Soul Bite (The Eden Hunter Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  “Wait, wait.” This wasn’t how I’d imagined this going down. “Come on. We were under fire together. I helped you defend this shithole.”

  Tamara bristled at my characterization of the Players Pad. “My debt was paid, Reaper. I ate the Guardian’s soul and told you her last day.”

  “I’m saying you can trust me. I’m not the killer.”

  Her full lips twisted into a scowl. “You have fifteen seconds.”

  I could feel the seconds of my life ticking away in the silence.

  My mind scrambled for an angle—anything.

  “Jog her memory,” Tamara said.

  Max leveled the gun at my head.

  I closed my eyes, pulse racing.

  A bullet zoomed by my ear, lodging in the cinderblock wall behind me.

  The assistant loaded another round in the chamber and raised the gun again, ready to shoot. The barrel of the gun glared down at me, smoke drifting from its tip.

  “Ten seconds,” the Soul Eater said, the words barely audible over the ringing. “Why did you come, if not to slay me, too?”

  “For intel on the killer.” I rubbed my ear and opened my eyes.

  From the way her lips were pursed together, Tamara wasn’t buying it.

  I’d have trust issues, too, if the man I’d loved four hundred years ago—that’d be Dante Cross—had killed me in exchange for immortality.

  There was no such thing as allies in Tamara Marquez’s world.

  Only people who hadn’t fucked her over yet.

  “Seven seconds.”

  A growling baritone said, “You have two seconds to drop your weapons.”

  Max turned away from me to fire.

  A bullet rocketed over his shoulder, cutting through the fabric.

  “Next one goes in your head.”

  The rifle clattered to the ground.

  A minute later, Kai’s long black hair appeared in the doorway. He shook his head, pistol still ready. “Goddamnit, Eden. This is what happens when you break protocol.”

  I pushed off the concrete, and said, “You mean I find out who the demons belong to?”

  Kai wanted to resist, but he couldn’t help asking, “Who?”

  “The god of chaos himself,” I replied, winking at Tamara as if to say thanks for the intel. “Loki.”

  5

  It stood to reason that Tamara’s little slip about Loki was just the tip of the iceberg.

  One crazy goddess was enough. The thought of another deity meddling in the island’s affairs didn’t thrill me.

  I hadn’t heard from Lucille since she’d called two months ago, enraged by Aldric’s brazen destruction of her headquarters. Her threat still rang in my ears when I tried to sleep: You have burned everything I love. And for that, I will return the favor.

  Two gods causing problems would be more than I could handle.

  Kai gestured to Max with the pistol. “Get in the storeroom.”

  The assistant slicked back his gelled hair and stepped into the tight quarters.

  “And you,” Kai said, pointing to Tamara, “wait in the hall.”

  “I am within my rights to defend my property, lawman.” The woman stood her ground. “Unless those don’t matter to you.”

  Kai looked torn.

  So I stepped in, Reaper’s Switch drawn, and said, “Well, they sure as shit don’t matter to me.”

  I poked the edge of the blade through her leather pants. That got her moving.

  After Kai cuffed Max to the storeroom shelf, he rejoined us in the hallway.

  “Is there some place we can talk?”

  “I’m not telling a crooked lawman anything.”

  The spear sigil hidden amid Kai’s tattoo sleeve glowed a faint blue. “We don’t care about your involvement, Miss Marquez.”

  “Then why am I staring down the barrel of a loaded gun?”

  She crossed her arms, giving him a no-nonsense look like she had him dead to rights.

  “Because you threatened to shoot my partner. And I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  Tamara raised her hand as if to say, fine, then turned on her heel and headed down the hall. We followed her to a cramped office that smelled of dust mites and old paper.

  The place was a mess, stacked high with paperwork and too much furniture.

  I squeezed between three folding chairs to reach Tamara’s desk.

  Her nails rifled through the paperwork, searching the stacks.

  After a few minutes of awkward silence, I said, “Does Loki give you paperwork?”

  “Would you like a full explanation of how our arrangement works?”

  “Actually, yeah,” I said. “If you don’t mind.”

  Tamara glowered and looked up before sighing. “Very well.”

  And then she launched into the tale.

  She’d missed her calling as a storyteller—because what had transpired after Dante Cross had killed her and stolen her soul was nothing short of incredible.

  After her death, she hadn’t winked out of existence, like most soulless creatures.

  Instead, she had been brought to the Pantheon—the place where the deities of the Elysian Fields resided. Inside this opulent structure of pure marble and gold, she had passed before a panel of five gods—the Claiming Committee.

  There, the most promising were granted a temporary reprieve—a chance to show their mettle and demonstrate that they deserved to remain amongst the living.

  The vetting process was key, because demons were hungry and volatile. They fed on souls. Make an already psychotic person into a demon and, well, you had a big problem on your hands.

  In any event, Tamara—all of twenty years old at the time—had impressed the Committee with the skills she had picked up in her days of plundering and thieving. Loki had claimed her, sparing her life in exchange for loyalty.

  For years, she had wandered the Earth with little instruction. Loki was a partier, a pleasure-seeker, more interested in novelty and wine and women than anything serious. But, after four hundred years spent doing odd jobs and mercenary gigs, Tamara had gotten word: she was to head to Atheas at once.

  That had been some five months ago. Her meager earnings had facilitated the purchase of the Players Pad.

  Loki, however, had yet to give word on what her next task should be.

  “That’s some story,” I said when she finished. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand.”

  “Only one, Reaper?”

  “You don’t look like a demon. Neither did Blondie.”

  She glanced up, her side-swept hair jackknifing dangerously over one eye. “You have your regular demons—the pink and gnarled beasts the goddess once employed at the DSA.”

  “I’m familiar.” Months ago, Cross and I had killed one at his house. Barely.

  “Such foul creatures escape the bowels of the Elysian Fields in any way they can to stop the torment of their damned existence.” Another stack of papers fluttered off the table as Tamara’s search continued. “But then, there are the demons who are human. Or almost.”

  A smile flashed across her lips, then was gone. The sigils on her taut torso glowed—the Serpent’s Tongue, which allowed her to eat souls, and an unpronounceable symbol shielding her from demonic urges.

  I shivered.

  “An archdemon like me. Only they are specially conscripted by a god to do his bidding on Earth.”

  “The cream of the soulless crop,” I said.

  “Now you’re beginning to understand.”

  “So you really work for Loki?”

  “Not by choice.” Tamara crumpled up a faded sheet and threw it over her shoulder, the search continuing. “But as you know, gods can be very persuasive.”

  “What did he offer you besides your life?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Would I be asking if it was?”

  “Revenge.”

  Against who didn’t need to be said. “Four hundred years is a long time to wait.”

&nbs
p; “Tell me about it.” From the grimace spreading across her face, Tamara wasn’t thrilled about how the last four centuries had treated her.

  “And the demons in the FBI?” Kai’s voice made me jump a little. He’d been so quiet that I’d forgotten he was sitting right next to me.

  I dismissed my jumpiness as lack of sleep.

  “Other puppets in Loki’s employ.”

  “Why the FBI?” Kai asked.

  “Are you not familiar with chaos?” Tamara yanked a sheet out from the maelstrom and held it up triumphantly. “Mayhem is its own end.”

  “Is that a list?” Kai reached for the paper, but Tamara backed away.

  “Phone number,” Tamara said.

  “For what?”

  “Answers.”

  A gunshot barked. Kai turned his pistol toward the doorway. “Who else is here?”

  Tamara answered him with a question of her own. “Who’s searching for you, Reaper?”

  “Aldric,” I said. “A rain goddess. Maybe even a demon hunter.”

  “You’re a popular girl.”

  “I could do with a little more obscurity.”

  Another gunshot rang out. From the sound, it was coming from the club’s main area.

  “Let’s move,” Kai said. We rushed into the hallway.

  The agent stopped to uncuff Max.

  “You three stay back,” Kai said, looking at me in particular. “I’ll check it out.”

  “I will not stand by while my club is under siege,” Tamara said.

  History seemed to be repeating itself.

  Kai ducked out behind the bar first. The club erupted in a brilliant blue glow.

  Blue embers showered his skin.

  I realized it hadn’t been gunfire before, but a warlock’s spell.

  Then I locked eyes with a man who I thought was dead. Across the room, near the center pole.

  The same patch of pale hair clung to his head, his jagged yellow teeth twisted in a scowl.

  The only thing missing was the familiar taste of his soul: rancid and ashen.

  In its place was nothing.

  “We meet again, dear girl.”

  The creepy voice sent a shiver down my spine.

  Moreland’s hands were consumed in a blue glow, dead eyes blazing back with immense hatred.

  Then he unleashed the light.

  6

  The flaming sphere of light hurtled toward me, but Kai Taylor stood up at the last moment.

  The magical spell collided with his chest, hurling him backward, out of sight. I lurched forward, but I heard bottles shatter and then smelled the unmistakable odor of smoke.

  It poured through the doorframe, making my eyes water.

  “Run, Eden.” Kai’s calm voice came from haze.

  “I can’t leave you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” A brilliant blue glow emanated from around the doorframe.

  But I couldn’t tell if it was from Moreland’s spell or from Kai’s sigil.

  Max reached for the rifle, which still lay in the doorway. Light surged through the smoking air, and he crumpled with a scream, clutching his stomach. Blood seeped from a fist-sized, scorching hole.

  His hand trembled as he tried to maintain a grip on the rifle.

  “I reaped your soul, Moreland. How the hell are you back?”

  “I have been reborn.” Flames crackled, spreading from Max’s body. The assistant writhed and moaned on the ground. “Finding you here, dear girl, brings me tremendous pleasure.”

  “If only I could say the same.”

  Max seized, then was still, his corpse alight with a hot blue flame.

  Tamara shook with anger. “You killed him.”

  The demoness dove for the rifle, flames be damned, plucking it from the ground before it was devoured. But instead of aiming the gun at Moreland, she pointed it right at my nose.

  “Whoa.” I raised my hands.

  “I sense a fraying in the ranks,” Moreland said. “Alliances are ever tenuous.”

  Indeed. He’d betrayed his boss of a thousand years to start a side operation dealing illegal arcana kits. In the end, though, Aldric hadn’t been the one to kill him. Lucille had gotten to the ancient warlock first, executing him for breaking the island’s laws.

  “You saw who killed Max,” I said. “Let’s just think about this.”

  “But you brought him here.” Tamara placed the gun barrel against my forehead.

  “The girl is a bonus,” Moreland said. “I came here for you, Miss Marquez.”

  “Bullshit,” she said.

  But her eyes told me she knew it was true.

  “And why would I lie?” Moreland asked.

  “So you could kill her yourself.” Still grasping at straws.

  “A fair point,” the warlock replied. “But I regret to inform you that Ares sends his regards.”

  “There’s no time,” Kai said, his voice strained. I heard him reload a pistol in the murk. “Get the hell out of here.”

  He was right.

  Judging by the thickness of the smoke, the Players Pad would soon be devoured in flame.

  Still, Tamara’s rifle didn’t move from my head. “Max was my friend.”

  “And he’d want you to take the back exit,” I said, recalling an argument from my last visit to the Players Pad. We’d traded shots with the DSA agents because Tamara hadn’t wanted to leave what represented her life’s savings behind.

  “There is no place for chaos, Miss Marquez. Only order.”

  “Fuck you.” Tamara whirled around, blind-firing into the smoke. The bullet pinged off metal.

  A flaming blue ball answered, collapsing the doorway.

  “Kai!”

  “It’ll be all right, Eden.” His voice was blocked by the debris. “Stay safe.”

  Beyond the smoldering wall of wreckage, Moreland screamed, “You cannot hide for long.”

  “She won’t need to.”

  And, on the other side, Kai emptied his clip as Tamara and I fled the smoldering club.

  7

  Tamara lifted a grate from the bathroom’s concrete floor, her muscles straining.

  “The back exit.”

  I listened behind us, but all I heard was the crackle of flame.

  With reluctance, I headed down the rusty ladder. After my eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, I found the secret passage was actually an abandoned sewer. Stale rot permeated the stagnant air. My sneakers padded through a puddle-deep layer of water.

  Should’ve gone with the stiletto boots.

  We jogged in silence through the slime-covered murk. Light glinted from the ceiling after a couple right turns.

  “The exit feeds out to the end of the street.”

  “That’s practically next door.”

  Tamara wiped at her eyes, trying hard to stare at the damp ground. “It should be far enough.”

  I couldn’t really afford to be picky at this point.

  “Why would Moreland come for you?”

  “I’ve never met the warlock in my life.” Tamara straightened her shoulders and cracked her neck, trying to compose herself. But her breaths remained short and stilted as she resisted the urge to sob.

  “Who said he was a warlock?” Now I was the one with trust issues.

  “His array of spells made that obvious.”

  “If he had no problem with you, why would he want you dead?”

  “Perhaps it is not he who wishes me dead,” Tamara said. “But the deity who employs him.”

  “Ares. But why?”

  “I do not know.” Tamara stopped at the bottom of the rusty ladder, squinting at the gray light trickling in from above. “But this Moreland, as you call him, will be fiercely loyal.”

  “That’s why Lucille employed so many demons at the Department of Supernatural Affairs.”

  “An archdemon makes the perfect soldier. Totally loyal. Hellishly aggressive. And able to blend in with the rest of humanity.”

  Tamara climbed the worn rungs firs
t. I followed. After pushing myself up, I found myself in an old warehouse. Dormant printing presses lined the expansive floor.

  The dust coating the ground was as thick as a recent snowfall.

  Voices trickled in through the broken, yellowed windows.

  “Hello?”

  “Quiet,” Tamara said, raising the rifle. “It could be the warlock.”

  “I’d know that asshole’s voice anywhere.” I raced for the door. It groaned as I threw my shoulder into the warped metal.

  Lights flashed outside.

  I heard Kai say, “You need to stop doing what you’re doing, Miesha.”

  And an unfamiliar woman reply, “Who will keep us safe from the vampire if the FBI is corrupted by darkness?”

  “I’m not corrupt.”

  “Hey,” I said, calling out into the dawn. “Let him go.”

  A canister flew through the air, tinkling as it landed by my feet. Smoke exploded, blinding my vision.

  I spun around, but the fog was too dense.

  I could taste something—someone—in the darkness. Her soul was gritty, not in a bad way—like dirt and oil, blue-collar work ethic through and through. And then, straight through, a white hot, searing fury born of…what, I wasn’t sure.

  Some shitty event, no doubt.

  “Do not follow us,” an unfamiliar voice said. Shards of dawn peeked through the smoke.

  “And what happens when I do?”

  “You’ll join the demons in hell. Forever.” There was a disconcerting little giggle.

  “Miesha—” Kai started.

  A pistol barked by my ear, and I collapsed, clutching my head.

  The hot taste of pure anger lingered on my tongue as I fumbled along the sidewalk.

  I touched someone’s leg.

  A boot rocketed into my face, sending me backward.

  As I stared bleary-eyed at the smoky sky, my fingers brushed against cool metal.

  My blood turned to ice when I realized what it was.

  Kai’s badge.

  8

  Three minutes later, police bathed the worn street, slicing through the thick smoke pouring from the Players Pad.

  My ears still hummed from the pistol’s bark.

  Tamara came out of the warehouse, rifle held in her hands, and gave her strip club a rueful glance.