killed one night," he said. "But I'll take it as a compliment this time. Whales do have the biggest dicks in the whole animal kingdom, don't they? And that's why we're here to talk to you in the first place. It's not nice of you not to let your plaything enjoy it."
"Damn waste is what it is," Switch added, nearly salivating. It was a well-known fact that Sinclair didn't exactly share with the little guy. Instead,
[Back to Table of Contents]
103
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
Chapter Nine
6th Day of the 4th Blood Moon, 3028
There were seventeen TVs in a room acoustically designed to deliver sound only to those people watching the individual movies. Each TV had an area that seated forty people.
And all of them were playing slasher flicks.
Wonderful. Just what Tristan needed—a werewolf movie.
And a bad one at that. He should have gone to the gym instead.
Ah, but there the pool's sensors would have detected traces of blood and then he'd be in deep shit indeed. Because the docs would want to know what he'd impaled his hands on.
He kept his hands in his pockets to hide the marks on his palms. The claws had gone almost clean through, not quite long enough to pierce through to the other side. He had bruises on the backs of his hands where they had tented the skin.
At least the good thing—if it could be called that—was that he was healing rapidly. Mind over matter? Hardly. It was just another part of the exciting New Alaska chemical gift package. The fun never stopped.
"Word on the block is you got yourself a sweet young thing in that burrow of yours."
Anthony Sinclair. The man was as wide as he was tall, and that was saying something, since he was as tall as Tristan.
Disgusting slimeball of a human being, he forced the weaker prisoners to wash those parts of him he couldn't reach in the 104
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
shower. And still he smelled like regurgitated molding sewage.
He plopped himself down into a chair, making it creak dangerously under his gargantuan weight while his greasy long hair swept the floor.
Tristan almost gagged. He turned to leave the other way and found his path blocked by Switch.
"Yeah," the scrawny guy agreed. "That's what we heard."
He was the human equivalent of a hyper weasel. His hair was spiked and he had dark circles around his crazed eyes from lack of sleep—his assigned treatment. Sinclair and Switch were joined at the hip. Wherever Sinclair went, Switch followed like a lapdog. He had no choice, really. At barely five feet four, he was the smallest of them all and his life literally depended on Sinclair's size. Parasite.
Tristan sat back down. No point fighting them here. He might get one lucky punch in before the guards rained down on them, and then he'd have to wait until the next ambush to finish it. Might as well save himself the trouble. But even while his mind decided this, his body went on alert, muscles tightening to ready for attack and senses sharpening to catch the smallest change in the environment.
"Word on the block is Sinclair is using your head as a vibrator," he said to Switch. "Should I believe it? It would explain those brown spots around your eyes. And your hair is sort of a shitty color."
Switch's expression turned wrathful, but before he could lash out as he was prone to do, Sinclair put a massive hand on Tristan's shoulder and turned him to face his armpit. "No 105
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
need to fight," he said pleasantly, ever the businessman looking to deal first and crush the opposition later. Often that was literally what he did. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement."
Tristan winced sarcastically. "I don't know, Blubber, I've had some bad experiences with whales before. They always find a way to renege."
Sinclair's chuckle jiggled parts of him in a ripple effect, releasing new and exotic scents from skin folds that hadn't been touched by air in years. "That mouth of yours is gonna get you killed one night," he said. "But I'll take it as a compliment this time. Whales do have the biggest dicks in the whole animal kingdom, don't they? And that's why we're here to talk to you in the first place. It's not nice of you not to let your plaything enjoy it."
"Damn waste is what it is," Switch added, nearly salivating. It was a well-known fact that Sinclair didn't exactly share with the little guy. Instead,
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