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    Malice and Madness: The Hunter Vampire Chronicles, #2
    Malice and Madness: The Hunter Vampire Chronicles, #2
    Malice and Madness: The Hunter Vampire Chronicles, #2
    Ebook85 pages1 hour

    Malice and Madness: The Hunter Vampire Chronicles, #2

    By Juliet Boyd

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    About this ebook

    Following a heart can lead to madness.

    When Rag chases a witch into the Underland, he isn’t prepared for what he finds - a land where the fantastical is even more fantastic than what he’s used to and, as far as he can tell, no way back. 

    Bones goes in search of him and encounters a different kind of madness - locked up with companions he wouldn’t choose as friends. 

    Can Flynn and Ellie help them? Will a cat be the solution to all their problems? Or will the all-powerful queen win out?

    This Alice-themed vampire novella continues the story of the four Hunter Vampires as they try to recapture the monsters they set free. Buy it today to discover their fate.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJuliet Boyd
    Release dateOct 12, 2017
    ISBN9781386196457
    Malice and Madness: The Hunter Vampire Chronicles, #2
    Author

    Juliet Boyd

    Juliet lives in Somerset in the south-west of England. She used to work in administration, but now writes full-time. Her main writing interests are fantasy, science fiction, weird fiction, horror and flash fiction. Details of her work are available on her website.

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      Book preview

      Malice and Madness - Juliet Boyd

      MALICE AND MADNESS

      The Hunter Vampire Chronicles

      Part 2

      JULIET BOYD

      Copyright © 2017 Juliet Boyd

      All rights reserved.

      Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and situations portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any reference to an actual event, product or location is used in an entirely fictitious manner.

      Discover my other work now at

      www.julietboyd.com

      For Shay and Clyde.

      Thank you for the little pockets of light in a world of madness.

      Chapter 1

      It was a clear night. A waning moon sat low in the sky, but it was obliterated by the artificial lighting, that slightly yellowish glow given off by the lampposts that blurred your perception. It was difficult to find anywhere there was significant shadow. Anywhere to hide.

      And yet Rag had no idea where Malice had gone.

      He slowed to an amble, let his senses reach out across the unmistakable stench of city nightlife, searching for some sign, some clue, some hint of her personal signature. Eventually, he caught it. The relief came out as a sigh. He wouldn’t have to go back to the others and say he’d failed, when they’d put their trust in him, when he’d smugly, and slightly menacingly said, ‘I’ve got this.’ He smiled. The kind of smile that could send you to hell.

      The scent led him on a circuitous route that ended up at a manhole cover in the middle of a semi-industrial street, where those less well off had to put up with a daily influx of workers, noise and, sometimes, unsavoury aromas — sewers aside. He’d been in the sewers before, but it wasn’t somewhere he relished visiting. Who would? How bad would it be to say he’d failed? But he hated the looks. The ones that said, ‘You’re not pulling your weight,’ just because he sometimes wanted to do his own thing.

      He took a deep breath, lifted the manhole cover, and lowered himself down into the dark void of icky.

      Acute senses were not the best in this kind of situation, not all of them.

      A layer of unsavoury water covered the floor of the tunnel that would make silent steps impossible. He listened intently and heard the faintest whisper of footfalls. He headed in that direction. What was the worst that could happen? He came face to face with a sewer worker? He tripped and landed face down in the water?

      There was some light from the widely-spaced lamps attached to the arched ceiling, but sewer tunnels had a habit of all looking the same. They were like a desert landscape, or one of those never-ending straight roads. They lulled your brain into infinite boredom through lack of stimulus. And following a sound through endless tunnels was like finding the real face in a hall of mirrors. He really didn’t want to use his sense of smell.

      He ought to go back, into the land of the mostly living. He ought to do anything but carry on.

      But the glory of catching her by himself. He needed that.

      He turned a corner and her presence hit him in sledgehammer fashion. He upped his pace.

      Another turn and the tunnel felt as if it were going down, which was odd, because the watery sludge wasn’t sliding in that direction.

      It wasn’t just that. Everything started to look weird. It had to be the fumes, or toxins. It certainly wasn’t normal.

      For instance, ahead of him looked as though the tunnel was getting narrower and lower. As if it were disappearing into infinity, more than would be natural. Like an idiot, he lowered his head to compensate. He couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t any need, he tested it with an outstretched arm, but the illusion was too great, as if it had been painted on. They called that something. Trump thingamajig? The false image pressed down upon his senses. The whole experience made his steps wobble. He wasn’t going mad. Except, he might’ve been.

      Lack of blood.

      He did need to feed soon. It had been more than one day.

      He’d been following her for a whole day?

      He should’ve given up. Shame was one thing, lost causes another.

      He turned.

      He couldn’t make himself retrace his steps. He felt nauseous. Odd.

      Rats began to scuttle around his feet. They looked marginally tasty. He grabbed for one and missed, tripped and fell to his knees. He realised there were a lot of them milling around. They seemed to be congregating at the end of the tunnel, as if this were the place to go. Each one stared at him, sniffed, and then turned away.

      Yes, I stink of shit, he said, but so do you.

      He sat there for minutes, unable to will himself to get up, in the stupid tunnel that wasn’t what it was. Where everyone died trying to get out and the rats were able to feast on the remains for weeks. More like hours, given how many of them there were. Death by rat. It didn’t sound pleasant. Death was never pleasant. He ought to know. He’d seen it many times.

      Also, been there, done that.

      He pushed himself up and as he did so, a rat bit him. He squealed and kicked out and shouted. Rage turned

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