A Soulmark Series

by Rebecca Main

  “That’s not very nice,” he comments, voice heavy with contempt.

  “You’re a mongrel,” Noelle says.

  “A beast,” Naomi adds.

  “A dog,” Nova snarls. She fires at the floor. The bullet lodges itself an inch from his toe, but I’ll give the wolf some credit for he doesn’t spare it a flinch.

  “Woof,” he snarks back as something rolls between his legs. A cloud of smoke blooms from the rolling canister and into the heart of the atrium. It fills the room quickly—too quickly—and in seconds we are wreathed in a filmy white haze. Nova fires into the doorway. The sound of splintering glass and tearing flesh bear the brunt of her blind attack.

  “Naomi! Fall back to the—”

  “On it!” she replies before I can finish. If it’s a ring they are after, the southeast section needs to be guarded.

  A fist plants itself in my stomach before another thought can dart through my mind. I lurch backward, the force of the hit taking my breath and doubling me over. I clutch the harpoon tightly in my right hand and thrust it up and forward into my attacker's side. The figure in front of me lets out a throaty, masculine growl.

  I yank the harpoon back, swinging it about to smack him across the face next, with the light of my bracers to guide me. He hits the ground a second later, and I feel a dark thrill of excitement rush through me. It feels almost sinisterly good to take down my opponents.

  My breath sounds heavy in my ears, despite the commotion around me. For a brief second, scenarios and outcomes of the battle whir through my mind. There is no telling how many guards and Wardens have been taken out already on the upper levels, so I must assume the worst; we are all that’s left to guard the relics. The bleak thoughts drive my fortitude and thirst of blood.

  They’ll retrieve their precious ring over my dead body.

  I slash my harpoon to the left at the sound of feet. It catches on a body, and I ram it forward with relish. A raspy gasp follows as I yank the head out, then swing the harpoon in an arc to my right. It cuts through the thick smoke but nothing else. My feet shuffle backward, ears straining to hear the next oncoming threat. Another step back. I spin on the balls of my feet and swing the harpoon out to catch another enemy. Nothing.

  Action blares behind me. Luminescent green streaks the smoke in jabs and thrusts. Some pause midair, strained and quivering, before forced left and right. There is no time to hesitate.

  Instinct guides me as my other senses go into overdrive to compensate for my weakened sight. My harpoon strikes and latches on arms and legs, the press and pull of each motion dragging me closer and closer to the real fight. It feels as though the harpoon is an extension of my body. With each hit, my body surges and feints away, and I can’t help the grim smile that lights upon my face as I take another punch to the gut. Then one to the face.

  There it is again. The spike of adrenaline. The thirst for pain, whether to inflict or receive it, surges inside me without pause. Something inside me craves the fight. An irrational, adrenaline-laced rush I can't ignore. A darkness inside me, I think as I strike out with the blunt end of the harpoon to jab at the wolf behind me. A darkness I have lost control of once before.

  Something smashes against a glass display case. Or somebody. The empty click of Nova’s barrels sound, followed quickly by a startled cry that is unmistakably Naomi’s. I favor the weaker sister and dart to Naomi at the southeast end of the room, promptly tripping over a body and falling onto the glass-laden floor.

  “Ouch! Watch it,” a very feminine reprimand yelps from the ground. I suck in a deep breath and maneuver quickly into a crouch, diving forward into the body. She lets out a cry as we crash into the ground, squirming viscously and banging her hands against my chest as I fight to claim her wrists. “Get off you bitch!” she cries.

  The sprinkler system activates above us, reacting to the smoke at long last. The woman beneath me sputters in indignation as the water doses us. Giving me the perfect opportunity to capture her hands. She struggles weakly against my hold. It’s almost pathetic how weak she is against me. Almost too weak.

  My breath catches in my throat, a sudden horrible realization stunning me.

  “You’re not a wolf,” I pant, releasing her hands as if they burn.

  The smoke is slowly dissipating around us, and I can make out the fright across her features. But only barely. I scamper off her, a thousand dreadful thoughts slashing through my mind, but one screams above all others: not again. Memories unleash themselves upon me with ruthless intent.

  —A scared and broken girl clinging to my leg and the last remnants of her humanity. A plea for sanctuary tearing past her blood-soaked lips—

  —A secret and betrayal. The strange nuance of hope that things will be all right—

  —Human bodies torn to bits and pieces spilled across a chapel floor. The small child feasting on the steps of the altar. My mercy. My mistake—

  —The blinding lights of the Auroral Bastille cast down upon me as I answered to the Councils accusations. Falling to my knees at their sentence and wondering how I could have been so wrong—

  Something bashes into my back, knocking the air from my lungs. I fall forward. The raven-haired man helps the blonde up off the floor, pulling her into a dramatic kiss.

  “Are you all right?” She nods, sparing me a wide-eyed glance. “Do you have it?” She nods again, and the man sounds off a shrill whistle.

  No. A sharp burst of panic startles me into action, the feathering darkness pooling inside of me goading me back into the fight.

  Stay low, my instincts tell me. Use your environment to your advantage. My harpoon lays somewhere behind me, but weapons coarse the ground. A jagged piece of glass is clutched in my hand in the next instant, and I slam it into the wolf’s foot. He lets out a howl of rage, limping backward and dragging the girl with him.

  I stagger to my feet as he rips the glass from his foot, my eyes frantically scanning the room to see most of the wolves retreating and the sisters regaining their ground. A knee surges into my line of vision too quick for me to process and knocks me solidly under the chin. Pain erupts inside my head as I crumple to the ground, my equilibrium further stolen by a heavy blow to my cheek. A final kick to my side leaves me grounded and watching in agony as the wolf and girl sprint away.

  “Follow them!” I manage to order, watching as Nova and Noelle give chase through the darkened hallway. Sturdy arms wrap under mine to haul me up, tugging me forward as I take in a few strangled breaths.

  “Are you all right?” Naomi asks. I nod and push her away, stalling at the doorway as a rogue idea swims into my head. We needed more bodies to take on the wolves, and I know just the place to get them.

  “Stay behind and keep guard,” I tell her, turning back around and running to the back of the room where a hidden panel leads to a passageway.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To fight fire with fire.” I throw a quick grin over my shoulder as I pick up my harpoon and the bloodied shard of glass from the ground. Then, I’m running as fast as I can down the passageway to the back of the Banks.

  Chapter 2

  Retribution

  My heart is hammering by the time I reach the cages. I cast a wary glance to my left and right, searching for the figures I know to be racing away. Gunfire sounds relentlessly from the Banks, which means not everyone is dead. Thank God.

  It's late at night, sometime close to midnight, but with the Alaskan summer, that hardly means a thing. In truth, it's barely dusk. As I approach my destination, the dogs we keep bark eagerly from their kennels. I race to unlock their doors, letting them all take a good whiff of the blood-caked shard of glass and harpoon.

  “Take a good whiff of that, Dakota,” I instruct as the lead dog makes its way to the front of the throng. “Gehen!” Go. The large malamutes and huskies bark and bristle with enthusiasm. “Attacke.” I snarl the German command just before unleashing them into the bright night, the cage door swinging open with a clang
as they rush past me. The night air presses through my armor into my skin, but the biting chill doesn’t hamper the heat coursing through me. It invigorates me. Fuels the flame of my desires. Though the summer months are coming soon to their end, the nights still bear a slight chill in the air this far north. It is a fine night to hunt, I think as I chase after the dogs whose barks and hollers fill the air.

  Fire with fire. They certainly won’t be expecting this.

  The dogs intercept the wolves just as they reach a stash of motorbikes hidden amongst the trees. Several are already equipped with drivers geared up and ready to make their grand getaway. I tighten my grip on the primitive harpoon, feeling the pulse of the Borealis skirting across the surface of its shaft. I adjust the pace of my run, swing my arm in an arch, and release. The harpoon sails ahead, the length of rope attached to it spindling behind. It pierces the arm of some slender wolf, and victory flushes through my veins. Catching the rope midair, I skid to a halt and rewind the rope between my hand and elbow. Once it’s taut I give a hearty yank. The wolf stumbles sideways and gives me a look between horror and anger. Its eyes flashing gold in the night.

  The wolf yanks back, but I bear down. Heals digging spitefully into the earth. I just needed to hold out a bit longer, until reinforcements—

  A body slams me into the ground out of nowhere. I move with the momentum, tumbling forward with the strong arms wrapped around my waist. My feet find purchase on his side, and I push out of his hold, rolling away to tuck myself into a crouch. He mirrors my position, a dark scowl on his features as he pulls himself slowly into a standing position. The bounty of his muscles ripple across tattooed flesh. I cast a rueful glance to the side where the rope lays forgotten.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” he tells me in a husky baritone. I scoff as I mimic his posturing, slowly beginning to circle him. He's much larger than me, somewhere around 6'3" to my 5'9”, and with his hair trimmed short, the cut of his jaw seems all the harder. Deep caramel eyes dig into me in assessment, but with my dragon skin armor and modified balaclava, there isn’t much for him to see. His eyes linger over my chocolate hair and eyes—eyes which hold the faintest hint of an angle due to my Native Alaskan heritage. His jaw clenches, the muscles of his neck cording slightly as his gaze flickers down then back up. Men.

  “I can’t say the same,” I tell him, taking my butterfly knife out. It flashes open with a mere sleight of hand into my palm, and I take a moment to savor its familiar weight. His scowl deepens, and his fists rise defensively. I bare my hands low and wide, ready to attack with the knife, held in possession of my right hand.

  We meet in two easy strides, my hand lashing out to deliver a cut to his forearm. He takes the hit with good grace, angling away and throwing a punch before I can retreat. His fist catches my cheek. But it glances off as I swerve back. The wolf presses on, and I force my knife into a more defensive position. I duck the next blow and skirt inward, stabbing at his ribs and hitting my mark. But not without receiving a blow myself. We go on for what seems like ages. Blocking and pressing. Hits landing or steering too wide.

  He’s good, I credit to myself, a little too good.

  He moves with military precision, unafraid to press forward even as my knife keeps marking his skin. My foot catches, and a look of shock passes over both our faces as I ungracefully pitch to the side. He’s on me in an instant, knocking my blade from my hand and thrusting me against a tree. His hand a sudden vice around my neck.

  I struggle to break his choke hold, my feet kicking forward with little effect. He draws himself close, pressing into me and blocking my lower assault. The warmth of his breath skirts across my cheek in heavy puffs as I attempt to strike his face. I aim for his fighter’s nose, slanted slightly to the left, the point is moot. I am fighting a losing battle. Black spots emerge in my vision as I struggle to breathe. A tightness ruthlessly grips at my chest. There is no relief from the pain, and it’s quick to spread throughout my body. He wears a look of… pity? Sympathy? Either way, it rouses in me one last push. My hands grab his forearm, nails digging viciously into the arm that holds me captive.

  His frown returns. The pressure of his grip increasing just a fraction. Just enough. My hands slide down the length of his forearm, one hand falling away completely. The other barely holds on, trailing across his skin like some gentle caress. Our eyes lock and the world stops as my fingers brush past my worst fear.

  Oh no.

  I’m engulfed in a whirlwind of sensation. My lungs begging for breath as my hand clenches around its purchase. It is unlike anything I have ever known, and all from a singular touch. A storm folds over my vision, the creeping darkness fractured by spears of lightning. Something aches inside of me. My soul crying out for more as my eyelids flutter closed.

  A startled gasp breaks past his lips as he stares at me aghast. For the briefest of moments, I dare to think I see his eyes flash gold.

  “You,” he breathes, eyes wild as he takes my wrist and pulls my hand away from the mark on his arm. His soulmark. The sensation of warmth—of electricity and fire—departs in an instant. Almost painfully so, I realize when my body shivers at the loss. My heart aches.

  The wolf tugs me forward, and like some damsel, I crash into his chest, staring up at him in muted horror. He pulls off my balaclava, staring down at my face with such intensity I dare not move. His eyes roam down the slope of my nose and high-cheekbones before settling on my full lips.

  “You.”

  I find my nerve at long last and shake my head, pulling back to no avail. “No.” No, this can’t be happening. Yet, the soulmark that lies upon my hip seems to sear itself deeper into my flesh, sinking itself into my blood and bones. This wolf doesn’t wear just any soulmark, I think with dismay, he wears mine. There is no other way to explain what I feel when I touch his mark. And we both know it. This… this beast, is in possession of the other half of my soul, and for all intents and purposes, is my soul mate. My deepening horror draws the blood from my face. This can’t be happening.

  “Where is it?” he asks almost frantically, eyes darting over my form as I continue my struggle.

  “Let me go,” I beg, feeling a wave of fear tear through me. This can’t be happening. If anyone finds out about my soulmark, I will be banished. Exiled. And if they find out I have found my soulmark… I rip myself out of his hold, calling on the strength of the bracers like never before. He gapes at my retreat for but a moment, before a steely look crosses over his features.

  “Come with me.” The husky timbre of his voice drops an octave. A promise lingers at the edges of his posturing. He stretches out a hand. My heart, the traitorous thing, skips a beat. Before I can deign to reply, a sharp crack sounds in the air, and he stumbles sideways, grasping his arm with an angry scowl. My head whips to the side. Nova stands on the back of a motorbike, Noelle in the driver's seat speeding toward us.

  “Run,” I whisper harshly, eyes never leaving the sisters. I don’t dare look back at him, but I can hear his hesitation. Nothing sounds for a long pause, and then the forest floor crunches beneath his hasty departure. I drop to my knees just as the twins near and Nova jumps off the bike, the mysterious man already lost in the dense woods.

  “Are you all right?” Nova drops down in front of me, her hands skating over my body to check for injury. They slip upward to cup my face, her fearful gaze cataloging every bruise.

  I nod numbly, fighting the urge to cry as Nova rests her forehead against mine. What am I going to do? I draw in a shaky breath and let Nova help me stand and guide me to the bike. She speaks soft assurances near my ear as her sister rounds up the dogs. I lean into her hold in hopes of staving off the memory of his touch. But it’s no use. No use at all.

  +++

  The Council and various members of the Stellar Warriors arrive at the Banks Facility roughly two hours after the attack to take stock of events. There had been only two deaths, but over a dozen people had been injured. Apparently, the wolves had relied heavily on tr
anquilizer darts and KO gas to gain access to the facility, and the Council was not pleased. They chose to gather in the observatory to hold their summit and collect information. It held just enough space for the Alaskan branch of the Council, all eleven members, plus a few extra.