By David L. McAfee
Jerusalem, 33 A.D. The vampires of the period have lengthy sought to realize a foothold into Israel, however the religion of the neighborhood Jewish inhabitants has held them in payment for hundreds of years.
When one in every of their very own betrays them to stick to an odd younger rabbi from Galilee, the elders of the vampire race dispatch Theron, a 9 hundred yr outdated murderer, to kill them both.
The rabbi's identify is Jesus. Killing him may be effortless.
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Additional info for 33 A.D.
Theron turned and entered the room, closing the door behind him. Inside, the stone walls gave way to a deep, varnished wood that glowed in the restless light of several lamps, which burned from all four sides of the room. Theron wrinkled his nose at the acrid scent of lamp oil. He’d never cared for lamplight, preferring the dancing light of a torch or, even better, his enhanced night vision. On the walls, portraits of various sizes depicted the thirteen members of the Council. Small statues stood like miniature sentinels upon a shelf on the back wall.
It joined the many tunics in his bag. Just as he picked up a pair of worn breeches, a noise outside his door caught his attention. What was that? Ephraim froze, craning his ears and trying desperately to catch the elusive sound. He stood silent and still for sixty long seconds, muscles tense and booted feet nailed to the floor. The breeches hung from his fingers like a mouse in a raptor’s claw. He eyed the sickle-shaped sword on the opposite wall, ready to spring over and grab it if necessary. Although the sword was very old, he kept it sharp and in perfect balance, not easy to do with a khopesh.
Sure enough, two red cloaked legionaries stood watch at the gate, their steel breastplates glinting dully in the moonlight. Theron couldn’t tell if they were posted there or if they just happened to stop for a break. Either way, their presence was damned inconvenient. The threat of dawn lingered less than an hour away, which meant he didn’t have much time to wait for them to move on. As the two legionaries settled into a comfortable conversation, one of them produced a set of dice, much to the delight of the other.
33 A.D. by David L. McAfee