Page 19 of Beneath Hoof and Hollow
Their guns lower. All six stand there, mouths hanging wide, completely entranced. Is this really working? Turning, I walk slowly back toward the pumpkin patch.
“Come to my voice,
I’ve a secret to tell,
Deep in the trees,
Where all shadows do dwell.”
I’m almost back to the scarecrow. There’s no sign of Fierdon. All six men have followed me and are standing just feet away.
“Come to my voice,
A surprise waits for thee,
So follow, yes, follow,
And soon you will see.”
When my song stops, that glazed look in their eyes clears. One lifts his rifle. My heart beats so hard that I mistake it for the distant sounds now growing in volume. But it is not my pounding heart that fills the still night air. It is the pounding of hooves.
“What’s that sound?” one man asks, panicky.
I see Fierdon before the others. I’m immediately swept up in the dark whimsy of him as he barrels through the woods on that skeletal stallion.
Their attentions cut away from me and toward the darkened tree line. I smile despite my fear. “The Horseman approaches.”
Chapter Eight
The Horseman
Bones don’t make for a comfortable saddle, but after being locked away for so long, I’d take screaming pain over darkness and confinement. My muscles awaken fully as I ride. Alive. I’m alive and ready to hunt for any guilty vermin my nightingale deems worthy of punishment.
Horace whinnies beneath me. His strides are larger than ever before as he pushes himself to run faster and faster. It seems we’ve both been desperate to stretch our legs.
The men gawking at Emeline whirl toward the sound of Horace’s hooves. There are six of them. Six chances to shed blood and flex my killing muscles. Metal shrieks as I draw my blade. Four of the men flee. But two stand frozen in shock . With my sword raised high, I cut down the firstman. He’s a hardy bastard, but my pent-up rage and unspent energy lend me unbelievable strength. My sword cuts through him as easily as if his neck were a dainty daisy stem. His head tumbles to the ground, tongue lolling out of its slack jaw.
Blood pounds through my body, hot and loose, settling in my fully erect cock. If only there were a way to have Emeline while I slaughtered, to bury my cock between her thighs while I hunted down each man. She would look too perfect squeezed into the saddle before me. Each gallop jarring our bodies, forcing my cock deeper. Blood spraying across her bare chest as I hacked and slashed at my victims.
I expect Emeline to scream, but her gaze doesn’t follow the severed head where it lands. She watches me as I cleave the skull from the much shorter second man. He had sense enough to run once I killed his companion, but his frightened footsteps only carried him a few feet away. The second headhitsthe forest floor with a thump.
Emeline is breathing heavily, mouth parted, nipples peaked. Having a naked, gorgeous woman watch me dismember the men of her village is a turn-on like nothing before. I need to finish with these fools and return to her at once.
The scent of her cunt practically floats to me on the dark night breeze. The mouthwatering aroma of her becomes weaker as I leave her behind, seeking out the four who ran off. Horace covers the ground easily, his skeletal form moving like a ghost through the trees. The first man to see me coming chooses to sacrifice his neighbor. He shoves the man next to him down. I don’t even slow. My sword tip drags through the neck of the man where he lies screaming. One swipe and his head rolls free.
The man who shoved him is weak, his character flaw beaming in the moments before his death. Humans are so quick to turn on one another.
His scream is ear-piercingas I shove my sword between his shoulder blades. I’ve chosen a spot above his heart, ensuring his death is not instant. Lifting him up, I skewer him, his legs still running midair. I let him writhe and cry as I near the fifth victim. As I close in, I flick my sword forward, flinging the man’s bodyoff and using it to topple a lanky figure with surprising speed despite his non-athletic gait.
The injured man keens as he pins his friend to the ground. Horace turns sharply. We make a tight circle around the two, carving a path that catches both heads.
There’s only one man left. His heavy breathing gives him away. He’s wheezing, the kind of sound that only forms when you’re fighting to hold back a scream but breathing too heavily to keep it properly trapped inside. He’s the tallest of the group. His legs cover a surprising distance. The small collection of Sleepy Hollow homes comes into view as he trips across the tree line.
I can’t have him knocking on some stranger’s door and thwarting me from keeping my promise to Emeline.
My arm cranks back. I grunt as I launch my sword. It hits my target, slicing through his abdomen and pinning him to the nearest tree. He screams, wailing in pain. I don’t want to draw Itrimort’s attention until I’ve recovered my full strength. I make quick work of this one, yanking my sword from his abdomen and slicing his head free.
My blade beckons me, slick with fresh ruby blood. Raising it to my mouth, I drag my tongue along the edge. Crimson coats my mouth, making it momentarily visible. Almost as sweet as Emeline.
