A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound Book 4)

by Hailey Turner

  “I’ll draw them out. I have a feeling I’m the reason they’re here.”

  It would be just like Estelle and Youssef to pay a third party to kill him. Patrick couldn’t kill the perpetrators who came at the packs under their protection due to the bad press it would cause. The packs who were accosted never wanted to press charges, and Jono would never force them to. Estelle and Youssef’s inability to challenge Jono directly just proved they were scared of him and what he represented. Either way, someday soon, they’d all have to meet in the challenge ring, and that was a fight Jono was determined to win.

  Just like this one.

  “Ready when you are,” Austin said.

  Jono nodded. “Go.”

  The pack members of the New Rebels tapped into their preternatural speed and ran down the street in zigzag motions, being careful to stay behind cover when they could. The sound of more crossbow bolts releasing reached Jono’s ears, but he didn’t hear any screams. He used the sound of the release to narrow down the position of their attackers. That, paired with the calm heartbeats of four people buried beneath the rush of city noises and people packed together, was enough for Jono to figure out their general locations.

  Jono crossed the street in a blur, crossbow bolts cutting harmlessly through the air in his wake. He was too fast to get hit, and the reflexes behind the shots were human, of that he was certain.

  He just wasn’t sure what else the hunters carried in their souls.

  Jono found the first attacker crouched in the bushes lining one of the residential apartment buildings, a moving shadow that Jono headed right for. He dodged the bolt aimed at his heart, nostrils flaring at the poisonous scent of silver and aconite left in its wake. Jono shoved down the memories of silver weapons cutting into his body in favor of getting his hand around the man’s throat.

  He slammed the man against the building, hard enough to daze the fucker. Jono yanked the crossbow out of the man’s loose grip, breaking the finger curled over the trigger. The man didn’t scream, lips curling away from his crooked teeth in an ugly grin as he kicked out at Jono with a quickness that reminded him of Patrick’s training.

  Jono dodged the kick, digging claws into the man’s throat rather than fingernails as a warning. Blood trickled over his fingers, and the smell of it was rotten.

  The eerie sound of a wolf’s howl broke through the night, sounding out of place amidst the nighttime noises that permeated Brooklyn. Jono took that as his cue to move. He slammed the crossbow against the side of the building to break it before tossing the weapon aside. The sound of another crossbow releasing had him spinning on his feet, pulling the man in front of him.

  The bolt meant to hit Jono in the back instead targeted the man’s chest. It wasn’t a life-threatening hit, because Jono could feel the shape of a tactical vest beneath the man’s winter jacket that prevented the bolt from piercing skin. It would’ve been nice if the bastard had taken the hit in the heart.

  The smell of silver and aconite stung Jono’s eyes, but he didn’t let that stop him from retreating, putting distance between himself and the enemies closing in. He didn’t let go of his human shield, hauling the bleeding, struggling man with him down the block toward the playground.

  “Who sent you?” Jono growled.

  His grip on the man’s throat eased just enough for the arsehole to get some air, but all that came out was a vicious “Fuck you.”

  “Nah, not my type. I like gingers.”

  Jono didn’t bother asking more questions. He picked out the shadows following at a quick pace, yellow light from streetlamps glinting off their weapons. They weren’t using guns, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have any. Jono bared his teeth and picked up the pace, keeping his prisoner close.

  “Jono!”

  Leon’s shout came from his right as he reached the corner, but Jono didn’t look. He ran into the street, dodging in front of a car so fast the driver didn’t start to brake until Jono reached the other side. He could see Austin’s pack scattered through the playground, the scent of their uncertainty and traces of fear about being in territory that wasn’t theirs carrying on the wind.

  The playground had minimal coverage—just a few trees lining the sidewalk outside the fencing. A building took up space on one half of the block to the left of the playground. They had nowhere to hide out in the open, but hiding wasn’t his intention. Jono put on a burst of speed, vaulting over the fence that enclosed the playground, hauling the bleeding man in his arms with him. They landed on the other side, and Jono slammed the man face-first into the ground. Jono drew in a breath, the scent of the city and the New Rebels pack mingling with the distinct smell of the undead.

  “This isn’t your territory, wolf. Get the fuck out.”

  Jono narrowed his eyes at the vampire who dropped down to the ground in front of him from the nearby building, eliciting warning growls from Austin’s pack. Jono would’ve been thrilled he’d pissed off the Brooklyn Night Court by crossing uninvited into their territory, but the man on the ground suddenly heaved upward with a strength that wasn’t human.

  Jono grunted as the man twisted in his hold, ramming an elbow into Jono’s side. He rolled out of the way, the faint sound of metal leaving metal reaching Jono’s ears. He swore, letting the man go and throwing himself backward, but he wasn’t fast enough to escape the knife that caught him in the ribs.

  The silver blade, laced with aconite, burned like acid. Jono felt it in every centimeter of skin and bone the knife grated over before he could knock it aside. Jono stumbled a little in his attempt to get out of range. Before the man could close in for another strike, Leon grabbed Jono by the shoulders and hauled him out of reach.

  The man got to his feet with a serpentine movement that made the hairs on the back of Jono’s neck stand on end. Jono tried to ignore the deep ache growing in his chest, but he knew what silver and aconite poisoning felt like. His rapid healing wasn’t going to fix this wound.

  “The fuck is that?” Leon asked, his grip on Jono growing tighter.

  Jono blinked, trying to steady his vision. The man standing in front of them didn’t seem to feel the severely broken nose on his face. It was flattened and bent to the side, the blood still trickling out of it black in the shadows cast by the nearby streetlamp. Jono had a feeling the man’s blood would be black even in broad daylight.

  Possession is nine-tenths of the law when it comes to demons.

  Patrick’s voice echoed in his mind from a past conversation as Jono sought to straighten up and shake off Leon’s hand. Jono’s breath came out in a puff of white as blood slid down his side and soaked into the jumper he wore. He pressed his hand against the wound, fighting against the sickly heat spreading away from it through his chest.

  “Jono,” Austin said in a tight voice as he came up to flank them. “What the fuck?”

  “Stay back,” Jono growled.

  They were downwind, and the breeze that blew over the playground carried with it a mix of human and the rotten egg stench of sulfur. Whatever artifact the hunter had carried to hide his scent must have been damaged or lost in their scuffle. Jono wanted to scrub the smell out of his nose and mouth, but he’d settle for figuring out how to kill a demon taking up space in a human body without magic.

  Most laws on the books still considered it murder if you killed a possessed man. Jono knew the courts didn’t favor the self-defense excuse when used by werecreatures unless it was within claimed territory. Even then, it was a gray area, but Jono wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

  “The only good werecreature is a dead one,” the demon said around swollen lips and broken front teeth.

  Jono flexed his fingers, claws lengthening at the tips. His attention skipped from the demon-possessed man in front of them to the ones crossing the street, no longer hiding in the shadows.

  A rushing sound echoed in Jono’s ears as more vampires jumped off the surrounding buildings to land in the playground. The vampires surrounded the werecreat
ures but didn’t immediately attack them.

  Fenrir’s presence seeped through Jono’s soul, and he didn’t have the capacity to hold his ground against the god, not with poison running through his veins.

  Don’t, Jono said, trying not to beg. Don’t show them who you are.

  The number of people who knew about his patron was growing, but Jono knew now wasn’t the time for word to get out about Fenrir. Enough of the wrong people already knew—Lucien and Ethan—that Jono couldn’t afford for rumors to start to grow. His pack wasn’t ready yet for the civil war heading their way.

  Fenrir howled through his soul but let Jono keep control of his body and mind.

  “We should get out of here. I don’t like what I’m smelling,” Leon said in a tight voice.

  “Because they’re demons,” Jono said, breathing a little harder. The ache in his ribs was getting worse, the burn of silver and aconite making him sweat in a way he wasn’t used to.

  The man with a bruised and broken face smiled at that, flexing the hand with a broken finger. Another silver knife dropped out of his jacket sleeve into his hand. Leon’s grip tightened on Jono.

  “The bounty on your head was worth the drive north,” the demon said. The skin on his face seemed to move, black veins briefly showing through what skin wasn’t covered in blood. The smell of sulfur grew stronger, making Jono gag.

  Before anyone could respond, one of the hunters on the other side of the fence was slammed to the ground by the force of the person that landed on him. Jono heard bones crack, the gurgle of a scream broken off by virtue of a throat being torn out. He heard blood spatter on cold pavement like rain before the vampire moved, flinging himself over the fence and into the playground with a speed that few others in the preternatural world could match.

  “You wasted all that gas for nothing and came driving through my territory without asking,” the newcomer said.

  Jono heard Austin swear from behind him as the master vampire for the Brooklyn Night Court landed amidst his followers. Jamere’s physical appearance was that of a teenager, but the vampire was over four hundred years old, and how he looked had no bearing on the viciousness he employed when it came to holding his territory.

  “Bounty isn’t on your head, but we’ll kill you for the fun of it,” the demon said.

  Jamere’s laugh was low and deep. The smile on his dark face showed off a mouthful of jagged fangs. “You wouldn’t be the first hunter to try.”

  Whatever signal Jamere gave, Jono never saw it, never heard it. One second the vampires of the Brooklyn Night Court stood like silent shadows in the dark playground. The next, they were blurs of motion that Jono’s eyesight couldn’t keep up with.

  Vampires couldn’t fly, but they moved with a speed that lay the foundation for the myths that had propagated over the centuries. The remaining two hunters beyond the playground scattered rather than fight, which told Jono they probably weren’t sharing their soul with a demon. Not standing their ground was their first mistake. Jono tuned out their screams in favor of making sure he got answers.

  “Don’t kill the demon,” Jono said.

  “This isn’t your territory,” Jamere reminded him as he darted in close underneath the demon’s quick knife thrust to bury his clawed hand in the body’s gut. “You don’t give the orders here.”

  “The New Rebels pack is under my protection, which means you and I are overdue for a chat about borders.”

  Jamere ripped out a coil of intestines, tossing the ropy organ away from him. The tactical vest the hunter wore had torn like so much wet paper in the face of the vampire’s strength. The body in his hands jerked, a few more loops of intestines falling out of the hole. Blood and the acidic smell of a punctured stomach gave the cold breeze a sour undertone.

  The sound of thunder when no lightning had struck echoed loudly in Jono’s ears. Gray light haloed the hunter for a split second before fading. The sulfur scent diminished as the demon fled.

  There went any hope of getting answers.

  Wherever the demon had escaped to, it wasn’t to anyone around them. Vampires had no souls, and the black magic powering the werevirus made possession too difficult most of the time for demons to attempt it on a werecreature. Jono only hoped they hadn’t damned anyone in the neighborhood to demonic possession.

  Jamere dropped the body and turned to look at Jono. “You must be fucking special to have the Krossed Knights coming after your ass. Maybe I should leave you to the fuckers next time or put you out of your misery myself.”

  Jono froze at that bit of information. Hunters of all things that went bump in the night had grown out of the Crusades in the western hemisphere, their numbers fluctuating over the centuries. They’d had more influence in the times where magic wasn’t looked upon as something useful. The last couple of centuries hadn’t been kind to their numbers, and they, in turn, had never been kind to the people and monsters they hunted.

  Different branches had broken off and drawn up their own laws over the centuries as they migrated across the world. The Krossed Knights were predominantly found in the United States, and a problem Jono had managed to steer clear of until now, it seemed.

  “Lucien wouldn’t like that,” Jono said in a low voice, gambling on the thinnest of associations with one of the most notorious vampires in the world to keep him and everyone else alive tonight.

  Jamere smiled nastily as he stalked forward. “Way I hear it, Lucien might consider it a favor.”

  Jono pushed through the creeping sense of wrong in his body to keep his focus, digging in his heels when Leon would’ve pulled him backward and away from the threat. “You want to chance that? Then be my guest.”

  “Between the two of you, I thought Patrick was the only one with a death wish. You need to stop trying to one-up each other,” Leon muttered.

  Jono hadn’t realized he was leaning so much of his weight on Leon until he tried to straighten up. Pain lanced through his ribs, and more blood seeped out of the wound. It still hadn’t healed, and Jono was starting to feel like the time he’d had the flu when he was a kid.

  Jamere came to a stop in front of Jono, neither of them giving ground. In the distance, Jono could hear sirens, the sound getting closer with every second that passed. But the bodies lying on the ground were technically in vampire territory, and the Krossed Knights were hunters no one would mourn over.

  “Those weren’t the only hunters after your ass. You’re real popular these days,” Jamere said.

  Jono idly wondered what the bounty on his head was, and if it was something he should immediately warn Patrick about. “First I’ve heard of it.”

  “You’re difficult to reach with that mage around you all the time. Where is he?”

  Jono thought about Patrick’s absence, about how half their pack was gone and he had hunters harassing their borders. “Tell Lucien I want a meeting.”

  “Jono,” Leon said warningly.

  Jamere’s fangs cut into his lips when he smirked, half his face in shadow. “I ain’t no messenger.”

  Jono leaned in close, Leon’s hand keeping him steady. “I’m the alpha of the New York City god pack. I don’t care about bloody demon-possessed hunters. I care about my territory. Tell Lucien I want to talk borders.”

  Leon’s fingers tightened hard enough to bruise, and Jono knew he’d carry those marks for hours after they left the playground.

  Jamere didn’t move, didn’t breathe, the undead smell he carried reminding Jono of a grave. The sirens were getting louder, and none of them could afford to get caught by the police. Not tonight.

  “Been years since your kind has wanted to talk.” Jamere blinked, face moving with an animation to it that came as an afterthought. “I think I prefer the fighting.”

  Jamere blurred away, his vampires following him. Jono blinked, stumbling a little when Leon hauled him around, taking on more of his weight.

  “We need to get out of here,” Leon said tightly. “You’re still bleeding.”


  “Silver and aconite,” Jono muttered.

  “Yeah, I fucking know. Victoria is working tonight. We can swing by Mount Sinai on the way home.”

  “No hospitals. They have to report attacks like this.”

  “You’re a stubborn asshole. Stop trying to be like Patrick.”

  Austin darted forward and settled in on Jono’s left, helping him to stay upright. “Is it safe for you to leave with the police coming? You can stay at my place until they’re gone.”

  Jono shook his head, letting them guide him toward the locked gate, which Leon easily kicked open. “Get your pack inside, Austin.”

  He was worried about their ability to keep their privacy intact if they were seen with him. Jono’s eyes could never let him hide, and he’d spent years taking public hits for himself alone. Taking them for the packs under his protection was new, but that’s what he was supposed to do. He’d bear that cost, and gladly.

  Somehow, Leon and Austin managed to haul him back to the Mustang before the police made it to the playground. Leon dug the keys out of Jono’s pocket to unlock the car, shoved him into the front passenger seat, and shut the door. Jono closed his eyes against the vertigo for a couple of seconds, listening to Leon fake a cheerful goodbye to Austin, casually acting like nothing was wrong as the police sped past. Then he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

  “I left blood at the scene,” Jono muttered.

  “Blame it on the vampires if Casale comes around,” Leon said as he pulled onto the street at a normal speed.

  Somehow, Jono didn’t think Jamere or Lucien would appreciate that.

  Leon pulled out his mobile and unlocked it without taking his eyes off the road. “I’m calling Sage.”

  “If Patrick calls her for advice, tell her not to say anything about what happened tonight. Goes for everyone.”