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Tales of the Executioners

Joleene Naylor is the author of the glitter-less Amaranthine vampire universe, a world where vampires aren't for children. Comprised of a main series, a standalone prequel, and several short story collections, she has plans to continue expanding with a trilogy and standalone novels. In her spare time, Joleene is a freelance book cover designer and for-fun photographer. She maintains several blogs, full of odd ramblings, and occasionally updates her website at JoleeneNaylor.com. In what little time is left, she watches anime, plays PokemonGo, and works on her crooked Victorian house in Villisca, Iowa. Between her husband, family, and pets, she is never lonely, in fact, quite the opposite. Should she disappear, one might look for her on a beach in Tahiti, sipping a tropical drink and wearing a disguise. Twenty-nine short stories of love, death, heartbreak, and blood. Meet the Executioners, elite enforcers of the vampires’ laws. Walk with them through origin stories, follow them across the sea to the colonies, and run with them through the wilds, as they try to bring civilization to a land ruled by “day sleeper” clans. Fifteen interwoven stories tell the beginning of The Guild, set under the watchful - and sometimes malevolent - gaze of the ancient Malick, whose heavy shadow stretches even across the sea. Meet his favorite son, his willful daughter, his child-like pet, and many more whose jealousies, hatreds, and loves twist together to create consequences they can’t foresee.

Joleene Naylor · Horror
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186 Chs

Chapter 183: Obrad Waylaid, Part 1

This story takes place fifteen years after Roger's, and begins in Missouri.

***

Obrad stood knee deep in weeds and double checked his phone. The text said he was in the right place. He checked over the abandoned house and scraggily yard. It looked like a vampire den, even smelled vaguely like one, but there were no vampires, and no humans, for that matter. Supposedly a group of rogues had taken up residence. With rogues came high human casualties, often torn to shreds and left to rot, but there was nothing. Just a vague smell, as if vampires had been there a couple of days ago.

Obrad sniffed again, searching for the scent of decay, something you usually found in rogue dens. He'd seen basements with corpses piled high, and one group who'd made furniture from the humans' skulls. He'd never seen clean, tidy rogues.

Maybe the other two will find something.