I crawl into the corner. Ashamed. Too weak to do anything.
The tall man shouts Daniel’s name, and Daniel pulls out his dagger, charging towards the first demon. Laughing, the demon strikes out and swats Daniel to the floor like an insect. I hold back from running to Daniel as he lies still on the floor.
Has he died too?
Light from the street shines through the entrance, illuminating the three, not two, demons. Dark, shaggy hair falls across their faces, but their features are shadowed. Three of them and three of us—but I’m no match.
Reuben shouts and swears at one of the demons, who laughs at him but doesn’t approach as he catches sight of an object in Reuben’s hands. I can’t make out what he’s holding, but it’s not his dagger. Daniel remains prone on the ground.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Daniel move. The group of demons focus on Reuben. When Reuben moves the item glints, but the size and shape are hidden. As Daniel edges across the floor towards me, the demons don’t drop their focus on his friend.
“I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely to Daniel, “I don’t think I can help.”
“You can’t. You have to hide.” He points to a metal object in the corner, a derelict machine as tall as I am and about two metres across. “Behind there.”
“Daniel…”
“Be Ava. Be strong and survive.” He seizes my face and crushes my mouth with a kiss dragging my remaining breath from my aching lungs. “Now hide.”
I glance back to the demons, who remain transfixed on Reuben. My brain can’t take any more in one night. Even if I had answers, I couldn’t absorb them. Daniel stands and doesn’t look at me again.
No goodbye.
I do as he says and huddle into a corner behind the metal structure. Covering my head with my arms, I wait for somebody to locate me.
A light flashes across the room and blinds my vision, yanking away the last piece of consciousness I grip onto.
When I open my eyes again, I’m back in the sterility of the soulhunter world. The ceiling of the training academy hangs above me, the bright lights dazzling.
What happens to me now?
16
TWO YEARS LATER
I don’t “do” back alleys anymore. The kind of demons who hang around dank alleyways are boring. Stupid. No fun. And, while I’m stuck in this perpetual hell, I’m having fun. Even if it kills me. Besides, why spend the best part of a week stuck amongst humans, waiting for the dumb demons to start tracking me? Instead, I find them and finish my mission promptly.
Daniel was right, I’m a hunter, and I won’t be hunted. The quicker I find the souls, the sooner I go back with one.
I’m good. After two years, I’m the only surviving member of my original training group. Only four others returned the night I lost Sarah and Daniel. All guys, but not Tom. They wouldn’t recognise me now—I don’t recognise me now. My hair is aqua blue and changes colour with my moods. My eyes are hidden behind a wall of black make-up. I may as well carry a warning sign: don’t fuck with me.
But the demons still try. Idiots.
I rub a finger around the rim of my whisky glass and look across the bar. Like this demon. He knows what I am, and I know what he is, but the demon can’t resist. He thinks his strength is greater or we’re equal. The problem is he’s wrong. They’re always wrong. I hang in bars where I pick them up, or sometimes I wait for the demons to hit on me. Occasionally humans do too—the idea of touching one of them nauseates me as much as when a demon attempts to put his mouth on mine.
But that’s my jealousy and anger at the human life—pity would be a better emotion, considering their physical weakness and ageing. But I have no pity. I hate they have what I want—freedom—and have no appreciation how lucky they are.
I always sit alone, watching those around me. I choose quiet bars because I still hate the noise of human clubs, and because they remind me of the day Sarah died and Daniel disappeared.
I think Daniel died, no one ever mentioned him again. He was as expendable as the rest of us. Some days I like to think he survived and that he isn’t mentioned because he betrayed the academy and the high angels. The days I tune into the fantasy become fewer as the months pass. The truth is, I don’t want to admit that Daniel died. Because that means one day I will too.
I catch the eye of a demon and turn on my act: silly drunk soulhunter, depressed by her life and looking for solace. Suicidal sex. Then once he’s drunk enough, we leave.
My usual plan of attack works again tonight. The hotel room we head to contains a bed and the usual hotel desk, chair, and little else. My stays in the world are always the same, just different levels of luxury and quality. I can’t wait to wipe off the smug smile he brought into the room with him.
The demon runs his hand along my forearm, the tickling sensation repulsive, not arousing. As far as demons can be, he’s not bad looking. A bit skinny but there’s something sexy about his deep brown eyes and stubbled jawline. Sexy? Ugh.
I switch my brain off and tell myself this is the easiest way. Fighting them hurts; seducing them is quick and generally painless.
“Why’d you bring me here, soulhunter?” he asks, stepping forward and wrapping his arm around my waist.
In response, I place my hands on his chest. Taut muscles, but I’ve touched better. I gauge the demon’s strength from his grip, and by running my hands along his body. Average. Easy.
“Life is lonely. Boring. I saw you, and I know you’re a demon, but I’d rather screw you than a human,” I say and add just the right amount of slur to my voice.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you?”
I moisten my lips and then bite down coyly, looking from under my lashes. The demon’s eyes darken, and his grip on my waist tightens. “No. We can fight after we’re done. I’m willing to risk the consequences.”
The demon grins, and his hands roam across my waist and under my shirt, his eyes on mine the whole time. I slap his hand.
“Checking for weapons, sweetheart.”
Stepping back, I unsheathe the dagger from the belt of my jeans and place the blade on the table. “Like that one? How about you?”
He laughs. “As if I need a weapon.”
We stand opposite each other, and I hope he doesn’t see the shudder in response to his sweeping gaze of my figure, the way he focuses on the swell of my breasts beneath my tight black top. The thought of the tongue currently moistening his lips anywhere near me sickens my stomach. Focus. His look travels back to mine. Oh, here we go…
Seconds later, the demon crushes me to the wall, and I twist my head away before his mouth can meet mine. He chooses to kiss my neck instead. Wrapping my hair around his hands, he pulls my head back. I remain compliant, heart racing from adrenaline. Gross, gross, gross. But if he had any bloody sense, he’d restrain my arms. Demons and sense? Ha ha.
I twist around, duck under his arm, and jab an elbow into his throat. In surprise, he drops my hair, then grabs for me. I dodge and back away, waiting for his predictable next move. I meet his attempt at a body slam with my signature move—kick him in the balls so he sinks to his knees. With my strength he underestimated, I kick my heavy boot into his head, and he falls backward. I manage all this before the poor bastard realises what’s happening here.
“You fucking…”
He can’t say anymore because I stand on his throat. Wide eyes look back at mine, shock registering. I grin at him as he looks over to my dagger on the table.
“Do you think I’d let you touch me if I didn’t have a weapon?” I pull the dagger from my boot and lean down, the shining metal point against his cheek.
He tries to talk but all I hear is a rasping sound. If we were still against the wall, I’d stab him now, but this position is too awkward. I’d have to release him first, and that won’t happen. I push down with my boot, restricting his windpipe until his eyes glaze into unconsciousness.
“Thanks for the drink,” I sa
y.
He’s unaware when I stab him through his dark heart.
See, I can be merciful sometimes.
*
I step out of Darius’s office with my heart bouncing around in my chest, Two years is a long time to survive in the field, and a bloody long time to be knocked back by Darius every time I ask when I’ll gain my freedom. The demon from the hotel room equaled soul number 149, and now I finally have my last assignment. After 150, I’m done. Allegedly.
Small problem.
Darius wants me to retrieve a nephilim soul.
What the ever-loving hell?
How does Darius think I’ll manage to take down a nephilim? That’s a soulhunter suicide mission. I pull out the picture he gave me and remember the first time I saw a picture of one in Daniel’s class. This one’s a good-looking guy. I’d see the attraction if it weren’t for the smug arrogance hidden in his expression. Or is this look supposed to be seductive? Who knows, I guess you have to be pretty self-assured to spend your life seducing people. Or pretend to be self-assured, like I do.
I shudder, remembering Daniel’s words about not surviving against nephilim.
But I’m not that Ava. The confused, frightened Fated girl left long ago, and I’m fucking good at what I do. Daniel told me I can survive, and I’m still here.
Daniel. Some days memories of him and the few days we spent together, in conflict and more, encroach. I replay the night Sarah died and summon as many images as I can to figure out who Daniel was with and what they were doing. I replay their conversation over and over, but nothing makes sense. My injured state at the time doesn’t help. Was Reuben another soulhunter? Did demons kill them both? I don’t know what happened to Daniel, but whatever his fate, I sure as hell won’t let that happen to me.
One more soul, and I’m out of here.
I glance down at the photograph in my hand. Well, Keir, you’re my lucky last. Shoving the image into my back pocket, I stride out of the academy.
Bring it on, nephilim boy.
Epilogue
KEIR
“Another soulhunter arrived today.”
“Already?” I ask, unable to hide the exasperation.
Dahlia nods at me, mouth pulled tight. We sit on a bench in the midst of the university campus, as students stream by. I watch from the corner of my eye, head down attempting to keep a low profile. Feigning shyness stops most approaching us. Not every girl, but Dahlia helps in that respect—our constant proximity sends out the wrong signals about our relationship, but this suit us.
“For fuck’s sake, can they not give up their lost cause?” I rub my hand across my face. Not again. Not another one.
“Evidently not.” Dahlia pulls her phone from the laptop bag, which dwarves her body. “Her.”
She passes me the phone, and I stare at the picture. A girl with a cascade of blue-green hair, wearing a short dress and motorcycle boots. Unaware the nephilim she’s seeking has a friend as smart as this chick thinks she is.
“What the hell is she doing? I thought soulhunters were supposed to blend in?”
Dahlia arches an eyebrow. “Like I once did, you mean?”
“Blending in is smart. Standing out like a sore thumb? Not so smart.”
“And however hard you try, you can’t manage to blend in,” she mutters.
“What can I say? Body of an angel…” I straighten and wink at her.
Dahlia thumps me in the chest. “Half angel. And so in love with yourself.”
“What’s not to like?”
Moments like this, silliness and relaxed banter, become fewer and fewer. I’ve killed six soulhunters in as many months, and still the angels send more. I’m not sure whether to be pissed off or flattered they think killing me is crucial. Whatever the reason, the soulhunters keep coming. I’m unsure exactly how Dahlia feels about me killing soulhunters—people she possibly grew up with. But I struggle to figure out what the guarded Dahlia is thinking or feeling, period.
“Do you know her name?” I ask.
“Ava. She’s signed up for the same classes as us, so I imagine we’ll meet her real soon.”
I peer at the phone. “Is this the only picture?”
“Why? It’s not as if we’ll have problems locating someone who looks like her, is it?”
“Just curious.”
Dahlia narrows her eyes at me, reading what I’m trying to hide. Okay, some of the soulhunters they send are easy on the eye and willing to try seduction as an aid to killing me. Usually I’ll snap their necks before their clothes are off, but I’ve had more fun with one or two of them.
“What?” I ask Dahlia.
“Don’t do the same thing with Ava. It’s disgusting.”
“What is? Me killing them or the sex?”
Dahlia turns pink, I think with embarrassment but, because it’s Dahlia, she might just be pissed off with me.
“I don’t kill them, unless they try to kill me first!” I protest.
“And you don’t screw them unless they try to screw you first?” The pink creeps across to her ears.
I poke her. “On both counts, they just can’t help themselves. One, they’re told to do. The other… well, who can blame them?”
Now Dahlia knows I’m playing around, and she rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Keir. But sooner or later, they’ll send one cleverer than the others.”
“As clever as you, you mean?”
Dahlia’s face darkens. Crap. Ex soulhunter Dahlia who’s smarter than the sum total of every soulhunter I’ve met. She’s human now, and the guy she gave her soulhunter life up for is dead. Partly because of me.
“Cleverer than me,” she says quietly. “Stronger than me.”
I wrap an arm around Dahlia’s shoulders and hug her close. She stiffens, before resting her head on my shoulder. I never had a sister, but if I had, this is how I imagine things would be. I like her. We understand each other, but sometimes we clash. Hard. At those times, I resent Dahlia, but the guilt over Jack’s death eats at me more than she realises.
Helping this girl, who refuses to admit how weak she really is, now fills my every day. Keeping her safe. If Dahlia knew this is how I saw her—as something to protect—she’d probably smack me round the head. Dahlia does that a lot anyway—not that she does any damage. Until her, I’d never known someone argue with me before. I’m amused when she does.
I swipe my thumb across the screen, cancel the picture of the poor soulhunter who’s about to be mouse to my cat, and check the time. “Reckon she’ll be in the first lecture today?”
“They never waste any time, do they?”
*
Ava’s story continues in a new series due for publication in September.
For more information about this and my other books, please visit my website here: https://www.ljswallow.com/soulhunter-academy
Of Curse & Covenant
ARCANE ARTS ACADEMY: A PREQUEL NOVELLA
ELENA LAWSON
Have you ever loved someone so much that you would do anything for them? Truly anything? I have.
My name is Diana Granger, and I have a debt to pay.
For him, I will wait, and I will plot. I’ll draw his enemies near, and I’ll listen. I’ll learn. I will stow away my feelings—lock them somewhere deep inside.
Those are things I’m good at. They’re things I can do.
And I will do them.
Even if the fight takes my life, I’ll finish what he started.
One day, I would make it right.
Copyright © 2019 Elena Lawson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, incidents, and dialogs are products of the author’s
imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events is strictly
&nb
sp; coincidental.
1
July 1872
My blood was buzzing with latent power as I sped from my dorm through the gilded halls, my Alchemical Comprehension Exam scores clutched in my right fist. My smile infallible. I couldn’t wait to show him.
I hit the bottom of the stairs and swung myself around the corner, nearly knocking into two other students as I went.
“Sorry,” I called back over my shoulder, a bubble of laughter surfacing on my lips. The scent of Cook’s signature breakfast hash wafted down the corridor, leading the way.
He would be so proud of me when he saw.
The archway loomed ahead, and I could already see him. Alistair Hawkins stood near the stained-glass windows across the room. The summer sun was bright this morning and cast glowing hues of reds and blues and oranges on his uniform blazer—tinted his skin bronze. Set his deep brown eyes alight as he threw his head back in a deep laugh.
My shoulders pulled in at the sight of the crowd. I should’ve been used to it by now, but I didn’t think I ever would be. People gravitated towards him as though they were flora and fauna and he was the sun—sustaining them, nourishing them.
He was what Pop would call a born leader. Pop always looked at Alistair as though he was a tool to use or a weapon to wield. He often compared us and made no secret of his constant disappointment in me. Never missed a chance to tell me how he wished I’d been a son instead of a daughter so I could follow in his footsteps and work at the Department of Arcane Inquiry.
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