Soul Bite (The Eden Hunter Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  “Then what do you need?”

  “More souls.”

  I jerked my thumb back at the Porsche. “I have six in the car.”

  “At least you’re not completely useless.”

  “Great to see you assholes, too.”

  “Did you expect us to be kind?” Magnus stepped forward, broad arms crossed. The string of werewolf teeth draped around his neck glinted in the bright morning light. “You have forsaken our mission.”

  “Forsaken, huh,” I said. “I gave Cross the map, didn’t I?”

  I poked Cross, but he barely stirred.

  “Death follows you like a disease, Reaper.” Zoe turned up her nose at me.

  No denying that. “It’s coming for you next.”

  “We’ll be prepared for whatever storm arrives,” Magnus said.

  “Your little arena fights haven’t prepared you for Aldric,” I said. “Or maybe you forget about bleeding out in the clinic?”

  The sigils branded on the dwarf giant’s thick neck glowed—a forge flashing orange, a lightning bolt pulsing white. Impressive magic, bestowed upon him by Norse practitioners of seidhr long ago.

  But little match for Aldric. I’d seen the vampire go toe to toe with Lucille and hold his own.

  Any other creature—mortal or not—stood zero chance.

  “This is what I’ve built,” Magnus said, puffing his chest out in that way men and dogs do to demonstrate their dominance over a territory.

  “Then you’ll have to rebuild it.”

  “No.”

  “He burned down the Department of Supernatural Affairs. Think Aldric can’t torch one shitty bar?”

  “It’s—”

  “Nope.” I waved him off. “Executive veto. Fix Cross up, and then you find a new place to hide.”

  “You chose your side, Reaper.” Zoe thrust an accusatory finger in my face. “Our mission continues without you.”

  “And who’s going to wield the Sword of Damocles if you even get that far? You, or this asshole?” I nodded at the giant.

  Cross snorted, but his eyes didn’t open.

  “Dante is sick and demands my full attention.” Zoe brushed her fiery red hair over one ear. “So if you don’t mind—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I dragged the treasure map out of my back pocket. “Just don’t forget this while you’re busy trying to kill a goddess.”

  The fox shifter and dwarf giant exchanged chagrined glances. Zoe took the map from my hands with a bowed head.

  “It’s been a stressful day,” she said, by way of explanation.

  “Tell me about it.” We stood in awkward silence until I added, “By the way, I think I solved the cipher.”

  Zoe’s look of embarrassment turned into one of incredulity. “You.”

  “Many will seek the Sword. But only a man of great strength and a woman who has seen the dead may melt the ice that encases its unparalleled bounty.” I repeated the Latin text.

  “We have seen this message already,” Magnus said, his sigils still glowing, “you have solved nothing.”

  “And to think you idiots tricked me into helping you originally.” I shook my head. “Now I can’t even spoon-feed you the truth.”

  Cross mumbled, “Listen to her.”

  “See. He’s making sense,” I said.

  “Dante is half-dead,” Zoe shot back.

  “Fair point. But in this case, he’s right. Because that man? It has to be Kai.”

  “The agent?” Zoe snorted. “And tell me, are you the woman?”

  It had crossed my mind, but I had no way of being certain. “Hard to say. But it’s definitely him.”

  “And how do you know?”

  “The spear that appears in the holographic cipher. It matches the sigil on his arm.”

  “That means little.”

  “If you have a better idea, then let me know.” I headed back to the convertible. “Otherwise, call me later.”

  Zoe and Magnus yelled across the lot in unison, “About what?”

  “How we’re going to dig up that sword.” I leaned against the door and gave them a grim smile. “And finally get rid of all our Aldric and Lucille problems for good.”

  17

  After giving Zoe her requested souls—three in all, including Orianne’s, which was more powerful than the others—I finally headed back to the villa. The clock read eleven. It’d been at least a day since I’d slept, and my body was starting to feel it.

  Plus, I stank of blood and sewage.

  The ride back was uneventful and peaceful. Banana trees lilted in the breeze as I cut the convertible’s engine. I took the remaining five souls out of the trunk and put them in my pockets.

  I still had Cross’s phone, so I dialed Rayna as I headed up the beach.

  The sounds of a harried office filtered through the background of the call. “Director Denton speaking.”

  “Miss me?”

  “I knew you’d reconsider, Hunter.” Rayna sounded relieved.

  “Unlikely,” I said. “Any news on Kai?”

  “We’re working every angle we can.”

  “That sounds like a big fucking no.”

  “I won’t let Agent Taylor die.” But she sounded scared, like maybe the situation had already spiraled out of her control.

  “Tell me what you got.”

  “I seem to remember you throwing your credentials at my feet.”

  “We both want him back, don’t we?”

  “I’m not at liberty to share details of an ongoing investigation—”

  “So you have nothing. Figures.”

  “That isn’t what I said.”

  “It’s hard to lie to a dishonest woman,” I said.

  “And you’re as dishonest as they come.”

  “Precisely,” I said.

  “If that’s all, I have an investigation to run.”

  I pulled the list from my pocket and looked at it.

  I’d seen this typeface before.

  From Aldric’s intelligence agency—his own little personal KGB or CIA.

  I sighed. As much as it pained me to admit, I needed her help. With Cross incapacitated, my supply of allies had dwindled almost to zero.

  I finally said, “I have a list of demons planted in the Bureau. All courtesy of Loki.”

  “There’s another god on the island?”

  “He’s just stirring up trouble, from what I can gather,” I said. “He’s still cozy in the Elysian Fields.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “That about sums things up.” I skimmed the list. “About thirty names, give or take. You want it?”

  “Need I remind you that withholding evidence is obstruction of justice?”

  “Let’s try this again,” I said. “Do you want it?”

  I could hear Rayna grinding her perfect teeth on the other end of the line. “Yes.”

  “Good. I want you to station agents—local police, if you have to—outside the demon’s homes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think our demon hunter is going to kill one of them next. And that way, you’ll catch her in the act.”

  “You’re willing to let this all go away to save Agent Taylor’s life?” Rayna asked. Still eager to avoid a big scandal where demons were revealed to be working for the US government.

  Truth be told, I didn’t want a media exposé, either.

  I just wanted someone to purge the demons instead of pretending they didn’t exist.

  But, right now, I didn’t have a lot of options.

  “Sometimes you have to compromise.”

  “Then let’s have this list.”

  I recited the names over the phone. After finishing, I said, “And one other thing.”

  “This will keep me busy for quite some time, Hunter.”

  “I just did you a career making favor.”

  “And I thank you.” Her tone was smug, like she’d won.

  “Or this list goes straight to the New York Times. One photo texted to their e
ditorial desk.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t test me,” I said. “Just keep your phone on.”

  “That’s the favor?”

  “We’ve cracked Drake’s treasure map. Your assistance will be appreciated later.”

  I hung up and sighed.

  With allies like Rayna, who the hell needed enemies?

  My tired fingers quivered as I worked the phone back into my jeans.

  A twig crackled in the underbrush and I jumped. My eyes swept over the placid beach, scanning the black sand and foamy tide for threats.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing answered but the whisper of the wind. Like usual, the beach was deserted.

  But my paranoia didn’t wear off. For all I knew, Aldric wanted my head, too, after I’d helped to thwart Cross’s assassination. Or the vampire was lurking in his penthouse, shades drawn as he concocted some horseshit addendum to our already onerous agreement.

  Then there was Lucille who had been mysteriously—frighteningly—quiet since her shouted threats two months earlier.

  Despite my weariness, I picked up the pace, eager to shower, nap, and regroup.

  After I woke up, I was going to pursue the one lead I hadn’t shared with Rayna: Tamara Marquez and her mysterious phone number.

  Kai was not going to die.

  Not today.

  I was at the bottom of the villa’s marble stairs when I heard a groan.

  I froze, heart immediately jumped into my throat. I flicked out the Reaper’s Switch, the stainless steel catching the sun.

  Another moan drifted across the breeze—guttural, raw. Inhuman.

  The unmistakable taste of blood and destruction washed through my mouth, coating my tongue. A beast’s soul—violent, dangerous, with a relentless, feral thirst for flesh.

  Any backup I could call was either half-dead or kidnapped. I could dial Sierra, but if I got my sister killed again…well, I knew exactly what Cross had meant back in the car.

  Having that death on my shoulders again would an unbearable burden.

  I turned to slink away, when a melodious voice drifted above the low moans.

  “Slowly, now Eden. Make no attempt to escape.”

  “Fuck you.”

  A sharp stream of wind slammed into my gut like a haymaker, sending me to the black sand.

  When I tried to breathe, another gust pinned me to the ground.

  I gasped in futility until a plain woman—naked and dirty, a braid down to her waist—cut into the sunlight. Lucille’s hard eyes burned with intense hatred.

  “Do not defy me again, Reaper.”

  The force on my chest relaxed. Oxygen rushed back into my lungs so quickly that I choked. The wolf’s soul mixed with the taste of the goddess’s: ash-soaked, whiskey-stained, and foul.

  Two months without seeing her hadn’t been nearly long enough.

  I rolled over, chest heaving. “To what do I owe an audience with a goddess?”

  “Careful.”

  “Why?”

  “Because first I will take your silver tongue,” Lucille said, her braid swishing like a panther’s tail, “and then I will take your sister’s as you watch.”

  We stared at one another, coming to an understanding in the briefest of moments.

  “Come.” She gestured to the stairs.

  I got to my feet and wobbled up the stairs behind her. Slick bloody streaks staining the white marble led to a pitiful scene.

  At my doorstep lay a large, jet black wolf with patchy, scorched fur. It was a wonder he’d survived for two months. He looked liable to die at any second.

  “Fenrir is dying.” Lucille knelt to stroke the mythical beast’s wounded snout. He murmured. “And you will be the one to save him.”

  “And how the fuck do you propose I do that?” I asked, unable to wrangle my tongue.

  A long pause settled over the beach, punctuated only by Fenrir’s strained breath.

  And then, Lucille, still cradling the werewolf’s head, replied, “With all your souls.”

  18

  I stood dead still on the porch, the pleasant morning light bathing my neck.

  My nightmares were unfolding before my eyes—Lucille had finally come for her pound of flesh.

  But instead of riding in spewing fire and brimstone, she had arrived with a literal whimper.

  Or a whimpering companion, at least.

  Fenrir must’ve been caught in the fire at the DSA’s headquarters two months ago. That would explain the patches of fur and the raw, ugly skin.

  It didn’t explain, however, why he hadn’t healed.

  A wolf normally regenerated. And a mythical wolf, bred by the gods themselves?

  Well, I couldn’t imagine a little fire would cause this amount of damage.

  But that wasn’t the main problem on my mind.

  “If I help you, you leave Sierra alone,” I said.

  “You’re in no position to be making demands.” Lucille’s eyes flashed with smugness for a moment. “But your sister has utility to me. So she will remain healthy and alive. For the time being.”

  “I need a guarantee.”

  “Easy, now. Sierra’s good health can change as quickly as the winds.” The pink scar—the one I’d given her—flushed red as a harsh chill blew back my hair.

  Point taken.

  “You’re gonna have to get out of the doorway, then.” I nodded to the thick oak doors behind her.

  She got up and dragged Fenrir a few yards across the porch. The wolf unleashed a porch-trembling howl from the short journey.

  I fumbled with the three locks, certain that I’d be dead once I handed over the souls. Lucille had all but promised vengeance upon me and anyone I cared about. I didn’t expect her to get cold feet at the finish line.

  I held the door open so that Lucille could carry the large wolf inside. The image looked funny—a slender, naked woman carrying a massive beast—but the goddess barely strained beneath the weight.

  Lucille craned her neck into the living room and said, “Not one for material things, are we?”

  “If you have an interior decorator, I was really thinking about getting a nice rug.”

  The goddess gave me the side eye.

  Now was not the time for my rapier wit.

  I followed her into the large living room, empty save for a lamp and a worn leather couch strewn with clothing. At least Khan, the talking cat who I now had the misfortunate of owning, had the good sense to make himself scarce. Light streamed through the large bay window, casting shadows on the scratched hardwood.

  The goddess set Fenrir down on the couch. His head and feet hung off the sides. He whimpered between each shallow breath.

  I almost felt bad for him.

  Almost.

  He was the loyal servant of a psychotic goddess—and no doubt responsible for countless murders himself.

  I said, “If I do this for you—”

  “When.” Lucille turned to face me, the grime making her look positively feral. “And then you will atone for your role in my temporary downfall.”

  “I’m not sure you understand how negotiation works.”

  “The one with the power makes the rules,” Lucille said, thunder clapping briefly outside. “That is how this works.”

  I shrugged, playing it cool, despite my heart racing like an unbridled stallion. “Maybe. But I still have a question.”

  “You’re in no position to hold an interrogation.”

  I plowed through anyway. “The question is this: can Fenrir survive until you get more souls?”

  “They are in this residence, no?”

  Closer than she could’ve imagined. “But they’re hidden.”

  “Then I will tear this building down to its floorboards.”

  “Be my guest.” I pointed to the ground, waiting for the stormy display of godly force.

  “You forget to whom you speak, Reaper.”

  “On the contrary,” I said, smiling with a confidence I did
n’t feel, “I know exactly who I’m talking to. Which is why I need a promise.”

  She padded over on bare feet, standing so close that we were toe to toe.

  Staring into her eyes was like looking into a fiery abyss.

  But I didn’t blink.

  Through gritted teeth, she said, “Your false sword had no effect when the vampire’s forces poisoned the air around us. His forces came in after the flames and cut us down like stalks of wheat at harvest.”

  She was referring to the fake Sword of Damocles gambit Dante Cross and I had played on her.

  I said, “That was just about survival.”

  “Do you know what the Scent of Fire is, Reaper?”

  “Can’t say I’m familiar.”

  She exhaled, her breath thick with the stench of whiskey. “The darkest of magical pathogens. Unleashed into the air, they embed themselves within any creature who has the misfortune of inhaling them.”

  Magical pathogens.

  Learned something new every day.

  “Sounds unpleasant,” I said in an even tone.

  “But I haven’t yet told you the aftermath.” Lucille blinked once—slowly and deliberately. “It is why our entire headquarters was consumed by flame.”

  Fenrir unleashed a mighty, rumbling groan of pain. I said, “I think your loyal friend needs help.”

  Lucille didn’t look away. “The Scent of Fire immolates a creature from the inside. Feeds upon its organs and cells, burning hotter, hotter, hotter, until they are consumed by flame. The immune were quickly outnumbered and dispatched. Even I could not hold off the vampire’s army.”

  I glanced over at Fenrir, who was writhing on the couch. The wolf was burning alive from the inside.

  Aldric hadn’t been screwing around.

  “And were it not for the souls you give the vampire each week, the crafting of such a spell would have proved impossible.

  Great. Lucille held me directly responsible.

  No wonder she’d promised to burn my life to ashes.

  I didn’t have any twinge of guilt about supplying the souls. The Department of Supernatural Affairs had been a ruthless organization, severely lacking a moral compass—or any compass at all, aside from keeping the gods of the Elysian Fields from looking too closely at the island.

  It crossed my mind that, just maybe—in lieu of recent events—there’d likely be stricter oversight. Maybe that was why Ares had sent Moreland to deal with Loki’s demonic shenanigans.