Stolas: A Dark Soul Series Novel

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  “That’s impossible. No oracle reads demon auras. We aren’t pure,” I counter.

  Oracles possess a gift of divine origin, used only when a soul is born of light, or pure. Demons have dark, impure souls, and therefore soothsayers are unable to prophesize their future. But, if what Vassago is saying is true, and this one can read dark souls, it’s no wonder Lucifer wants her so badly. It would also be the reason he sent me to retrieve her instead of Vassago or Leviathan. My heartbeat picks up speed for a whole different reason.

  My half-brother gives me an unfriendly smile. “Her name is Hope. And I’m giving you twenty-four hours to make contact, or I will drag the oracle by her hair through the Circles and throw her weak, human body at our father’s feet to do with what he pleases.”

  I keep my focus forward. My irritation grows with every word coming from his mouth.

  “Are you attempting to bully me, brother?”

  He shrugs and sits back in a casual manner, as if he didn’t just threaten the oracle with severe cruelty and a sentence worse than death. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Father will pardon your lack of time management—after he tortures her into submission in front of you.”

  At the thought of Lucifer touching the girl—hurting her—my expression falls into a murderous scowl. I feel protective of the mortal, which he must sense, judging by his threat. “This human named Hope—the oracle—her welfare is insignificant to me,” I lie.

  For the briefest moment, a pitiful expression crosses his face. “You forget, I can sense your weakness for mortals. I also recognize your distaste and unease at how Lucifer treats them. You can pretend to be a lot of things, Prince Stolas, but the darkest demon in the depths of Hell you are not. Especially when half your blood is divine.”

  He stands, sliding his hands into his front pockets. “If your desire is that no pain and suffering come to the girl, make contact. Sway her to our side. If she comes willingly, he won’t harm her.” A look of confidence crosses his body. “Or you.”

  His words cause the blood to pulse in my ears. The music and swaying bodies blur and fade into the background as I watch Vassago’s back receding into the crowd. I keep my focus trained on the red serpent tattoo crawling up the back of his neck.

  It was a gift—a branding, if you will—given to him by Lucifer at birth. In our world, the serpent symbolizes rebirth. The snake is meant to remind Vassago that he must always shed any human qualities his mortal mother may have passed on to him. It’s a constant reminder that he is bound to the Circles for eternity; his price for immortality, a dark soul.

  He fades completely into the crowd, and I’m left pondering the girl. If what my brother said is true, then she is an oracle who can sense dark souls. Maybe that’s why I am drawn to her—her penchant for seeing darkness.

  I shake off the thought. She isn’t my enigma to figure out.

  Regardless of my curiosity, her fate is sealed. She belongs to the Circles.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rise, alerting me to my new company. As I turn to acknowledge his presence, violet eyes meet mine from across the club. Everything moves in slow motion, before it comes to a complete stop and he pushes off the bar, making his way toward me. Amused, I sit back and watch him approach with a casual self-assurance.

  I smile slyly as he grimaces at my mere presence. Our game.

  Interestingly enough, he’s dressed in all black this evening. Even the tailored shirt under his Italian suit is black. It’s an odd color choice for the being in question.

  When I was a child, I thought it was normal how much he looked like my father. They share the same raven hair, tight jawline, and menacing appearance. But that’s where the brothers’ similarities end. It wasn’t until I became a man that I became aware that my uncle was nothing like my father. Far from it.

  A cool breeze floats over me as I try to push away the fight-or-flight reaction I have whenever one of them is close. Instead, I lift my chin and smirk with wicked intent.

  In response, he rolls his eyes and takes on a warrior pose in front of the table; his large golden wings blind me as they spread out wide, shielding us from the frozen club goers.

  “Come to deliver a message, Gabriel?” I taunt the archangel. “Imagine that.”

  A small smile plays on his lips. “Are you seeking spiritual truth, Stone?”

  He uses the divine name my mother gave me, prohibited from saying my demonic one.

  “I live in my truth. The real question is, when will you start living yours?” I pose, as centuries of encounters filled with deceit, lies, and ruthlessness pass between us.

  A deep exhale escapes the divine being. “I’m an archangel. We are bound by truth.”

  “If you say so,” I retort. “Though we all know angels are bound to one being, and one being only. What a sad little existence without free will you all live. Doing His bidding.”

  His broad shoulders fall. “You know, with each passing moment, you become more and more like your mother,” he points out in a disappointed tone. “Self-righteous.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I lift my gaze and hold his. “For someone who claims to have once loved her so deeply, you certainly tossed her aside as if she was simply a cheap whore.”

  “Do be so kind as to watch your language in my presence,” he scolds.

  “Fuck off, angel.”

  A slight frown crosses Gabriel’s lips before he speaks. “Tazia knew the rules and the punishment for breaking them,” he reminds me. “Your mother was forbidden to love him.”

  “Forbidden,” I repeat, with a bad taste in my mouth. “You archangels do love your rules. Is that why you were her executioner? Were you seeking His favor? Or were you just pissed off that she chose to love your brother over you?” I goad, sensing his feelings for my mother still run deep.

  His shoulders tighten as he steps toward me. “I spared her. She was sentenced to nonexistence. He showed her mercy by allowing her to become human, to have a soul.”

  I scoff. “You think having a soul is a show of mercy, archangel?” I tsk. “She’s mortal now. You stripped her of her love. Her child. Her very essence. You, who were supposed to protect her, made her into something pathetic and vulnerable—a mere human. Then gallantly you walked away, leaving her unprotected. You’re nothing more than a pawn.”

  “It was His will to show her mercy,” he snaps harshly.

  “That is not mercy, Gabriel!” My rage is forcing my demon to the surface, clawing and biting, wanting to come out to play. “What you did was vengeance born out of wrath.”

  “I saved Tazia from a fate far worse. It was kindness to give her humanity.”

  “Kindness . . . kindness was making her a weak mortal?” I bark.

  “Humans are not weak. They have the free will to decide their fate, which makes them more powerful than you or I, Dark Prince,” he counters. “Something to remember.”

  “Why is it that you love these humans of yours, Gabriel? It’s a flaw of yours, no?”

  Gabriel’s eyes scan the room before landing back on me. His voice softens. “I am not here to argue the merits of an ancient love triangle with you, Stone.”

  “Then why are you here?” I scream, annoyed at his presence.

  “You, and the Circles, are about to take something that does not belong to the dark souls. The oracle is divine. We protect her and her pure soul. Tell your father she is off limits.”

  I sit back and study my uncle. Since when has the divine army stepped in to protect soothsayers? There are a thousand seers walking the earth. Why is this one so damn special, as to bring an archangel from Heaven’s gates down to watch over her?

  “You’re the messenger around here, Gabriel. Tell him yourself.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “It is forbidden for me to speak to him,” he says through a tight jawline.

  I lean across the table. “As I understand it, the oracle is human. That divine soul your side gave to
her—it allows her to choose her fate. And since you archangels have hard-ons for your rules, I’m guessing it’s pissing you off knowing she has free will right about now. To choose. To decide for herself. What will she pick? Heaven or Hell? You or me?”

  Anger flashes across his face. “You think she will choose the dark souls?”

  I slide out of the booth and lean into his ear. “My mother did.”

  Fury fills his body. “And look what has become of her.”

  With a slight wave of my hand, the music pumps through the club once again, and the crowd comes back to life. Our meeting is over. I’m done arguing about how he failed my mother.

  Instantly, the archangel’s wings disappear with the return of the thumping bass and human consciousness that surrounds us once more. We appear mundane, like them.

  I stand at my full height and hold Gabriel’s guarded violet gaze. “Unlike your actions toward my mother, if the oracle chooses the dark souls, I will protect her—at all costs.”

  “Your word is your bond, Stone,” Gabriel points out, surprise lacing his voice.

  “Then it would appear I have vowed to protect her through a bonding, if she so desires.”

  “And your father?” he inquires.

  “Can go to Hell.”

  “He’s already there,” he replies.

  “Then it won’t be a far journey for him, will it?”

  BENEATH THE MASK

  Hope

  I WATCH HIM WITH AN unhealthy fascination, bordering on creepiness, as he sits in the thick layer of white snow. My gaze follows his as he stares at the window framing my room. During this evening’s study of his actions, I’ve noticed a cunning and intelligent air about him, as if he’s the type of guy who is always a step ahead of everyone else.

  His eyes bleed with suspicion and disdain.

  The inky sky is dusted with a sparkling of stars that go on as far as the eye can see. I pull my coat tighter as the icy breeze picks up. The moon’s silvery hue beams on him again, giving him an avenging-angel feel. He must be freezing, and his pants soaked.

  The hairs on my arms stand on edge as he shifts slightly. His chin tips toward me, but not his eyes. The atmosphere shifts into something heavy that presses on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart stutters as he brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes.

  I frown. He isn’t wearing gloves.

  Why is he just sitting there? Better yet, why the hell am I out here talking to myself?

  I need to stop stalking him. This won’t look good in my medical chart. I decide to make my way back to the warmth of the retreat, but Avi’s sudden presence next to me stops me.

  Entertained, she falls against the tree we’re under, studying me intently.

  “Are you seriously out for a stroll at this hour, in the dead of the Swiss winter?” Her teeth chatter, but it sounds unnatural, like she’s pretending to be freezing.

  I shrug, my gaze still locked on him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Something catch your eye?” she asks with an amused tone.

  I tear my gaze away from the stranger and clear my throat. “I was just . . . wondering who that guy is and why he’s sitting in the snow. Alone. He must be cold,” I add.

  Avi’s gaze shifts to the area where he is, and narrows.

  I follow her eyes with my own and when I do, his deep grassy irises are looking straight at me. The heat on my cheeks rises and I feel like I’m coming unglued. My lips part as we hold each other hostage with our gazes. This guy is in my veins. I can’t explain it.

  He’s always so close by, like a shadow, haunting without ever touching me.

  I’m overcome with the need to know who he is and why he affects me like this.

  “Hope, did you hear me?” Avi asks. “Who are you looking at?”

  After a moment, her words resonate. She doesn’t see him? I turn and face her. “That guy.” I point to where he is. “The one with the dark, shaggy hair and green eyes.”

  She squints her lids. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “He’s right there.” I motion toward him again.

  Avi glances once more, before returning her attention back to me. “There is nobody there.” Concern falls across her features and she drops her tone to a softer, gentler one. “Hey, maybe it’s just the combination of the dark and the cold playing tricks on you?”

  “Avi, he’s right there!” I fling my hand dramatically to make a point.

  “Okay,” she gives in. “Listen, I didn’t come out here to upset you.”

  Her inability to see the guy makes me snap. “Then why did you come out here?”

  “I was worried. I saw you from the lounge, standing in the freezing cold, staring off into space, and thought maybe you were upset, or . . .” Her voice trails off.

  “I’m not upset.” My shoulders fall. “I just wanted to know why he was out here.”

  “Hey.” She lightly tugs on my arm and motions to the building with her head. “What do you say we warm up and find Nurse Gwennie? Maybe she can help us figure this out.”

  “He’s right there,” I try again. “I swear.” Exhaling, I realize how I sound. My eyes meet his again. He’s simply watching our interaction, entertained. “I’m not crazy,” I bite out.

  “It would be okay if you were crazy. We’re all here for a reason.”

  I release a frustrated breath. “I’m going to choose not to take offense at that.”

  “Fair enough. Come on.” She tugs and I stumble, following her back into the facility.

  The stranger’s eyes are on us the entire time. In this moment, I make it my mission to seek him out and confirm he’s not someone I’ve conjured up in the dark recesses of my mind. Before I walk through the doors, I look over my left shoulder one more time, but he’s gone. Vanished. Confirmation, once again, that he isn’t real.

  “What are you two doing outside at this hour?” Dr. Foster asks in a stern tone as we enter the building. The blast of heat is a welcome contrast from the ice-cold air outside.

  “Haven’t you heard, Doc? The mentally unstable need fresh air in the middle of the night,” Avi pauses. “Otherwise, we shrivel up and die. Now, please move, or sadly I’ll be forced to turn you into stone,” she chirps, and smirks wickedly, waiting for his response.

  “I thought you said your powers don’t work up here?” I play along.

  Avi shrugs. “Technically, they work. If I use them without authorization, I get into trouble. In this case, I’m sure Lucifer will make an exception. What do you think, Doc?”

  Dr. Foster’s gaze slides uncomfortably between us. “Ladies, we have a curfew for safety reasons. Guests of the retreat are asked to remain inside during the hours from twelve to five a.m. Miss Annandale, since you’re new here, I’ll make an exception this time. We don’t alarm our doors, as there has never been a need for it; however, if I find either of you outside after curfew again, there will be consequences, such as loss of personal free time and unsupervised roaming privileges. I hope not to enforce either, but I will. Clear?”

  “Crystal,” Avi replies with a snide twang.

  “We understand. Thank you, Dr. Foster, for the pass this time,” I add.

  Over the past two years, I’ve learned how to be submissive with medical staff in these types of situations. It’s easier than dealing with the aftermath of their anger. Or the meds.

  “Please retire to your suites for the evening, ladies.” He buttons his coat and tightens his grip on his briefcase before exiting the building through the door we just came in.

  Avi snorts. “Why’d you kiss his ass?”

  “It’s better than being restrained and medicated.”

  A frown crosses her lips. “They don’t do that here. Fuck, they don’t even have locks on the doors, for Christ’s sake. What kind of place were you in before this, anyway?”

  I look away, my eyes wandering to the lounge. “The kind where they did . . .” My voice trails off when I see him again. He’s sitting at the piano, in the
corner of the large room.

  The light from the fireplace is bathing him in soft orange hues. My gaze floats between him and the outside area where he was just sitting. How did he get in without being noticed?

  “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?” I keep my focus trained on his silhouette.

  “Fine. But don’t go outside again,” she scolds. “I like being unsupervised.”

  I roll my eyes at her dramatics and wait until she rounds the corner and is completely out of sight before taking a few cautious steps across the threshold into the dimly lit room.

  A deafening silence greets me as I step into the lounge. It’s empty, besides the two of us. With each of my slow, measured steps, my heartbeat flickers at an unusually rapid pace.

  I don’t want him to disappear again before I’ve had the chance to speak to him.

  Stopping on the spot, I swing my gaze to the large windows in a lame attempt to control my erratic heart rate. Ominous clouds have rolled in, covering the silver-blue light from the moon, and ending the twinkling dance of the stars. I knit my brow. The weather turned quickly.

  The stranger lifts his lids as he peers at me, bringing my attention back to him. He’s waiting. Assessing. Observing me with curiosity. The blackness filling the room doesn’t hide the aura surrounding him. Supremacy and dominance radiate off his body, imprinting his powerful presence deeply into my mind. He grants me a cocky smile.

  Now that I’m this close, my chest seizes. His raw beauty and magnetism sucks the oxygen from my lungs, preventing me from taking in a breath. It almost hurts to look at him. Something about this guy both terrifies and excites me.

  Of their own accord, my feet move toward him again. At the motion, pain flickers across his face, and a heavy sigh releases from his chest. The nearer I step, the more his eyes darken, almost changing color. My lungs hurt from the breath I’m holding.

  With one final step, I find myself next to where he’s seated on the piano bench.

  Wordlessly, and without an invitation, I slowly occupy the empty seat next to him.

  When I do, a rumble rolls over the cloud-covered sky.

  I peek at him under my lids to find him studying the storm.