By Michael P. Spradlin
The Western Territories, 1880. For 4 years Civil struggle veteran and previous U.S. Cavalry Captai Jonas P. Hollister has been rotting in a jail mobile at fortress Leavenworth, Kansas. His crime: mendacity in regards to the lack of 11 squaddies below his command . . . who he claims have been slaughtered through a ban of nonhuman, blood-drinking demons
But now a recognized customer, the detective Allan Pinkerton, has arrived with an order for Hollister's free up. The brutal homicide of a gaggle of Colorado miners in a way frighteningly just like the deaths of Hollister's males has leant new credence to his wild story. And all at once Jonas Hollister reveals himself on a quest either harmful and dark--joining forces with Pinkerton, the gunsmith Oliver Winchester, an ex-fellow prisoner, a lady of poser, and a foreigner named Abraham Van Helsing, who is aware many stuff in regards to the monsters of the night--and driving hell for leather-based towards an epic disagreement . . . with the undead
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Extra info for Blood Riders
Umlaut focused, questioning the cat in more detail. " he exclaimed. "The one who came with Jenny Elf, before she got married and settled down. " Except home, it turned out. It seemed that Sammy Cat had felt a bit out of place among the werewolves—Jenny was now a princess of werewolves—so had decided to go on his own mission. He had changed his mind but was unable to return to the werewolf island and Jenny because that was now home. "Maybe we can make a deal," Umlaut suggested. " He glanced at Sesame to make sure she agreed.
He wasn't ready to go home yet. "For sure," Breanna murmured, seeing the way of it. " She looked pensive half a moment. " There was a swirl of smoke in the air before them. It formed into a vaguely human face. "Salubrious," it said. " Umlaut asked. " "Whatever," the face said crossly, as a voluptuous body extended downward from it. "Oh, hello, Metria," Breanna said. " She turned to the others. " The shape was now fully formed, with a drooping decolletage over a very full bosom and lifting skirt over a similarly full bottom.
Reasonably soon they reached the sea. Sammy stopped. " Umlaut asked, dismayed. " That was the case. " Sammy made a stiff-backed circle. That wasn't what Umlaut had said. He had asked for the trail, not the carrier. "I guess I wasn't very clear," Umlaut admitted. "You're right. Now we'd better go find Werewolf Island. " But then Sammy changed his mind. Home could wait. Would it be all right if he stayed with them for a while, sharing their adventure? One reason he had changed his mind before was the danger; it had seemed as if every predator had a taste for fat cat.