Sanctuary (Roman’s Chronicles #1) Read Online Ilona Andrews

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Myth/Mythology, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Roman's Chronicles Series by Ilona Andrews
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Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
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Fulton gaped at the sword, grabbed Wayne by the arm, and yanked the mercenary leader aside, out of the way.

She was still looking directly at Roman, and he read an unspoken communication in her gaze.

Hit them at the same time.

The last tendril of Roman’s magic slid into place.

He opened his mouth.

The Vasylisa raised her sword.

Roman spoke the last word of the incantation, sinking his magic into it. “…pogibi!”

Perish!

The curse tore out of him, a line of deep darkness vibrating with flashes of purple, streaking forward like a serpent’s tongue. His magic, his raw human power, shaped by his will into a weapon.

The Vasylisa also struck. Blinding fire slid off her sword, cut across the ground, and tore into the dead center of the wheel. It cleaved through the yellow lattice. The ichor met the white fire and sizzled, burning into nothing. The rim of the wheel split with a magic crack. It careened and crashed.

The warrior leapt off a fraction of a moment before the slash had hit, but the priest missed their chance by half a second. Roman’s dark lightning bit into them, jerking the pair into the air. The priest convulsed, screaming in a high-pitched voice. The yellow tendrils vanished. The wheel melted into nothing.

The warrior dashed toward the Vasylisa. She met him head on. They clashed, pale fire and yellow ichor flying.

The priest twisted in the air, still twisted by spasms. With a sharp jerk they yanked their dagger from its sheath.

“No, you bastard!” Roman roared.

The priest stabbed themselves in the heart.

Magic geysered out of their body, a torrent of lifeforce, blood, and power, all surrendered in an ancient, forbidden bargain. The torrent broke into a yellow fog, swallowing the priest. A deafening rumble filled the air, like the sound of an approaching tornado.

“What’s happening?!” Finn yelled.

“The asshole sacrificed themselves! Something is coming!”

The blast of noise vanished, abruptly cut off. Thunder pealed. The yellow fog winked out of existence.

A colossal figure towered above the lawn. A beast, a horrible zoological fractal of terrifying body parts: snapping turtle jaws, crocodile teeth, six narrow, yellow eyes glowing with mad fire, a body twisted together with muscle, sinew, bone, and chitin into a semblance of a lion or maybe an ape… There were no words in Roman’s vocabulary to adequately describe it.

It opened its mouth. Gobs of yellow ichor fell onto the trees, and yellow tendrils spiraled out from the splatter, choking the pines. A bellow rolled out. The wave of alien magic hit Roman. He thrust Klyuv out and braced, gripping Finn by the shoulder.

It was like trying to hold back a raging river. Instantly, he knew that nothing in his arsenal would touch it. He was almost spent. It took all of his remaining power to shield them from its roar.

At the other end of the lawn, the Vasylisa screamed, her voice completely silent, drowned out by the wall of sound. Fulton’s mages had linked their arms into a circle around the rest of the mercenaries, trying to protect them with their combined power. One of Wayne’s snipers, caught outside of the circle, made a desperate break for it but exploded from the inside out in mid-step, drenching the snow with gore.

The beast shut its mouth, looking around.

Roman had no choice. He would have to swallow his pride or everyone around them would die. This thing would kill Finn, the Vasylisa, him, the mercenaries, and then it would move on to Dabrowski and Schatten, and then to the outskirts of the city.

He had to buy time to bargain.

“Finn, ask Morena for the wail!”

The kid blinked. “What would a whale do? There is no water!”

“For fuck’s sake, kid! Don’t you know anything? The scream! Ask her for her scream!”

Finn looked up, whispering.

The colossus shifted its weight. The ground trembled. It hadn’t even taken a step yet.

Finn’s eyes rolled back into his head. His mouth opened.

An unearthly wail ripped from Finn’s mouth, a raw, overpowering sound of pure anguish, the cry of a goddess abandoned, tormented, and betrayed by her family. The sheer potency of it was stupefying. It hit the colossus, and the creature staggered back, stunned for a few moments.

Roman shut his eyes, seeking the familiar darkness.

A figure loomed before him, his presence more than any human could endure.

I need help.

Silence.

If you don’t help me, the boy will perish. She will be angrier.

An image of the fir tree abandoned in the snow appeared before him.

Yes, fine, I will drag the tree.

The unfathomable power that was Chernobog reached out and touched him.

Roman was back on the porch. Power filled him, spreading from him like a dark mantle. It coalesced, and he felt the familiar weight of Chernobog’s spiked crown on his brow.

Finn, who had doubled over, jerked up straight with a startled gasp.

Roman was Darkness, eternal and ever-changing. The end of all things. The Final Cold.


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