Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  NIGHTSOUL

  (RAVEN CURSED BOOK 3)

  MCKENZIE HUNTER

  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

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  MESSAGE TO THE READER

  BOOKS BY MCKENZIE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  McKenzie Hunter

  Nightsoul

  © 2020, McKenzie Hunter

  McKenzieHunter@McKenzieHunter.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Cover Artist: Orina Kafe

  For notifications about new releases, exclusive contests and giveaways, and cover reveals, please sign up for my mailing list.

  ISBN: 978-1-946457-06-6

  CHAPTER 1

  Mephisto’s placid expression foreshadowed bleaker news. His eyes tracked my glass as it went to my lips for the third time as I waited for him to speak. The liquor hadn’t dulled my senses or the cold, hard, irrefutable fact that I had died. I died. Mephisto and the Others brought me back to life. That bit of information kept repeating in my head. Dread and curiosity snaked through me. How did they do that? Which was more troubling: the dying or the living after death?

  He gave me a disapproving leer the fourth time I took a sip. Why was he judging? What was I supposed to do, ignore it while he told me how he, Clayton, Simeon, and Kai brought me back to life without making me a vampire? Even vampires don’t technically bring you back to life. You have to feed from them prior to dying and waking up a vamp.

  Leaning forward, Mephisto moved the unopened bottle of red wine closer to him. You’re the one who put three bottles on the table.

  I’d finished the first bottle of white before I’d even started with my probing questions and was one glass into the red.

  “What are you all?” I asked, my voice low and hesitant. Again, I brought my hand to my neck, feeling for nonexistent vampire bite marks. As if there would be any. When vampires bite, they don’t leave evidence, unless they want to. Laving over the area sealed the bite and healed the skin. It’s the reason they were able to live in the shadows for so long. There was no evidence of their existence.

  “Do you remember the first time you went through the Veil, and what you saw?” Mephisto asked.

  Of course I remembered. It was hard to forget such a surreal, heavenly vision. Snow-capped mountains, clear blue water, a soothing breeze. Winged people soaring through the air. Animals: predator and prey living in a harmonious state, neither one the wiser of the hierarchical position. It was peaceful and beautiful. The image initially brought a smile to my face, but somehow the memory was sobering, and I set the glass down without taking another sip. I needed to be totally lucid. No matter how much I wanted to dull it, I needed to feel the sharp reality.

  “You said that you’d guided me to the nice part of it,” I reminded him.

  He nodded. “Most of it is nice, but you remember what I said of the residents of the Veil.”

  “They’re stronger,” I said.

  “And deadlier. Where you don’t have gods here, we do”—he stopped for a moment—“the Veil does.” Retrieving his glass of wine, he took a sip and sighed. He hadn’t touched his food, and I figured he probably wouldn’t. Mephisto didn’t strike me as a mac and cheese type of man. He was refusing the pinnacle of comfort food. His loss. Noticing me eying his plate, he pushed it toward me.

  I may not drink but I’d gorge myself on comfort food.

  “The downfall of having power is that people will always desire more, whether it’s control or domination. Give them a territory, they will want a city. Give them a city, they’ll long for a state, a country, or a nation. For some, that need is unquenchable.” He took an indulgent sip, savoring the taste.

  “Powerful magical beings never simply acquiesce to civility. Often it requires the threat of consequences and punishment before one can achieve some semblance of it. You’ve probably seen it here on a smaller scale. I suspect that the Supernatural Task Force exists not because of a superfluous desire, but necessity. Each denizen of the Veil often regulates their own, but then there are those whose actions are so reprehensible they have to be sent to the Abyssus. It’s where the most powerful and ruthless denizens are held. Where your mother was eventually sentenced.”

  I cringed at his use of that title. Technically she was, but I’d prefer “baby host”. Yes, baby host worked just fine for me. I waited patiently for him to continue, the familiarity of the word Abyssus going through my mind. But I couldn’t place it. Mephisto seemed restrained, doling out just pieces of information and assessing my response. It was going to get worse. I knew it.

  “Malific is an Arch-deity and so was her brother, Oedeus, the Lord of the Abyssus. Once a person was sentenced, it was our responsibility to apprehend them. We’re the Huntsmen of the Abyssus.”

  The meaning finally came to me. “Hell,” I whispered. “Abyssus means hell.”

  Mephisto barely nodded into the answer. “It’s what we called the prison, but I suspect it’s quite different than what you’re imagining.” He gave me a weak smile. “It’s not a subterranean dwelling guarded by a fallen angel and where the occupants are tortured. It’s similar to your Enclave.” He stopped for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “With substantial security measures, mostly magic and fire.”

  Sounds like hell to me, but go on, Huntsman of Hell. Oedeus was the Lord of Hell and his sister was a hellion, making his job even harder.

  “Her sentencing wasn’t immediate. For over a century she was a terror, flouting the leniency afforded her because of her brother’s position,” he said, taking a small sip from his glass and exhaling a heavy sigh. “He was too merciful, thinking she would change. He allowed sentimentality and nostalgia to cloud his judgment and his obligations to the Veil. Warnings after warnings he gave her and far too many opportunities.

  “After she created the Immortalis and devastated three cities, Oedeus gave his first punishment, enlisting the Caste to exile her army. He assumed it would curb her behavior, discourage her from trying to enlist other gods in her goal to make the Veil a god-rule, an oligarchy. Like Ian, she believed her great power entitled her to rule over others. She lived by the dictum that if you weren’t with her, you were against her.” His face became pensive. “It didn’t dissuade her but incited and spawned retaliation. She created another army and they were…dealt with.”

  “By you all,” I guessed.

  He nodded. “It enraged her and she vowed vengeance. Her first act was to break out the occupants of the Abyssus. For nearly three years that’s what she did. Oedeus finally recog
nized Malific was a reprobate and wasn’t showing any signs of abandoning her ways. He presented her list of offenses and cruelties to the Warders and she was sentenced.”

  Before he could continue, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out, looked at it, scowled, and ignored the call. When it immediately vibrated again, he glared at it. “Asher, how can I help you?” he asked in a crisp, tight voice.

  I couldn’t hear what Asher said but it made Mephisto put a lot of effort into the tight smile. “Yes, I know where Erin is and I’m quite aware that I was the last person she was seen with before she allegedly went missing.” His tone was stilted with obligatory politeness.

  Mephisto’s eyes were steady on mine, mischief playing in the dark pools. “She is fine. We are having lunch at the moment. I can assure you, Asher, our interests align. I don’t want to see her hurt any more than you do. I’ll have to ask that you excuse me so we can continue with our meal.”

  I lobbed a glare in his direction and would have loved to treat Asher to the same for calling Mephisto instead of me. Then it dawned on me that he couldn’t. My phone was on the nightstand and I hadn’t checked it and was sure it wasn’t charged. He’d probably been calling it for days only to have it go to voicemail. That had to be alarming.

  I didn’t like Mephisto’s response and apparently neither did Asher. His reply, whatever it was, made Mephisto’s smile vanish and the muscles around his neck distend from his jaw being clenched so tightly.

  “You need to speak with her? Do you really think she’s hurt and I wouldn’t disclose that to you?”

  Obviously so because after listening for a moment, Mephisto sneered at the phone before placing it on the table. “Erin, apparently my word isn’t good enough and the Alpha needs to speak with you. Since I don’t want this to escalate to needless violence, it is probably good if you ease his concerns.”

  He clicked the screen and Asher’s voice came over the speaker.

  “Mephisto,” Asher drawled, “I simply said that I’d like to hear from her and if not, perhaps I need to visit to make sure all is well. She’s been missing for three days and her phone has been off for two of them and her neighbors are quite concerned … and, well, it needed to be investigated. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Neighbors? Not neighbors—one neighbor. Ms. Harp, president and founder of Team Asher. Your spy and snitch.

  I needed to have a conversation with Ms. Harp.

  “Asher, Erin’s safety when she is with me isn’t anything you have to worry about,” Mephisto asserted, his voice now devoid of any pseudo-pleasantness.

  “Perhaps, but one must be concerned when she leaves with you and goes missing. It calls into question whether our interests do truly align.”

  I was getting sick of the dueling niceties. Just go at it and sling your curses, call each some choice insulting names, and be done with it. While you’re at it, why not whip out your man parts, measure them, and see who actually wins this verbal duel?

  “Do I get to take part in this conversation, or do I just sit here and pretend I can’t take care of my damn self?” I snipped.

  I picked up the phone, took it off speaker, and moved to the opposite side of the kitchen. Mephisto kept a steady eye on me until I turned my back to him.

  “What’s up, Asher?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who’s been missing. Are you okay?” he asked, concern heavy in his voice.

  No, I’m not okay. I died. How was your day? “Yes. Safe and sound.” I sounded sprightlier than I felt.

  He responded with a hmmm. “Are you injured?”

  “What?” The question spilled out, giving me an opportunity to take creative license with the story.

  “Are you injured?” he repeated, impatience in his voice.

  “No, not at all,” I said. Technically that was true. I was stabbed, had a scar, but I wasn’t injured.

  “That’s not true,” he said.

  “I call BS on you being able to determine that over the phone.”

  “If you study a person well enough you can detect changes in modulation and the timbre of their voice. You’re holding something back. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t talk right now. I’ll be home tomorrow. Let’s talk then. Okay?” I rushed out.

  “Fine. How bad are your injuries?” he blurted before I could disconnect.

  “No injuries.” Except for the scar on my stomach from being stabbed.

  “Then tomorrow it is.” He disconnected and I turned to find Mephisto relaxed back in his chair, brow hitched, and an amused smile curving his lips.

  “That was interesting,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Ms. Harp, my neighbor, has me on her radar for some reason. It’s strange, not interesting.” I waved it off as inconsequential.

  “Ah, yes, this is clearly about Ms. Harp and has nothing to do with the Alpha’s obvious interest in you.”

  My life was getting complicated enough, and I wasn’t ready to unbox that, so it had to wait. I needed to find out more about Malific, the Huntsmen, and the Veil’s hell.

  “Malific was sentenced,” I said in redirection.

  “Yes, your mother—”

  “Malific.”

  “Malific was sentenced to the Abyssus. The decision was made while we were on recovery missions to find the prisoners she’d released. Instead of waiting, I assume in another bout of sibling sentimentality, Oedeus decided to apprehend her. Alone. Underestimating her mercilessness and viciousness was a mistake. She killed him.”

  Releasing the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I remembered Ian telling me of a god that Malific had killed. He didn’t tell me it was her brother or the Lord of the Abyssus.

  “She killed her brother?” I eked out in a low, incredulous croak.

  “She killed the Lord of the Abyssus. The person who’d taken her army away twice and stood between her and what she wanted. Incapable of the same sentimentality, she responded the way she would to anyone else. That’s where they differed. Malific was able to separate the two: Lord of the Abyssus and brother. He was incapable of it.” Anger hardened Mephisto’s words and with noticeable effort he relaxed, allowing his frown to ease and his jaw to unclench.

  “Despite killing the Lord, her sentence stood. We were tasked to retrieve her and that was what we’d planned to do. She’d been sentenced to half a century, but it should have been life.”

  The violence and anger in his words led me to believe that he didn’t want her imprisoned, he wanted her dead.

  “She was never apprehended by you all but placed in an Omni Ward?” I said.

  “Yes. We never had the chance to apprehend her because she discovered our true-god’s name and used Laes to cast us out of the Veil, preventing us from returning. It works similarly to the Caste curse. Unlike fae, our name doesn’t give others power to compel us, just to bespell us.”

  He stood and started to pace the floor. “I’ve collected so many magical objects, performed thousands of spells, and nothing has worked. If I can get Laes and destroy it, then it will lift the spell, allowing us to return home.”

  It’s not like he was suffering outside of the Veil. He lived in a mini mansion, wore exquisitely tailored suits, obviously wasn’t hurting for money, and had access to the most coveted magical objects known.

  “You’re anxious to get back to hell?” All the jokes I made about him being Satan were apropos. The Huntsman for Hell.

  “Back to my duty. This side of the Veil has its pleasures and enjoyments”—his lips curled as his eyes lifted to meet mine—“but this is not where I belong.”

  My eyes breezed over his lavish gourmet kitchen. “You seemed to have made it your home.”

  “I adapt.”

  “Did your adaptability include how you respond to magic? Because you didn’t respond to the Immortalis magic but you did to a witch’s during the poker game,” I asked, recalling the spell that had left all attendees frozen in time while the witch and her dragon-shifter partne
r looted the place. My eyes narrowed on him, pinning him midstep. “Why do I suspect that it didn’t?”

  A sly smile drifted over his lips, reaching all the way to his eyes and making me remember the first time I borrowed magic from him. He had responded like everyone else, but when I returned from the Veil, he was on his feet, intrigue in his eyes as he watched me.

  “The best hand a person can have in any game is the one he never shows. It leaves those in it speculating the cards being held.” His smile widened. “You were to do a job, and I was there to get to know more about Erin. I suspected there was more to you than just a mundane death mage, a typical raven cursed. I just needed to find out what.”

  The glare I bored into him was blistering cold and unwaveringly virulent. A pang of feeling like a specimen under his microscope, having been manipulated, him infiltrating my life for the sole purpose of using me to get back into the Veil wouldn’t allow me to release the glower.

  “Their magic doesn’t affect you, but your magic works against them, doesn’t it?” I guessed.

  Again, his head barely nodded into his acknowledgment.

  I scowled. “When we battled with the Immortalis, you could have done something.”

  “We did do something. We helped and retrieved Victoria,” he pointed out. “No one died, we made sure of that.”

  “I’ve been a toy you’ve been playing with for the past few years,” I said.

  His placid smile disappeared and his eyes became dark and austere as they held mine with the same intensity. “You may not agree with my tactics of obtaining information or the role that I’ve assumed in this world, but I have my reasons.” He moved closer to me, in that undeniable otherness of swiftness and grace that made the eyes seem as if they’d lost moments. He exuded carnal self-assurance and flirtatious amusement. “You, Erin Katherine Jensen, are no toy, but I think we’d both enjoy playing together.” He was back in the chair across from me by the time I’d pulled the glass of wine toward me.