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    Blue Skin: Book Three: Blue Skin, #3
    Blue Skin: Book Three: Blue Skin, #3
    Blue Skin: Book Three: Blue Skin, #3
    Ebook171 pages1 hour

    Blue Skin: Book Three: Blue Skin, #3

    By Steven Jenkins

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    About this ebook

    A secret lab. A prison. Deathrow.

     

    Welcome to The Facility.

     

    Broken and alone, Freya must find a way through its thick walls, and free her vampire brother before it's too late.

     

    But beyond the security cameras, the armed guards, and the smell of burnt bodies, something is waiting for her.

     

    Something much worse…

     

     

    The second book in a 5 part vampire dystopian, thriller horror series.

     

     

    WHAT THE READERS ARE SAYING:

    ★★★★★ Can't wait for the next one!

    ★★★★★ Worth the wait!

    ★★★★★ Best yet!

    ★★★★★ A must read!

    ★★★★★ Amazing! Loved it!

    ★★★★★ Highly recommended!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSteven Jenkins
    Release dateDec 3, 2018
    ISBN9781386965299
    Blue Skin: Book Three: Blue Skin, #3
    Author

    Steven Jenkins

    Steven Jenkins is a San Francisco-based cultural critic whose writings on film, music, art, and literature appear in national periodicals, exhibition catalogues, and artist monographs. He is the author of City Slivers and Fresh Kills: The Films of Gordon Matta-Clark and Model Culture: James Casebere, Photographs 1975-1996.

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      Book preview

      Blue Skin - Steven Jenkins

      Blue Skin 3

      Book Three

      Steven Jenkins

      Contents

      Free Books

      NIA STONE

      1.ONE

      FREYA LAWSON

      2.TWO

      3.THREE

      4.FOUR

      SEAN RICHARDS

      5.FIVE

      6.SIX

      FREYA LAWSON

      7.SEVEN

      8.EIGHT

      9.NINE

      SEAN RICHARDS

      10.TEN

      11.ELEVEN

      FREYA LAWSON

      12.TWELVE

      13.THIRTEEN

      14.FOURTEEN

      15.FIFTEEN

      16.SIXTEEN

      BEN LAWSON

      17.SEVENTEEN

      18.EIGHTEEN

      19.NINETEEN

      20.TWENTY

      21.TWENTY-ONE

      22.TWENTY-TWO

      23.TWENTY-THREE

      SEAN RICHARDS

      24.TWENTY-FOUR

      FREYA LAWSON

      25.TWENTY-FIVE

      26.TWENTY-SIX

      27.TWENTY-SEVEN

      28.TWENTY-EIGHT

      SEAN RICHARDS

      29.TWENTY-NINE

      30.THIRTY

      FREYA LAWSON

      31.THIRTY-ONE

      32.THIRTY-TWO

      33.THIRTY-THREE

      34.THIRTY-FOUR

      35.THIRTY-FIVE

      MICHAEL MATTHIAS

      36.THIRTY-SIX

      Blue Skin - Also Available

      Touch - Also Available

      Burn the Dead - Also Available

      Ghost Novels - Also Available

      Novellas - Also Available

      Little Horrors - Also Available

      Liam Tate - Also Available

      Thea - Also Available

      Twisted Locker - Podcast

      Free Books

      About Author

      Follow Author

      Copyright

      Free Books

      For a limited time, you can download FREE copies of Amber, Under, Rotten Bodies, The Den, A Cure for Everything, and Thread.

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      Check out my FREE books at:

      www.stevenjenkinsauthor.com/free-books

      NIA STONE

      ONE

      EIGHTEEN YEARS EARLIER

      My hair is clinging to the pillow, and I’m breathless. It’s so bloody warm. The ceiling fan is on, but it’s barely spinning—and I suppose air-con is too much of a stretch for a hotel this tacky. Green carpets, musty odour, and light-brown wallpaper don’t exactly say classy. I tiptoe across the dimly-lit room to the window and try to open it. Surprise, surprise, the latch is jammed. Just great! I return to the bed, and lie on top of the quilt, staring at Pete as he sleeps. Even after all the crap he’s been through, all the stress, all that he’s left behind, he still manages to fall asleep after sex.

      Typical man.

      No. I take that back. There’s nothing typical about Pete. He’s not like those other arseholes I’ve dated. For one, he actually gives a shit about me. He’d never leave me. And he’d never lay a finger on me.

      I smile, watching his bare chest rise with every soft breath that leaves his mouth. I want to wrap my arms around his toned chest, kiss him on the lips, tell him that I love him, that I’ll always be by his side, no matter what. But he needs his rest. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.

      The clock on the bedside cabinet reads 23:17. I wish I could sleep. The TV’s broken so I can’t even nod off to some dumb movie, and I can’t look at my magazine because it’s too dark to read it. Suppose I’ll just have to lie here, counting down the hours ‘til first light, so we can get in the car, and drive as far away as possible.

      No turning back.

      What’s it going to be like living together, away from my family, friends? Will I miss them? Be tempted to call them?

      No. Pete’s my family now. Why would I need anyone else?

      Sorry, he says, his voice groggy, his emerald eyes gazing back at me, must have nodded off.

      That’s okay, babe, I reply, and then kiss him. How’s the head? Still throbbing?

      A little better, Pete replies, massaging his brow with his finger. I think your magic touch did the trick.

      Glad I could help.

      I switch on the bedside lamp, and the bright light blinds me for a moment. Lose something? I ask when I spot his royal-blue underwear dangling from the lampshade.

      Chuckling, he reaches over me, grabs the underwear, and slips them on. Thought I’d lost them for good.

      His skin looks pale, and his eyes are bloodshot. Probably just the stress. Do you think you’re coming down with something?

      Pete leans in and kisses me on the lips. Stop worrying, Nia. It’s just been a tough couple of days. I’ll be fine when we’re on the road again. He takes my hand. Are you sure about this now? It’s not too late to back out. I mean, I’d totally understand.

      "Of course I’m sure. There’s no way in the world I’d let you do this alone. I beam. And anyway, spending time on the road, just the two of us, sounds like heaven. Don’t you think? We’ll be like Thelma and Louise."

      Pete’s wheezy laugh turns into a cough. "But I get to be Louise."

      Fair enough. The flu, maybe? Chest infection? Probably best if I take the first drive.

      A light from outside seeps into the room. Pete leaps out of bed, racing over to the window.

      Don’t be so paranoid. I sit up, my back against the cold headboard. We’re miles away from your unit.

      Opening the blinds partially, he peeks through the glass. We have to be careful.

      I slip on my nightie and join him by the window. Anyone out there? Looking over his shoulder, I peer down at the hotel car park. It’s dark, with just a security-light shining down on the eight stationary cars. See? There’s no one coming for us. We’re fine. I hold his hand. Now come back to bed.

      Pete’s attention is still fixed on the window.

      Pete? I tug on his arm.

      Sorry, he replies. I just don’t want to lose you.

      I smile. That’s never going to happen.

      You don’t know that, Nia. These people are animals. You don’t know what they’re capable of.

      "I don’t give a shit. I’m not scared of them. They’ll have me to deal with if they try to take you away from me."

      Pete pulls me into a hug. I love you so much, he whispers into my ear. You know that, don’t you?

      Of course I know. And I love you, too. More than anything in the world. I run my fingers through his thick, blond hair, and try to imagine a world without him by my side.

      I can’t. The very notion is beyond comprehension.

      We have to change our names, I point out with a hint of excitement. Like we’re— I wince because there’s a clump of Pete’s hair in my hand, revealing a patch of naked scalp.

      What’s wrong? he asks, pulling out of the hug. Don’t tell him. He’ll only panic.

      Nothing, I reply with a forced smile, balling up the hair in my palm. Just lost my train of thought. I march over to the bathroom, and my stomach turns with worry when I pass the bed. There’s another mound of loose hair on the pillow. I hadn’t noticed it before.

      What the hell did they do to him?

      Do I tell him? Add to his paranoia?

      How does ‘Jane’ sound? I ask, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to remain composed. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, splash some water on my face, and then flush the bundle of hair down the toilet. I’ve always liked ‘Jane’. Seems like a strong name. Maybe Jane Lawson.

      "Why ‘Lawson’?" I can hear the rustling sound of the blinds. He’s spying out the window again.

      Not sure. Just has a nice ring to it. What do you think?

      He doesn’t answer.

      Pete? I say, poking my head out of the bathroom. Did you hear me?

      He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head drooping forward.

      Everything all right? I ask with a knot in my stomach.

      He has his hand cupped over his mouth. There are small droplets of blood seeping between his fingers.

      What have they done to you? I ask, my voice brimming with alarm. I touch his sweaty shoulder, but he brushes my hand away, and then scurries over to the wall.

      Don’t touch me! he mumbles, blood dribbling down his chin, over his chest.

      There’s a tall lamp next to him. I switch it on, and the bright light catches his eyes.

      They’re yellow. Glowing like a cat’s.

      Look at your eyes, Pete, I say, unable to stifle the horror in my voice. What’s happening to you?

      With a deep frown, he makes his way over to the wardrobe mirror. Just before he reaches it, he drops to his knees, clutching his abdomen, his face creased with pain. I race to his side, my arm over his back. "You need a doctor, Pete. Right now."

      Shaking his head, he tries to stand, but falls onto his side, convulsing violently. Run! he groans, his fingernails digging into the carpet. Get away from me!

      I’m not leaving you! I protest. You need a doctor. I’m gonna call an ambulance. I grab my phone from the bedside cabinet.

      I said NO!

      Startled, I drop the phone and press my back against the wall. He’s sick. This isn’t him.

      Not my Pete.

      He spits something onto the carpet. I follow its path and find teeth submerged in a pool of blood.

      They’ve poisoned you, I sob. What did they give you?

      He doesn’t reply. Instead, he tries to crawl on all fours back towards the window, his fingers sinking deep into the floor.

      You need help, Pete, I mutter, just as a hideous crunching sound emanates from his body. Oh, my, God! One vertebra at a time, his spine begins to protrude like giant blisters, the bone almost breaking through the skin. "Tell me what they did to you?"

      A shrill cry of torture leaves his throat, and I recoil in fright. I want to help, but I don’t know how. Like elastic expanding, his thighs start to lengthen. Then his ankles. Holding a hand over my mouth, I retch. My head starts to spin. I feel faint. I try to speak, but the right words are lost.

      I don’t know what to do.

      Then, one by one, his toenails break off—and I throw up on the carpet.

      Body unable to move, stomach burning with acid, I stare with sodden

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