by Lisa De Palo
Lisa De Palo
Hunted Souls
Shadow Realms Book Two
Copyright © Lisa De Palo, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Lisa De Palo asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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Contents
JOIN THE FAN CLUB
GLUTTONY
SAVAGERY
CONJURING
CONDEMNATION
ADORATION
IRASCIBLE
DESOLATION
CONFINEMENT
DISTRESS
AUDACITY
VEXATION
HARBINGER
ENSLAVEMENT
ABHORRENCE
TOLERANCE
ACCOMPLICE
TREACHERY
DEMONIC
IMPACT
ADAMANT
LANGUISH
TREPIDATION
TREACHERY
PARAMOUR
ACCESSION
CONVERSANCE
OMINOUS
PURGE
MALICE
HUNTED
ATONEMENT
TENACITY
THANKS FOR READING
ABOUT LISA DE PALO
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1
GLUTTONY
“I need to feed!” Layla moaned as she grasped at her throat. Her nose flared as she looked up at Marco. “This is killing me.”
“Just drink the blood bags for now, Layla,” he said gently and he caressed the side of her face with his soft hand. “We can work something better out later.”
She swung her head sharply at Marco and spoke through gritted teeth. “Blood bags? I need fresh blood, Marco.”
Layla pulled away from him and paced the room, her teeth were aching deep down into her gums. She wanted it… she needed it… and only the sweet metallic taste from a soft, succulent vein would satisfy her hunger. Every inch of her body craved it like nothing she had ever felt before and it sent her head racing so that only blood was on her mind.
Marco straightened up so that he towered over her and he stared her down like a master to its slave.
“You have to fight it,” he said. “I know how tough the urge is, but you just don’t have a choice, if you want to live and survive in this world then you need to be stronger than this.”
“Why?” she asked sharply, half expecting no reply.
“You are being hunted… and killing innocent people will only bring-”
“If you have such reverence for humans,” she hissed, “then you should have left me as one.”
“Enough Layla, I sired you, show some respect.”
Layla clenched her hands so tight that she could feel her nails digging deep into her palms. She lashed out and grabbed Marco by the throat. His eyes widened and her anger intensified. She threw him back against the wall, not knowing her own strength until she heard the sickening crack of his skull.
Newborn vampires were not to be reckoned with. Their drive for blood was far more ferocious than anything else. Far greater than even the most ancient of vampires.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Marco,” she spat. “Look at what you have created! I’ll never take your orders.”
She paced the room attempting to shake off her cravings and watched Marco carefully as he slowly pulled himself up off of the ground. Layla’s jaw dropped wide when she heard the sounds of his skull reforming, meshing back together. All her new senses overwhelmed her, she fell to the floor trying to cover her own ears. Marco’s face was tensed with rage. She needed to get out, and quickly, his demands were becoming too much to bear. She realized she couldn’t control her actions any longer as every single emotion was heightened to extreme levels. She couldn’t stand what she had become and was confused by her newfound urges.
“Look at you…” Marco said. “I can hear the demonic blood in your voice.”
Layla’s jaw tensed and she stepped up close to him pointing her finger at his face.
“I am going out whether you like it or not, Marco.” She looked over at the blood bags lying across the floor. “I’m not drinking those.”
She watched as he dropped his head rubbing at the back of his neck. Layla realized she had gotten under his skin and she felt a pang of regret. He was trying to help her, she knew he was a good man, but how could anyone help her now?
“Newborns have a rage, Layla… they have a hunger that can’t easily be tamed. You aren’t in control, you haven’t lived this life for more than a day, you don’t know the first thing about being a vampire, or what powers you hold. You will need to find your strength and listen to my advice.”
She sighed out loud like a spoiled brat and noticed his shoulders tense up, it was only slight, but her vision was sharper and she saw it.
“You better take me seriously,” he said. “I am only going to tell you this once. There is an ancient law that all of us immortals must obey. We cannot cross over the river and take an innocent, the consequence of disobeying will bring death to us all. I will not allow that to happen.”
Layla huffed and shook her head. She was in no mood to be told what to do. In fact, it only made her feel more rebellious.
“Rules that I have to obey? I had my life taken by you monsters… and now I have to obey and submit?” She took a step back not believing what she was hearing. “I’m already dead! What more could you possibly do to me?”
Marco lunged at her with lightning speed and Layla threw her hands up as she stepped back into the wall. She waited for the hit, but was only met with silence. She slowly lowered her arms and peered over her hands when she felt the soft weight of his palms pressing down on her shoulders.
“I tried to save you from a hell far worse than this, Layla. You have ancient, demonic blood pulsing through your veins… trust me when I say there is much, much worse than you could experience than a vampiric life.”
Layla knew he was right, but was stricken with grief… she hadn’t even been able to mourn the death of her own mortal life yet. She wanted to cry and to once more be held in the loving embrace of her mother’s arms. She gulped and felt the harshness of the situation, but, she couldn’t succumb to her weakness. Something inside her fought to keep her guard up, her arms crossed, and as she ground her teeth together she realized rage had regained control of her. It was acting as her saving grace.
The hunger came back like a wave, every ounce of her being was begging to feed, she needed fresh blood and she hated herself for it. Her initial feelings for Marco had begun to subside replaced by a new found loathing.
Layla marched into the bathroom, feeling sluggish and fragile. It was almost as if the argument had drained the strength right out of her. Everything was taking its toll.
She stood hunched over, her eyes glued to her reflection in the ornate mirror. Her auburn hair had turned white - maybe it had died along with her soul? Her shoulders drooped further forward and she felt tears barely being held back behind her eye
s.
I’m nothing but a living ghost…
She stared lifelessly down into her empty hands and took a step back from the vanity unit. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for everything that had happened lately. If she hadn’t been so selfish in only thinking of herself and her own foolish needs and had actually paid attention to others around her then things would have been different. She squeezed the bridge of her nose and her eyes began to well with salty tears.
What’s wrong with me? Mom and Kendra are dead, and now Dean is possessed by a demon…
All she wanted to do was scream, yet nothing surfaced. It felt as if ropes from the underworld had wrapped around her and death itself had set a trap in her path.
She clasped her hand into a tight fist and smashed it to the ground. Her sorrowful hate fractured the marble tile, pain bolted up her arm and she screamed in rage. As she lifted her clenched fist in front of her, she watched her own blood drip from the split knuckles. The cuts slowly meshed together, healing themselves before her very eyes.
She shook her head in disgust. If she was going to be an ungodly monster then she would do it on her own terms. She walked out of the bathroom and looked Marco up and down. His lips parted as if he was going to speak but she silenced him with a finger. She left him standing there and let him watch as she marched out of his room alone.
2
SAVAGERY
Dean’s veins pulsed a blackish gray against his pale skin as Ardat threw her vessel’s arms in the air. Layla’s corpse was missing and someone was going to pay. Ardat knew that Dean had been lying dormant, left in the back of his own mind as if he was riding like a passenger while she drove his mortal flesh.
Masked by the demon fiend, he had no power. She forced him to sit in the darkness, to helplessly awaiting the fate that she held the reigns to. He was in agony, feeling the bitter heat of her hate through his arms and legs. Ardat chuckled as she forced the pain to his organs, she let them twist into cramps and assaulted his mind with images of a bloody hell. He would be lucky if he lived through her possession.
She stalked through the club, her hawkish eyes seeking out clues, yet there was nothing to be found. Someone would pay for this, she would make sure of it. As if to satisfy that dread lust, she held her hand out in front of her and forced Dean’s blood to a boil. The veins looked as if they would burst and she smiled at his internal screams. He was still alive and felt everything, he could see what she was doing, and he could hear what she let him. Ardat’s lips curled to a smile.
“She doesn’t know who I am,” she hissed.
She heard Dean’s screams inside his own head which seemed to amuse her. It was like pulling wings off a fly. A glass shattered in the back of the bar and Ardat span on her heels. All was still, but she could feel the bated breath of vampires hiding. A smile twitched at the corner of her lip. She heaved her hands together and forced the ether around her to thicken. She siphoned the very energy of the room and watched the translucent topaz flames building before her in a great orb. Her arms began to shake and she gritted her teeth until she couldn’t hold it any longer. It felt like a great release, she let the flames go and they burst out of her like thunder rolling through the club. Glass shattered, tables flew and the walls shook as blue flame consumed the place. She heard the screams and saw the vampires burst out of hiding as their skin melted off of their bodies and they crumbled to ash.
It felt pleasing, but Rezaal was waiting for her and she knew she would still have to wear the responsibility for Layla’s loss. How the hell was she going to tell him that his pregnant mistress was dead?
She headed toward the back of the club jerking her body at every shrill sound that came from the club’s ruins. Reluctantly, she reached the back and slowly pushed open the two heavy metal doors. She felt Dean’s pulse race as she came toward Rezaal. He was sitting in the hall, facing the doors in a leather bound chair sipping on a celebratory bourbon. Ardat swallowed hard.
“Bad news-”
Ardat was silenced before she could finish. She saw Rezaal’s face drop and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She threw her hands to her throat, her eyes bulged.
“You worthless fiend,” he said slowly.
Her heart was hammering, Rezaal was going to kill her vessel and send her straight back to hell.
“What have you done, now?” he asked.
She clawed at her neck and suddenly gasped as Rezaal let her go. The demon unfolded black leathery wings and stood high above her from his chair. She fumbled back and Rezaal vaulted at her, flying clear of the floor and grasping her with claw-like talons.
He shoved his hand against Dean’s forehead and his sharp claws grew out over an inch in length. The nails dug deep into Dean’s temples and Ardat could hear the boy wailing in agony inside.
A bitter vision flashed before her eyes as the high-demon forced the memories out. His eyes blackened and widened in madness, he lifted Dean’s body by the neck and squeezed so tight that Ardat could feel the bones cracking from the sheer force. Dean’s bones ground against each other and Ardat knew this was it. She had failed him and he was going to send her back to the pits of hell.
“Rezaal please,” she pleaded through forced breaths. “I’ll - I’ll bring her back.”
He roared out loud and threw Ardat back so she fell hard against the floor.
Rezaal made a tight fist with his hand and Ardat felt her vessel’s body begin to rot. It was as if the fabric of his organs, his muscles, his skin was slowly disintegrating. Dean’s body began changing from flesh to grey to black, Ardat wrapped her arms around her waist as the internal organs turned and twisted. Dean cried in agony within his own head and Ardat’s voice wailed out loudly as they both endured the pain.
“Please Rezaal, I will make this right,” she moaned. “Let me fix it.”
She felt Rezaal give up a little tension, it was just enough so she could talk.
“What could you possibly do to fix this? You pathetic vermin?“.
“I will raise an army from hell,” she pleaded. “You will have what is rightfully yours.”
Rezaal let his fist loosen and Ardat slowly found her feet.
“How do you think you are going to do that? The angels hold the entrance to this plane… but go ahead, wretch, humor me.”
“Free will,” Ardat smiled. “I’ll find the lowest of humanity and have them beg for us. They will plead for escape and I will give it to them, Rezaal. I’ll have them invite our demons in!”
3
CONJURING
Sophie sat before the curtained mirror in silence. It was covered because she knew what lay behind the veil and it scared her. She hated scrying, but she had tried everything else and she still hadn’t been able to find Layla. This was her last hope. She pulled the cloth away and the black mirror faced her, she could see her dark reflection in it and she sighed.
Please, please, please work… she silently prayed.
She lit two candles on either side of the mirror and began to stare into the abyss. The flames of the candles danced like twin orbs in the black and she tried to blank her mind. If she was lucky, Layla would reveal herself within the frame. Sophie tried to not think about what could happen if she wasn’t lucky.
Sophie let the weight of her head rest in her hands and shifted her concentration inward, keeping her breathing deep and controlled. She began to gaze into the obsidian mirror long and hard, stretching out her sight. On a successful scrying session, the mists in the mirror would dissipate until she could hear and see a familiar place.
Where are you, Layla?
She tried her hardest to get a feel of anything that might seem familiar. Yet all she saw was a dark circle and the dancing orbs.
“This is useless,” she sighed.
Sophie began to feel the pressure. All the years of practicing witchcraft and now she couldn’t even conduct a simple locator spell.
She scratched her head and walked tirelessly in circles searching her brain for ideas
. She ripped books from shelves and scanned pages and pages in hopes of answers. But nothing came to her except a headache, she let her ponytail down and tossed her graying hair around to ease her scalp. She let her body fall back on the couch throwing her head back in defeat.
Old Gran’s boxes!
Something clicked in her mind. Sophie remembered many years ago before her Grandmother passed, she left a box of all her magical goodies. Her grandmother was never actually a witch herself but was what some would call a spiritual gypsy, her grandmother liked the idea of owning strange and curious things.
Sophie dashed up to her attic where she had boxes filled with all her occult nic-nacs, and things she had accumulated from Sunday garage sales. Brushing away at the hanging cobwebs, she decided to start at the back of the room. She supposed there was a certain order to her boxed ‘timeline’.
Aww… Gran’s old Victorian era dolls…
Sophie grasped hold of one and looked at the dusty old gown and tightly curled hair. She fumbled around with its satin dress, pulling it out into a lovely ball gown shape. These old dolls were made well, but, she met the doll’s gaze, she couldn’t help but feel anxious. The dolls soulless pale-blue eyes stared back at her, and a shiver ran up Sophie’s spine. She threw it back into the box and quickly sealed it shut.
She kept rummaging and found a few old books on women’s medicine and some intricately carved wooden statues. They reminded her of when she was a girl, but Sophie shook the memory away, she didn’t have time for reminiscing and none of this stuff was going to help her.
She almost gave up until something caught her eye. It was poking out of a box just to the right of her and was covered in white cloth and bound in twine. Carefully she unraveled it, and almost dropped it to the floor once the corner revealed what it actually was. A very old, light-tan and black ouija board. Her beloved grandmother had taught her how to use the board, she could still remember her saying over and over again, “always scatter salt around to protect yourself!”
