Saved By Her (Soul Searchers Book 1)

by BE Brouillard

  Axel snorted, while Xander looked contemplative. In fact, more than that, he seemed downright shamefaced.

  “I’ve tried that,” he admitted sheepishly, shrugging as the pair turned their attention to him. “Countless centuries ago…I was…in torment. It satisfied me at the time.”

  “Well, then you’re a moron. And you’ve paid the price by being stuck here for longer than you would have. Frankly, I’m surprised they didn’t just kick your ass straight down to hell. The Threshers wait in the wings for exactly that kind of deal to go down.” Alaric shook his head in disgust. Every incubus lived in fear of the Threshers. The Dark Lord’s ‘clean-up crew’ were intermittent visitors to Purgatory, disposing of incurably evil souls with an icy efficiency which seemed to mask a dark delight. “Lilith gets the shits with spirits who won’t learn their lessons. I can only imagine you have some strong allies on your side because if she had her way, you’d be on a rotisserie by now.”

  Xander shuddered at the picture, knowing that while Alaric made light of it, the reality would be far more horrific.

  “So, if you have so many answers, what are you still doing here, man?” Axel aimed his question at Alaric. “You’re so smart about all this shit – how come you haven’t cracked the nod for the Heaven Squad?”

  “Because I… Well, I…” Alaric floundered. “I suppose I have special circumstances to overcome.”

  “Yeah, right? What circumstances?” Axel pressed.

  Alaric balked at responding but knew the motherfucker would never let up.

  “My salvation will be hard-won,” was his simple reply. Xander eyed him, then stepped in – uncharacteristically for the stoic Spartan.

  “Alaric was a mighty warrior,” he said, ignoring the biker’s rolling eyes. ‘Jesus, I can see why they killed him,’ he thought to himself. “Like any warrior, he left…casualties in his wake.” He looked to Alaric to ensure he wasn’t overstepping any bounds. “One particularly bloody battle wiped out almost an entire family. Fathers, mothers, grandsires…infants…”

  As he said the words, Alaric made a tormented sound.

  “I did not give that command,” he choked out.

  “Nevertheless, the survivors – a small child and her aging grandmother – remembered their attackers. The old woman cursed them to hell and vowed that they would never forgive what had been done to them.”

  “Tough draw of the cards, man,” Axel commented.

  “More than you might realize,” Xander agreed. “Alaric will be released from his karmic debt when he can win the love of one of her bloodline. Until then, he is doomed to wander our halls, answering questions for idiots like you.”

  “Fuck you!” Axel blew out. “What’s stopping him from putting a whammy on one of those bitches anyhow – that’s what we do, right?”

  “Not so easy, moron,” Alaric interjected. “Aside from the fact that there are few left of the first true bloodline, those who remain are frustratingly immune to my…charms.”

  “What he means is that their DNA seems to be wired to reject him,” Xander explained. “When he encounters a potential soul – if they’re available – they seem oddly repulsed by his presence. Even with his ‘skills’.”

  “If they’re available? Aren’t all chicks available to us?” asked the biker.

  “No,” replied Alaric. “The souls who can save us must be pure. They wouldn’t tolerate us if they truly belonged to another. Nor would they open their hearts if their trust was compromised, or their morals. And we can’t find salvation in their arms if we corrupt them. They call us when they need us. We are drawn to them because they are pure. And their purity is what saves us.”

  “Sounds like a crock of shit to me,” scoffed Axel.

  “Laugh if you will, boy,” Xander brushed him off. “Your turn will come. Just pray you don’t wait here as long as I have.”

  The kid’s response was cut short as the air around them went cold. A dark shape flickered on the outskirts of Xander’s vision, gaining form and clarity as he turned to focus on it. In seconds, it had become clear – a lean, sinewy figure, skin glistening with dark scales, flew into sight on wings the shape of an oversized bat.

  “Shit!” Axel bit out a curse, turning to stare in the direction of the swooping creature. Its face was a death skull, teeth bared in an eternal grimace of terror. Its eyes glowed red, ringed by unnaturally white pupils. Where its nose should have been, were two black holes that opened into a void, its mouth an open maw that released a bloodcurdling shriek that made him want to clap his hands over his ears. Yet he knew that the action wouldn’t deafen the sound – it’s scream was a death knell to some damned soul. He stepped back in shock as it flashed past him, leaving a trail of black fog, swirling sparks, and the stench of death. The air around him grew frigid, as if a freezer door had been opened and snapped shut.

  “Quiet!” barked Alaric. “You would be wise not to draw the attention of that beast.”

  Xander repressed a shudder of loathing, frozen to the spot as the figure swooped past them again and then flashed into the darkness, out of sight.

  “What the fuck was that?” shot Axel, face still filled with horror.

  “It is a Thresher,” replied Alaric, voice hushed, as if to say its name out loud would be to summon it back. “A harvester of lost souls. When that comes for you, you will know your time here is done.”

  Axel frowned, confused. “What do you mean, ‘done’? Aren’t we here forever?”

  “No, boy. Purgatory is your last chance to redeem yourself – the place for those souls who have some small hope of atoning for their earthly sins. You may have been an asshole on earth, but the ‘powers that be’,” Alaric glanced heavenwards meaningfully, “believe you didn’t act of your own accord. There was something that drove you to do what you did. While you’re here, if you can prove them right, you’ll probably go to the ‘good place’. If they think they’ve made a mistake, one of those things is going to come for you.”

  “And then?” Axel pressed.

  “And then nothing,” Alaric replied grimly. “Hellfires, damnation, eternal pit of pain and suffering, flesh being rent from bone…all that stuff you heard in church or wherever you took your spiritual guidance.”

  Another shriek tore the air, and two more black figures shot past, leaving streaks of icy air in their wake.

  “Must be a bad one,” muttered Xander, then stopped as a blood-chilling howl filled the hall. “Vladimir!”

  Alaric gave a curt nod. “I’m not surprised.” The Russian spirit had made everyone uncomfortable. Sent to the incubus ranks after a life as a rapist and murderer, the Council were divided over his presence. Lilith, in particular, had found him offensive but had been overruled by Imentet and Azazel. They were adamant that the man’s childhood years of abuse by his religious zealot father had driven him to his violent acts. Like Lilith, Alaric hadn’t been convinced.

  “Unrepentant,” he muttered. “He believed he’d earned the right to inflict pain.”

  Another howl split the silence and then the creatures shot past again, this time their smoke trails twisted, combined, wove together to form a black cloud. The dark swirls revealed a figure, struggling and tearing at the air around him.

  “Release me!” Vladimir railed, striking out at the Threshers. “I will fucking destroy you! Let me go!” A barrage of Russian followed these words, the tone leaving no doubt of the nature of their content – he was cursing his attackers in every language he knew.

  His efforts were futile; the oblivious creatures streaked through the halls with their screaming cargo trailing. With each passing second, his form grew more indistinct, fuzzier around the edges, as if his essence was being sucked away.

  “I am not done! I am not done! I am not done!” Vladimir screamed, his face contorted into a mask of pure terror. “No! Please! Stop—!” His voice became frantic, hysterical as the cold air began to warm, grew hotter, the dark cloud suddenly brightening to the color of flame. Red hot.
White-hot. Lava hot. “No! God, no! I swear, I was wrong, I can change, I—” His screams abruptly stopped as a blinding flash of flame flared around the unholy group. It engulfed them in a ball of fire that blazed and then blinked out, leaving only darkness, settling sparks, and a lingering stench of sulfur.

  Xander, Axel and Alaric stood in shocked silence for a moment. The disposal of the irredeemable was not an unusual occurrence. It was, after all, part of the process they were there for. Yet every time it happened, it left everyone with a sense of doom.

  “He wasn’t trying,” Alaric murmured, shaking his head.

  Xander nodded his head in agreement. “No. That was quite clear.” He’d seen the Russian gloating about his exploits, heard him bragging about how he terrified his victims. However horrific his childhood had been, it could not overshadow the fact that he’d developed an appetite for torture that he’d carried into the afterlife.

  Xander shivered, remembering how close he’d come to following a similar path when he’d tormented his women with visions of his demonic self. Yet he’d never been able to cause suffering on the scale that Vladimir craved. Even in torment, he needed to feel their ecstasy, and so that was what he’d given them. His crime had been in allowing them to realize that they’d taken pleasure from a monster. In his wake, he’d left them filled with self-loathing and confusion. As these thoughts whirled around his mind, he began to understand why the Council had grown so impatient with him.

  “I don’t get it,” Axel remained bemused. “We’re quasi-demons, right? What difference does it make if someone tortures his victims?”

  “It makes a tremendous difference,” Alaric muttered, shaking his head – he couldn’t believe the kid had remained oblivious to this part of their existence for so long. “We are incubi. We exist off the sexual energy we create within those women. We are designed to live off pleasure. Vladimir caused pain. It blackened his already dark soul until there was no point from which he could return. The only path that was left was the journey down…there.” He looked down, as if the place he was referring to could be clearly seen beneath their feet.

  “So how will I know if I’m heading down…” Axel’s glance followed the line Alaric’s had taken, “there.”

  “For a start, you can begin to make choices that are not entirely self-serving,” Alaric said. “If you’re on the right track, your energy will begin to brighten. Get it wrong, and you’ll feel the darkness soaking in. When there’s no longer a chance for lightness in your soul, they’ll come for you.”

  Xander listened to the pair, silent as he let the conversation sink in. He’d spent so long balancing the light against the dark, he wondered if there was a set of circumstances for shades of gray.

  “So, every time I make a mistake, I lose light?” Axel asked. Xander grimaced, and Alaric flashed a glance his way.

  “Everyone is different,” he continued. “Our friend over here has probably earned the record for the number of times he’s got it wrong, and yet here he remains. Others, like Vladimir, barely lasted a few decades.”

  “Yeah. That’s because he was one evil motherfucker,” Axel responded. “Even I could see that. How did he get here in the first place?”

  Alaric shrugged. “The Council decides. Sometimes a soul will be sent here, and they send it straight out again. Other times, a member will choose one and champion his or her cause. Frankly, I think Xander has been around this long because Salazar refuses to admit he made a mistake. He and Lilith have been at each other’s throats for so long he can’t stand to lose this battle with her.”

  Xander gave a rueful shrug. “She certainly doesn’t like me much,” he admitted. “If it was up to her, I’d be long gone.”

  “What did you do to piss her off so badly?” asked Axel.

  “Oh, she’s not pissed off, friend. If she hated the man, he’d be long gone,” laughed Alaric.

  “It is more than a simple battle between her and Salazar, however,” admitted Xander. “I suppose I’ve been a stubborn case, but perhaps she understands that I truly am sorry for my crimes. I just haven’t found a way to prove it.”

  “I guess it would help if someone would write a manual,” Axel nodded.

  Alaric cracked a grin. “Oh, but they have! Plenty of them. We simply choose to ignore the guidelines – most holy books give some pretty clear advice on how to live a good life. Can’t help it if half the planet ignores that and focuses on the parts that appear to preach vengeance and extremism.”

  Axel barked out a laugh. “Well, don’t look at me, bud. I ain’t no holy roller. I got my preaching from the church of the road.”

  “Yeah. And look where that landed you.” Xander rolled his eyes.

  “Same place you got to with all your ‘brotherhood of the sword’ shit, dude,” Axel snapped back.

  “Looks like we all still have a lot to learn,” Alaric interrupted, turning as another swirl of cloud surrounded them.

  Chapter Nine

  Rebecca woke late on Saturday morning – for her, at any rate. Her usual routine of an early run, followed by breakfast at the little coffee shop beside the park, didn’t appeal today, for some reason. Climbing out of bed and pulling on a robe, she stretched lazily and opened the curtains. Clouds had begun to pull over, and it looked set to be a gray day.

  “Duvet day,” she mused, ambling to the kitchen and setting up the coffee machine. Rifling through the cupboards, she found a box of pods and selected an intense espresso blend, hoping to shake off the grogginess. She knew she probably needed a burst of cold air and some jogging time to get the blood pumping but resigned herself to the fact that today wasn’t going to be one of those days.

  “Sometimes you just gotta take a break,” she told herself, listening to the hiss and growl of the machine as the fragrant scent of coffee filled the room. She filled a small cup with the scalding liquid and inhaled deeply, loving the rich aroma. She’d been a caffeine junkie for years but seldom drank more than a cup a day, finding that it left her jittery.

  “We can’t have you bouncing off the walls,” Rosie would say if she saw her friend heading for the office percolator. Lately, though, she’d been succumbing more regularly, and yet now it didn’t have the usual effect. By mid-afternoon, her energy would slump to an all-time low, and she’d be battling to keep her eyes open. Yesterday had been particularly bad. After the strange night and even stranger events of the day, Becky wondered if emotional overload had added to her growing listlessness. Stella’s attack and subsequent bizarre behavior had left her stupefied. Even Rosie was surprised, although she brushed it off as ‘bitch meltdown’.

  “Chick needs rewiring,” she’d muttered. “Even her evil little mind can’t handle that amount of nastiness.” Then she’d dismissed the incident and drawn Becky into a flurry of activity, probably in a bid to distract her.

  The ploy had failed…Becky kept finding herself re-running the moments through her mind.

  What the hell had happened?

  What made Stella change tactics so dramatically? One minute she’d been in full attack mode, the next it had looked like she’d seen a ghost … or worse. The woman had left soon after the incident, saying she’d come down with a stomach bug, an excuse nobody thought to question since she so clearly wasn’t well. But Rebecca had been there when the so-called ‘bug’ descended. She’d been fine…and then not. Most disturbingly was the overwhelming sense she had that they hadn’t been alone, that Stella had been attacked. The prickling feeling that had run up the back of her neck, the sensation of the air suddenly becoming thinner, colder. The strange tunnel-vision she’d had as darkness had closed around the outer range of her vision. The distinct feeling that she was being defended by…someone.

  By the time she’d got home, her buzzing brain had been ready to shut down. After picking at an uninspiring salad that had been all she’d had the energy to whip up, she’d trudged to her bedroom, kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the bed. She’d barely bothered to shimmy out
of her jeans and unbutton her blouse before she’d tugged the duvet over herself and curled up under it, still in her white cotton underwear. For once, her rigid rule of always washing her face and brushing her teeth before bed was utterly forgotten. She’d shut her eye,s and sleep had descended like a coma.

  “Oh my god, look at you,” she muttered as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, the empty coffee cup abandoned on the edge of the basin. Her eyes had dark smudges beneath them where her mascara had blurred into the shadows that had developed there.

  She considered splashing her face with water then decided a shower would be better. If she wasn’t going to take that run in the park, the least she could do was spend a bit of time on some girly grooming. She untied her robe and let it drop to the floor, unhooking her bra and stepping out of her panties before stepping into the shower cubicle. The underwire of her bra had left faint red lines beneath the curves of her breasts, and she regretted not removing it before bed.

  “Sheesh, girl, you must be coming down with something,” she muttered to herself, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature. She sighed as the steaming flow streamed over her head and onto her shoulders, her hair turning from light to dark gold as the water soaked into it, running strands of it down her back. She soaped herself, then reached for a safety razor, coating her legs in silky shaving foam. She ran the blade in long swipes along the lines of her limbs, running her fingers along the path to check if she’d missed any spots. Rinsing the razor, she made to put it away, then changed her mind and soaped the juncture of her thighs, shaving neat lines along the edges of the strip of hair there. She stopped abruptly, glancing up and frowning.

  ‘Was that a groan?’ she thought, alarmed.

  ***

  Through the misted glass of the cubicle door, Xander watched her, startled when she’d looked up as he moaned his approval at the sight of her. He couldn’t help himself. Her body was wet and slick with a mix of soap and streaming water. Her fingers pressed over the line of her sex as she grazed the razor over the hair there; the area was entirely bare – it made his lips curve up. For a single woman with no romantic intentions, she kept herself remarkably well-groomed.