Hunter III
Lost Souls
Heath Stallcup
Copyright © 2017 by Heath Stallcup
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To the fans that continue to read my fables, this one is for you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
Also by Heath Stallcup
Also From DevilDog Press
Chapter 1
My name is Sven. I am a Hunter.
I hunt my own kind.
I do so without mercy and without remorse. Not simply because they are vampires, but because even vampires have a code and these sons of bitches choose to live outside that code. They wreak havoc among us; it can not stand.
I’m four hundred years old (more or less), still considered a brute by the council because I come from Viking stock. I’m big, blonde, and…oh yeah. I’m a daywalker. I use that to my advantage.
I recently discovered that my soul was tossed from Valhalla and now lingers somewhere in the great beyond. A tragedy, but until I was duped by a bunch of feathered assholes, I wasn’t even aware that I had a soul. Never trust an angel.
I often ask myself why I should even care. There are times I want to rip the throat out of every god in the universe, stuff my fist down their gullet and pull their intestines from the gaping hole. Then, I think, hey. Let’s fry these guts up and force feed them to those damned angels. But usually I just think, what do I care? I haven’t had my soul in four centuries. I’m sure it’s forgotten all about me by now. But I can’t kid myself; it’s out there somewhere and I want it back.
When I was truly alive, I was devout. I worshipped my gods the way I was taught. Thor was always my favorite; I longed for the day that I could do battle with him in Valhalla, to be destroyed by the God of Thunder, existing only to return the following day, praying that he would allow me to battle him again.
My grandfather kept the old gods alive in our family, and he told me their tales when we were alone. I longed for our familial gods; I kept them in my heart and prayed to them in secret. I am, after all, a Viking. I should remain true to my heritage.
Now I find myself struggling in this faithless modern world. To most humans, the newest and neatest technology is their “god.” Or the day’s environmental issue. Or their current political cause. Or money. Yeah, that’s the big god around here.
Me? I have an advantage over them. I am fully aware that the gods are real; I’ve been screwed over by them enough times. There are many of them; most are spiteful and petty. Interesting fact: they can be killed if one had the right weaponry. Unfortunately this bit of trivia is what landed me in this soul-less predicament. I was hired by an angel to kill Loki, the trickster. He is one of my least favorite gods, but still to this day, I have no idea what his great sin was or why He wanted Loki off the board. But, sure, I was prepared to remove him from this reality in return for my soul, the very same soul that was cast from my people’s version of heaven and tossed out like yesterday’s trash.
Now I am on a mission.
I will recover my soul; I will be reunited with my soul and I will be whole when finally I enter my eternal kingdom. And if any of the words told to me by that angel were true, I will live as a man once more. I will bear fruit and my name, my bloodline, will go on forever.
At least, that’s the plan.
* * *
I woke at dawn and slipped from the bed. I did my best not to wake Laura. Officially, she’s my assistant. Unofficially, she is my lover.
I slipped to the window and drew the curtains back just a bit. I wanted to watch the sun rise. For months now, I have been unharmed by sunlight, and I relish every moment I can be under those warming rays.
I didn’t hear her rise, but I knew those hands the moment they wrapped around my middle. I felt her kiss my back and her slender arms squeezed me tightly. I caressed her hands with my own and I knew that this was the way things were meant to be.
I felt her head snuggle and pass my side as she slipped around and threw the curtains open wide. “You’re up early again.”
I turned and pulled her into an embrace, my eyes still on the warm pallet of colors licking their way across the horizon. “I never tire of this.”
I glanced down; she was smiling up at me.
How can I describe the warm, fuzzy feelings she gives me? If you’ve ever felt it, then I need no words. If you haven’t, then there are no words. Do yourself a favor and find someone who gives you those warm fuzzies and never let them go.
She stood on her toes, put her hands on my shoulders and brought me down to her level. She kissed me lightly. “I’ll go put on the coffee.”
I watched her walk out and was grateful that she slept in the nude.
Did I mention that my lover is also a “Were”? She can shapeshift into most any creature, but the one that is most natural for her is a feline. I never thought of myself as a cat person, but for her, I can adjust.
Being a Were, she’s more than comfortable in her own skin, literally. She prefers to be au naturale. And I prefer her to be that way, too. Sometimes it makes for a very distracting work day, but most days, we welcome the distraction. Her libido is almost as strong as my own.
I turned back to the window, and for the briefest moment I wondered to myself which was more lovely; the sun breaking over the horizon or my girl?
Pfft. The girl. Hands down.
I stepped into the shower to wash away the streaks of blood left from the previous night’s escapades. Laura is a scratcher. Thankfully, I heal almost immediately. She does love to draw blood, and the stripes across my back and chest are best left private.
As the hot water beat my skin, I had a chance to reflect on these past few months. When I realized how much my life had changed, it left me dumbstruck.
I had killed and eaten my old partner, a Nephilim; that was when I became a daywalker. I later killed and ate that angel who suckered me into the botched attempt to assassinate a lesser god. That left me with increased strength, speed, agility, and situational awareness. Laura calls it my “spidey sense”. It took me weeks to figure out what she meant.
While I didn’t kill Loki, I did take a good chunk from him and did a pretty fair job of draining him–I’m not certain yet what I may have gleaned from that. I feel great, powerful; but that’s a long story in itself.
You see, it never was just about killing Loki. There were ulterior motives on both sides. Angels are duplicitous assholes. Loki suckered some of the lower-ranking feathered freaks into helping him. One of them “possessed” me making me think that I had the powers of a god, and I was completely onboard with that. For one thing, I was able to travel at the speed of thought, which was cool. And I had advanced weapons at my disposal; I even blew up a squirrel without meaning to. I feel kind of bad for that…though I’m not sure why. The way this one was acting, I’m pretty sure that if I understood squirrel language, I would have stomped him into a greasy spot if I hadn’t blown him up li
ke a balloon.
But, regardless of all that fun, those assumed powers were a ruse to make me think that I was mightier than I truly was so that my ego would put me in a vulnerable position. His mistake was in thinking that I was a mere mortal. Even without the false powers, I still had my hunter’s wits, my speed, agility, and awesome god-killing weapons.
If it weren’t for Thor intervening both times I encountered Loki, I might well have become a god killer.
And let me tell you–some gods need killing.
Recently, things may have become a little too comfortable. I relish the time I spend with Laura, and dare I say, I’ve grown to love her. She has become invaluable to me, as an assistant and as a partner.
I actually brought her into the field with me on one case. I was dispatched to remove a threat to a small colony of vampires that had set up along the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. Believe it or not, they were set upon by “mountain folk;” hillbillies, for lack of a better term.
They were hard to hunt in those woods; they definitely had a home-field advantage. Laura was to act as both a backup and as a tracker. She may not like shifting into canines, but that’s fine. Her nose as a cat is every bit as sensitive as a hound’s, and her skill with those claws makes her easily as deadly as I am with my blades. It is awe inspiring to watch her work.
During our outings, I’ve noted certain times when I knew something was about to happen and so acted on it. It is like an enhanced intuition, but it’s more certain; like an advanced warning light flashes in my mind. When I tried to explain it to Laura, that was when she offered the comic book reference; I rather like it.
Unfortunately, whatever this new power is, I can’t control it. It’s not like I can close my eyes, think really hard, and voila! Instant foresight. It is more subdued than that; it’s like when you’re facing that dark alley and that little voice in the back of your head warns you not to enter…so you don’t. And you don’t get killed or robbed or raped or…whatever bad thing that fate originally had in store for you. Instead, you go around the alley and you live another day.
I finished my shower and dressed in the clothes that Laura had bought to fill my closet. Modern lumberjack is how she described it. I’ve come to adore flannel; it would have been a big hit with Vikings back in their day.
I pushed through the closet and saw my leather pants and tunic hanging at one end. I pulled it out slightly and felt the smooth texture under my fingers. They smelled of wood smoke, earth, and sweat. The smell reminded me of home. I pushed them back behind the modern clothes and pulled the closet door shut.
As I entered the kitchen, Laura stood at the stove, still nude, except for the apron she had wrapped around her. I wanted nothing more than to sink my teeth into her exposed jiggly parts, but fought the urge. She already had my bag of blood waiting, warmed. I quickly downed it to give my body what it needed, then trashed the bag and prepared to dig into the food she prepared.
Somewhere along the line, I became able to enjoy real foods again, and what a pleasure that has been. Before, eating human food, that is, food human’s eat, left me violently ill. My new and improved self was able to indulge every culinary whim, as long as I have blood in my system first.
Even then, I can only eat small amounts by human standards. Nothing at all like when I was possessed by the demon…er, bad angel. During that short time, I could gorge myself without any ill effects or consequences. But once the bastard was ripped from my body? Gods. I think I threw up my spleen. It definitely left me drained.
But even drained, I was able to deliver to Loki a near killing blow. Had his brother not intervened, I’d have his head on my wall.
“Hey. I’m over here.” She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Where were you?”
I tucked the napkin into my shirt like she taught me. “Killing Loki again.”
“Ah.” She slid the plate of food in front of me and I waited until she was seated.
“You don’t need the apron anymore.” I gave her a sly smile.
She returned the smile as she peeled the smock from her front and tossed it to the counter. “Better?”
“Much.” I slid a slice of bacon into my mouth and while my tongue relayed the flavor of sinfully salty smoked meat to my brain, I imagined biting into her soft mounds. But trust me, I learned the hard way not to draw blood from her. She didn’t mind, but the lore about vampires being unable to drink the blood of Weres was absolutely true. It was just a tiny bit that had escaped a scratch; I dragged my finger along her skin, placed it in my mouth, and was shocked by how sweet it was.
But as soon as I swallowed that tiny droplet? Hell broke loose. I became so violently ill that I actually wished I had another possessing angel ripped from my core. I heaved until only dust came from my mouth.
I think it scared her more than me. She stood by my side, rubbing my back while I heaved into the shower. I knew better than to aim for a sink or toilet. When a vampire vomits, it can coat the walls of a room. It’s best to throw me in a glass shower and hose it out when the worst is over.
“Keep your mind on your breakfast.” She gave me that impish grin again.
“I can’t imagine desert?” I tried not to talk with my mouth full. That is still a foreign concept to me, but it pleases her, so I try to remember.
“No desert until tonight.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this…but maybe you should cover yourself.” I tried to avert my eyes; they had a mind of their own. Even though they had memorized her body from head to toe, my eyes couldn’t help but drink in every bit of her.
She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and I watched her eat. It took her a few moments to finally nod. “I suppose I could do that.” She stood slowly and stretched. It was agonizing to watch but I couldn’t tear away from the scene.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
There was that impish grin again. “Maybe.” She walked slowly and deliberately past me, her hips swaying wider and slower than normal. I watched as she stretched to her ankles, her breasts hanging directly below my gaze, bringing it with her as she righted herself and sighed. Then she snagged a slice of bacon from my plate. “One for the road.”
I groaned inwardly as she walked out of the kitchen and I was left with my rapidly cooling food and a rapidly heating groin. I had to close my eyes and try to focus on anything but her. It didn’t help when she reappeared wearing a thin tank top and yoga pants that hugged her every delicious curve. She held her arms out and spun around. “Better?”
“No.” I scooped up my plate and set it in the sink. I tried really hard not to look at her. I tried even harder not to squeeze her bottom as I walked by.
I failed miserably at both.
* * *
I found it much easier to concentrate on my work in the office. She knew the effect she had on me and she loved it. I loved that she loved it.
Thankfully, she was nice enough not to distract me while I was locked away. The only time she would interrupt was if something came in that was “hot”. On occasion, the council would send us an order that was time-critical and top priority. Like the hillbilly case. Our people were being ashed by a bunch of inbred mouth breathers and they had to be stopped before the entire colony was lost.
My current work focused on more effective training for the other hunters that covered the country, and in my off time, I spent hours researching anything and everything I could find that dealt with souls, spirits, the afterlife…anything that could help me track down my soul. I knew that it was a fool’s errand, but well, a worthwhile one.
Laura had contacts with people who owned specialty book stores. She had feelers out to them for ancient books that dealt with the subject. Finally something useful turned up.
I was in the middle of trying to put into words the most reliable methods for hunting a runaway vampire when she threw open the doors to the office. “Package.”
She walked in and dropped it on my de
sk, her face plastered with a big, silly grin. I picked it up and ripped open the padded envelope. It felt like a book inside. I guessed right. “What’s this?”
She shrugged and her smile broadened. “Something I’ve been waiting on.”
“If you’ve been waiting, why is it addressed to me?”
She couldn’t wait for me to get to it. She reached across the desk and pulled the package from my hands, slipped the book out, and placed it gently in front of me. It had an odd design embossed in gold on the cover. I couldn’t read the language it was printed in.
She tapped the cover. “I think this might help us track down your soul.”
I raised a brow and pulled the book closer. I lifted the front cover and it felt as though the pages inside would crack from age. I glanced at the archaic writing and shook my head. “I have no idea what this says.”
“I think it’s ancient Sumerian.”
I looked to her and shook my head. “And this helps me, how?”
“It’s The Path of the Afterlife.” She continued smiling.
I shrugged. “But I can’t read it.”
She sighed heavily and pulled the book back across my desk, disappointed, I imagined. “But somebody can. We just have to find whoever that somebody is.”
I tried not to look defeated. “And if they can somehow decipher this scratching, what makes you think that it will help us track down a soul that was tossed out?”
She sighed and fell into the chair beside my desk. “Why are you being so negative? My friend said that this book is rumored to have the answers to that very question. He called in every favor he had to procure this book for us.” She tapped the cover. “This didn’t come cheaply.”
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