by Su Halfwerk
Coerced into hunting corrupt spirits, the headstrong spirit hunter must expel his lover’s soul and give up his body at the end of his tenure.
Luke has two purposes, hunting spirits and avenging his own death.
Pru has one goal, to return to her body, especially now that Luke is interested in her. Her memories of his shady past haunt her and keep her on guard around him.
Ignoring his teen infatuation with Pru, Luke looks for ways to exorcise her, while she must face the fact that she might never be united with herself again.
Amidst rogue spirits, ferocious drug smugglers, and unbendable celestial rules, Pru and Luke’s love demands a sacrifice that can snuff out their rekindled romance before it has even begun.
When Luke has to decide between his conflicting desires, which path will he choose?
And will the sacrifice be worth it?
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Avenger
Copyright © 2013 Su Halfwerk
ISBN: 978-1-77111-446-2
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Devine Destines
An imprint of eXtasy Books
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www. devinedestines.com
Avenger
Unsettled 2
By
Su Halfwerk
Chapter One
“Someone’s gonna get it,” Ruby taunted.
A shot sounded and the parrot was reduced to a pile of feather and red goo.
As much as the bird annoyed Luke, he felt sorry for it. He had counted on the bird’s teasing to distract the card players from his presence whenever his visibility dimmed.
“Why you did dat?” Slick said. He peered at Shorty. “You trippin’ or somethin’?”
Shorty shrugged. “It was annoying me.”
The basement of Lucy’s Tailoring was empty, save for the three men playing cards. Their jackets hung on the back of their chairs and guns poked out of holsters strapped to their shoulders. Smoke swirled upward in lazy circles as each sucked on his cigarette and placed his stake. Luke had christened each with a nickname for easy reference. There was Shorty, his possessed and yellow-tinged target, a smug little crook with the complexion of raw dough who relied on slyness and not strength. On the other hand, the sheer size of Scar-face promised he would be more difficult to handle. Finally, there was Slick, who’d departed from the stereotype of dark-skinned thugs. He was dressed for a photo shoot, his suit more expensive than the other two’s combined, and he had a look of class about him. That was, until he opened his mouth and jabbered his ghetto drawl.
Luke watched them from the corner he’d settled in, concealed from all eyes by invisibility. Legs crossed, he sat by a pile of chairs gathered in one corner to clear space for the weekly poker game. If he hadn’t been in the room before their arrival, it would have been impossible for him to enter undetected. To sustain invincibility, he had to be still.
So, I’m supposed to extract the spirit from the short one without killing the other two, Luke said telepathically to Celestine.
Yes. You do not kill unless there is a direct threat to your life. We have been over this before.
My life will be in danger the moment I budge. You think they’ll sit and watch quietly while I stab their friend in the forehead and then suck on that wound? Luke almost shrugged but then remembered his invisibility and thought better of it. It can’t be done, Celestine.
Find a way. I cannot believe I am advising you to avoid harming others. Things were different with—
The Spirit Hunter before me. I know. Luke rolled his eyes in agitation. Like he could ever forget how great the one before him was. So, what do you do for fun, when you’re not with me? He had to pass time until at least two were left in the room. Someone was bound to need a restroom break. He hoped it wouldn’t be him.
I report to the Laymour, I wait around for you to get into mischief, and I scout for rogue spirits.
The Laymour was the Northern Star for humans, the place where spirits awaited judgment and either ended up in hell or reincarnated. Souls destined for heaven never entered the Laymour. There was no resting for his Spirit Guide, who had admitted that with other spirit hunters, he took the liberty of listening in on their thoughts. Not with Luke though. His thoughts were too disturbing for Celestine.
The sound of a chair scraping on concrete drew Luke out of his thoughts. He focused again on the trio. Fortunately, the toughest looking thug, Scar-face, needed a can-break.
“Ya think he’ll be gone for only the two minutes he promised?” Shorty asked, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He squinted through the smoke at Scar-face’s flipped over cards.
Slick tutted. “Yo, he had bad chowder fo’ lunch. Ah’d give him at least half hour.” Both men chuckled.
Shorty glanced around and then back to Slick. “So, what’s this new thing boss was talking about last night?”
Luke froze. Their boss, a drug-lord named Sully, was Luke’s archenemy and the reason why he was in hiding. As a rule, one shouldn’t cross drug-lords. Luke had done more than that, he’d pissed Sully off. This was a hot tip that might land Luke the revenge he’d been eager for. His ears perked and he paid attention.
“You missed it, huh?” Slick asked.
Shorty shrugged.
“It wuz nuttin’. A new bidness idea dat Sully gots an’ it’s been naggin’ him. He didn’t say much. You know how close ta his heart he keeps his new ideas.”
It seemed Slick didn’t trust Shorty and wasn’t sharing information on purpose. Which meant Luke must put the time he had to good use before their friend’s return.
Sitting right behind Slick, Luke leaned forward and punched him in the back of the head, right behind the ear. Slick uttered, “Uh!” and slumped on the table, unmoving.
Now Shorty was facing Luke head-on, his eyes opened wide. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
Luke rose and hid a grimace of pain as his joints popped. While advancing on Shorty, he called upon the Spirit Within to pale his appearance and augment his powers. Laymour escapees recognized a spirit hunter by his pale eyes, complexion, and hair. The effect was disquieting to behold on Luke because of his jet-black hair and olive complexion.
Luke eyed the speaker’s yellow, infected aura. “The question is where will you be going? Aren’t you tired of hitchhiking in such a short and compressed package? Yellow doesn’t suit him.”
The same instant Luke withdrew his spirit-hunting dagger from his pocket, Shorty reached for his gun. Within an instant, Luke was behind him, the dagger fully extended even as Shorty’s eyes rolled and their white turned red. He stabbed Shorty’s chakra in the middle of the forehead and leaned forward to inhale the spirit out.
After what felt like ages, Luke let go of Shorty, who slumped in an unconscious heap on the table right next to Slick. There was no time for Luke to
bask in the speed of his execution, for Scar-face chose that moment to lumber back in the room. His gaze shifted from Shorty, to Slick, and finally to Luke. His eyes narrowed. For a large man, he was light on his feet as he moved like a blur and dealt a hard blow to Luke’s face. Luke staggered, teeth rattling. The urge to grunt was overwhelming, but he held his breath in check to keep the spirit from escaping.
While size mattered, speed delivered, especially since Luke was short on breath and time. Trusting in his spirit-hunting speed, Luke straightened swiftly and kneed Scar-face in the balls. The man groaned out a curse and doubled over, heaving. Luke dashed out of the room into the short corridor that led to the stairs and then the back door. As he existed to the alley, he heard a clamor of running footsteps.
“Exhale,” Celestine said.
Can’t stop. Still too close, Luke said.
Using speed to his advantage, he cut across the busy street with brisk sprints. In the park facing the deserted tailor shop, Luke clambered up a tree carefully and flitted from one branch to the other until he was sheltered high in the tree, unseen. Facing the Northern Star, he exhaled long enough to expel the spirit. He gripped the branch he had settled on too hard, embedding bark in his skin.
While perching on the branch, Luke pulled slivers out of his hand, dusted dust, leaves, and insects out of his hair, and watched. A group of men rushed out of the abandoned building and glanced around the street, each had a hand in his jacket’s inner pocket, most probably holding a gun. Luke’s cuts would heal by next morning, Shorty, on the other hand, would wake up with a slight headache and zero memory of his actions for the past one week.
He rounded on his Spirit Guide. “You were supposed to warn me?”
Next to him, Celestine materialized as a semitransparent vapor. “You did not ask me to warn you. You assumed I would.”
Luke huffed. “It’s common sense. Since I’m doing all the heavy lifting in this relationship, the least you can do is watch my back.”
“If you ask me, I will.”
Luke shook his head and jumped to the ground. He jogged through the park, going for the south exit to avoid meeting any of the armed men.
Celestine asked, “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to do my business, the one you don’t want to know about.” Luke lifted an eyebrow. “Wanna tag along?”
Celestine disappeared without answering.
Satisfied with himself, Luke continued trotting. One spirit dispatched to the Laymour, one customer about to get his fix.
Chapter Two
“Sandy, darling, I don’t know what you think I did. I haven’t seen Amanda since your birthday party. Believe me,” the boy said passionately and reached for his date’s hand.
Lips pressed stubbornly, Sandy shook her head and pulled away. “Then how come you smell so Magnifique? That’s her perfume, Bruce.”
Smirking, Pru watched the exchange take place on the table next to hers in the café. It was still early for dinner, however, it seemed to be the right time for a dash of bullshit. Bruce’s exaggerated empathy and the way his pupils contracted were clear indications of guilt or stupidity. He didn’t look stupid.
Bruce grasped Sandy’s hand in his. “Amanda isn’t the only one who wears it. Lisa sprayed the whole house with her perfume just before she went out on her date.” He spoke to Sandy, yet his gaze followed an attractive woman with hourglass figure dressed in a power skirt suit and high heels. Luckily, Sandy was busy wiping her tears and missed that gaze-slip.
“Your sister’s perfume wouldn’t get this heavily on you—”
Bruce grabbed her by the nape and glued his lips to hers. Kissing was the oldest approach to shut a woman’s mouth and doubts. Old but still effective.
Pru rose from the chair and walked past them. This show was predictable anyhow. Upon nearing the narrow entrance of an alley, she paused and considered her options. Continuing in that direction would push her limit distance wise.
The businesswoman chose that moment to turn back, and she went right through Pru.
For one stretched, prolonged, torturous moment, Pru’s vision blurred and she experienced a sense of clammy captivity that left her no air to breathe. She staggered, her hands stretched out to balance herself. When she did manage to draw air, it was dank and thick, unfit for respiration. Pru doubled over, one hand pressing against her stomach. While she struggled with the physical illness that overtook her, the businesswoman carried on without even a change in pace.
“Hey, you,” some moron screamed at the top of his lungs. Would these people ever consider adding a name when they call each other? Sheesh! Pru straightened up and resumed walking while massaging her middle.
“You, girl in violet shirt! Wait up,” the man shouted again. Yeah, adding an adjective might attract some girl’s attention. What a lousy pick up line.
She stopped in half stride. Hold on a second, she thought, I’m wearing a violet shirt.
“Yes, I’m talking to you. Turn around,” he said, more calmly now that he had her attention.
The resonance of his voice kindled a flicker of recognition in her. His voice, full of authority, demanded immediate yielding. Pru half turned, hope surging through her like an electric shock. She pointed at herself and asked in a shaky voice, “You’re talking to me?”
The man’s upper half was in shadows, but he seemed to still at hearing her voice. Anyone would if they could see through someone else.
“Pru?” He uttered her name in a husky and deep whisper. It did nasty things to her pulse.
He stepped out of the shadows. Long, muscular legs clad in black pants were revealed, the swagger slow and surefooted. The shadow receded and the man’s torso emerged. Black t-shirt stretched over a broad chest, outlining every bit of its firm muscularity. Raising her gaze, Pru encountered a firm mouth set in a smirk and deep cryptic, dark eyes that made her their sole focus. All that rugged handsomeness was topped by army style trimmed black hair.
“Luke?” Pru blinked, not believing her eyes. Occasionally, memories of her teen crush pushed through her mind for no reason and she used to push them back. She couldn’t do that now, those memories were in the front seat because he was standing right in front of her.
He just had to develop a voice that dripped awesomeness.
Pru shook her head. What’s wrong with me?
Luke gawked at her, his hands tucked casually into pants pockets. Pru had the impression he wasn’t as nonchalant as his appearance implied for meeting the girl who—according to him at the time—qualified to enter a mind-fuck contest.
“What are you up to?” He barked at her.
Definitely tense. She chose to ignore his rudeness. “You can see me?” She rushed toward him then halted as memories of previous attempts to touch others surfaced in her head. They were nasty experiences that left her reeling with emotions alien to her.
“Are you looking for a place to stay?”
She tucked a runaway strand of hair behind her ear and frowned. “What do you mean?”
Slowly, he said, “Are you up for a stay?” His voice had an edge to it, one she didn’t trust.
Eyes narrowed, she said, “I’m not homeless. Your hostility doesn’t make sense.”
He lowered his head and shook it. Perhaps if she explained her situation, he might know what she should do. “I guess I should be grateful for meeting someone. It’s been very lonely. No one to speak to—”
“And no one to possess.” A vein throbbed in his jaw.
She took a step back. “Possess?”
“Since I’m the only living person who can see you, I suggest you drop the innocent act.”
People gawked at him and changed paths as they neared him. It didn’t seem to bother him that others thought he was talking to himself.
Pru laughed, pointing a finger at herself. “You think I’m dead?”
“I know you’re dead,” he said through gritted teeth and pulled his hand from his pocket. “Time to send
you home.”
Home was too far away, way beyond her lifeline’s limit. An ache pulsed in Pru’s chest and birthed a fury that paralyzed her with its intensity. Instead of facing her, Luke swiveled about, his gaze following a woman pushing a baby stroller. Pru ceased to exist for him and that infuriated her even more. She stomped a foot. “You don’t even know where I live.”
He kept looking at the other woman.
“I’m talking to you, Luke. Look at me.”
He tilted his head as though tuned to something else. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I see that.” His eyes flicked back to Pru. “I’ll have to give this one a rain check then.” Smirking, Luke lifted his hand and saluted her. “Catch you later, sunshine.” With that, he followed the other woman.
“Don’t call me that,” Pru shouted and dashed after him. After few strides, her breath caught and her steps faltered. Like a lasso, the invisible lifeline tightened around her midsection, constricted her chest, and snatched her back.
She had overstepped her boundaries.
Chapter Three
“Who is sunshine?” Celestine asked.
Luke almost laughed aloud. Perhaps Pru’s current state didn’t fit what Celestine would consider gorgeous, but if things were different, Luke would’ve tried his luck again with her. He was older now, more experienced at wooing a woman, except, Pru was a spirit now, an odd one on several accounts. She drifted aimlessly in the street—seemingly sad and forlorn—while keeping her former visage of humanity. If it weren’t for her semitransparency, she could’ve passed for a looker walking down the street.
Pru had grown into a voluptuous seductress. Her lustrous red curls pattered all the way to the middle of her back and sashayed with the slightest move she made. She was garbed in a figure-hugging mini-jeans skirt and a violet top that weren’t changed by the hue of an aura. Black leather boots ended just below the knee, hugging shapely long legs. The sun-kissed flawless skin, the sympathetic dark eyes turned down at the corner—just enough to give a look of compassion—and lips full, glistening with lip-gloss.
When she’d lifted her hand to point at herself, she’d inadvertently flashed an expanse of smooth, caramel midsection. Luke’s heart had thrummed in his chest, his pulse raced, desires—long forgotten and ignored—stirred. Then she spoke. Her voice, gentle and smooth like hot chocolate on a cold winter night, slid on his nerves, calming them, chasing away the tension.
