Grendel's Curse (Rogue Angel, Book 48)

By Alex Archer, Steven Savile

A sword of legend within the arms of an extremist…

Skalunda Barrow, Sweden, has lengthy been rumored to be the ultimate resting position of the mythical Nordic hero Beowulf. And there's whatever of Beowulf's that charismatic and zealous right-wing baby-kisser Karl Thorssen desires very badly. rationale on getting his palms at the legendary sword Nægling, Sweden's golden-boy politico places jointly a crew to excavate the barrow. A crew that American archaeologist Annja Creed manages to finagle her manner onto. She wouldn't pass over this attainable discovery for something.

With Nægling at his aspect, Thorssen will be invincible…a Nordic King Arthur. What his fans don't know—and Annja is commencing to suspect—is simply how a long way Thorssen will visit in achieving his rabid amibitions. whilst Thorssen marks Annja for dying, she fast realizes that this can be even more than a political video game. And the one approach to live to tell the tale is to compare Thorssen's sword together with her personal.

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He had virtually requested the fellow to get rid of the nurse’s physique, however the murderer had by no means been out to the home sooner than. Doing so now went past the boundaries in their courting. It uncovered Thorssen to extra dangers. hazards he was once averse to taking. He was once particularly in a position to going in the nurse’s automobile and riding her physique far-off from the following. It didn’t take a genius to eliminate a corpse. He will be performed ahead of his mom again. Thorssen had nearly forgotten he nonetheless had the sword in his correct hand. Nægling used to be changing into a part of him now. lots so he felt unusual whilst it used to be no longer in his grip. Bereft. Stranger than that used to be the yearning he felt, the thirst and starvation that pulled at him and demanded to be chuffed. A unmarried inspiration ruled his brain: he needs to flow the woman’s motor vehicle. clear of right here. As distant from his domestic as attainable. His hand throbbed with boring soreness. He was once virtually unaware of it now. If simply the nurse had stitched the wound as he’d requested. yet no. She needed to meddle. To fuss. Like his mom. He regarded down at his hand. The dressing used to be nearly dry; the lower had clotted yet now not closed. The pink swelling within the middle had hardened to shape a brand new layer of epidermis. He flexed his hand, stretching and shutting his arms, startled to discover the surface break up a bit extra, to bare that the hot dermis prolonged past the lower. The metamorphosis wasn’t basically affecting his brain. He used to be altering. Thorssen felt the urge to drag and tease on the fringe of cut up dermis and rip it away simply as he had with the crusted coating that had shielded Nægling all these years it used to be underground. glance what had occurred to the sword while it were printed, the transformation. He may possibly basically start to think what he could locate becoming inside of him, the level of the transformation it used to be engaged on him. yet which may wait. Practicalities needed to come first. He rolled the nurse into the rug she had fallen on and retrieved her motor vehicle keys from her purse. it might be more uncomplicated to cast off the carpet than to wash it. The rug used to be more uncomplicated to raise than he’d expected. He hoisted the carpet onto his shoulder, and felt the again of his blouse stretch and pull. He manhandled the corpse right into a cozy place to hold out of the home. He opened the trunk of the small automobile she’d arrived in and bundled her inside of, cautious to maintain the rug wrapped round all of her. This wasn’t his first time getting rid of a corpse. He’d buried the sword smith within the patch of flooring behind the man’s condominium. having said that, the mundaneness of it used to be distasteful to his new rising self. He used to be a warrior. they'd fallen. It used to be now not his position to bury the lifeless. He checked out himself within the rearview replicate, at eyes he didn’t realize, a query forming in his brain: If i will be able to care for loss of life like this, if i will be able to get my arms soiled, why do i want the murderer? 31 “How’s that for an front? ” Garin Braden seemed up at Annja, devilish grin fastened firmly in position as he pulled apart a stack of burning hymnbooks from the pile underneath her ft. He aimed the hearth extinguisher on the damaged wooden, dampening it down lengthy sufficient for him to climb as much as the place she hung.

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