By Alex Archer, Jean Rabe
In Charlemagne's footsteps, a guy who will be Holy Emperor…
It was once the type of net posting certain to allure the eye of the yank cable television convey Chasing History's Monsters: "Dog-headed males sighted through travelers in Avignon." attracted to France to discover the parable of Saint Christopher and the cynocephalus, or the dog-headed, archaeologist and tv host Annja Creed unearths herself again and again and inexplicably particular via vicious mercenaries. Her top protection is to track this brutal violence again to its resource, which she quickly discovers to be a millionaire and self-professed descendant of King Charlemagne.
Caught up in a romantic and ruthless sixth-century global, the guy is confident that if he collects mankind's most beneficial and holy swords, he can satisfy his medieval ancestor's failed target to construct town of God. And he's stealing the necessary relics one after the other to arm his modern day paladins. Now he has his eye on a really certain sword—Annja's.
And he'll need to kill her to get it.
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Additional info for City of Swords (Rogue Angel, Book 39)
Taking an opportunity it wasn’t Lawson, she yelled for assist in French, English and German, repeating the cycle, then preventing and listening back. She heard laughter, then voices back. She ultimately learned they have been coming from a degree or extra larger. The skulls have been performing as audio system to funnel the sound. Whoever used to be speaking most likely didn’t pay attention her, yet she attempted back, besides. not anything. “Dammit. ” She shivered. It was once as chilly as a wine cellar down the following. Annja’s stolen flashlight died. And now it used to be pitch-dark. bankruptcy 31 “Dammit,” Annja repeated. She had to get out and record the liquid nerve gasoline. “Hey! ” she screamed. “Help! ” She dropped the dead flashlight and groped in the back of her, working her palms over soft bones and damaged bones, getting momentarily tangled in a rib cage, then discovering stone. She traced it—the lip of the passage that will lead who knew the place. operating her hand alongside the wall, she tentatively moved ahead. before everything she stepped carefully. Exploring the Paris underground was once extra harmful than caving. such a lot of sections had collapsed, and gaps had opened in flooring resulting in nonetheless deeper chambers. One misstep may well ship her into oblivion... after which nobody may know about the nerve fuel until eventually it was once too overdue. The passage narrowed, rather a lot that Annja scraped her shoulders. She went a couple of dozen steps sooner than it widened and he or she couldn’t contact either partitions even as. one other chamber. “Hello? ” Her voice didn’t echo again. She selected to move correct, jogging that means until eventually she encountered anything. Stone, then extra bones. Her hands fluttered up and down; the bones reached from flooring to ceiling, feeling as though they have been stacked so as, with the most important at the backside, the skulls on the most sensible. a few have been small and fragile, together with the cranium of an toddler. She persisted carefully, probing forward together with her palms and toes, discovering a mound of... whatever at the flooring and dealing her means round it. A crunching sound signaled that she’d walked throughout small bones. They stretched for a couple of yards, then her toes discovered stone back. “Hello! ” she known as out. “Bonjour! Allô! ” not anything. “Anyone the following? ” A pause. She listened and attempted back. “I need assistance! Au secours! ” there has been no solution. notwithstanding it was once tough to bet the passing of time, Annja used to be sure she’d been down the following not less than an hour. Her enamel endured to chatter, and she’d touched a place of wall that had frost on it. She used to be absolutely lacking different passages, yet she alternated going left and correct, feeling bones right here and there after which not anything yet stone for what felt like one other hour. She tripped in a melancholy, picked herself up and felt huge, deep scratches at the wall. Initials: JM & BR. the sides have been sharp and stone dirt flaked away; they’d been carved particularly lately, by means of cataphiles, probably. “Hello! Bonjour! Allô! somebody the following? ” She kicked one other helmet with a damaged gentle, a canvas sack. In frustration, she stopped and leaned opposed to the stone. The chilly had seeped into each pore, and Annja’s ft have been beginning to cross numb.