Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  That’s not terrifying. Way to assimilate, packs.

  Slate-gray textured walls were complemented by black-framed pictures of woodlands. Sleek and expensive-looking modern furniture was situated throughout the space. Oversized windows gave a picturesque view of the lush trees, clear blue sky, and the surrounding buildings that looked diminutive and plain next to this one. Which I imagined was their point: a subtle display of dominance.

  I expected my detail to follow as I made my way through the building, but they were apparently content to wait parked next to my car in the lot. Despite the erratic drive to the Northwest Pack’s building, it had calmed me, allowing time for introspection. I no longer had the desire to make a dramatic scene by storming into Asher’s office and spewing some choice and indelicate words.

  I appreciated Asher’s concern. But it felt overbearing and uncompromising, two things I hated. A man who commanded hundreds without any resistance or challenges wasn’t used to pushback, and I wasn’t used to his way of handling situations. He took on the responsibility of caring for his pack and in return, they followed him without a lot of questions. If they ever questioned his ability to be astute and strategic in his decision making for the best interest of the pack, he’d be challenged.

  I wasn’t a shifter or part of his pack. Following unconditionally wasn’t for me, and besides, sometimes I challenged things for the hell of it. Eh, sometimes I’m a jackass, too. I’m owning it. It’s not as bad when you’re aware of it, right?

  But Asher was a self-proclaimed jackass, too. He owned it like a badge of honor, had told Cory there was a benefit to being one: that it allowed him to get down to business without the impediment of being overly pleasant or amiable.

  I had that in mind when the elevator opened to the top floor, which consisted of Asher’s office. A whole floor for Mr. Alpha, CEO himself. At my entrance, his assistant smiled. Warm, lucid, hazel eyes, the most welcoming I’d seen. I had forgotten his name and had to look at his name plate. Xander. But his honey-colored complexion that brightened when he smiled, displaying the solitary dimple in his left cheek, and an easy countenance made it hard to imagine that he shifted into a massive jackal. Falling under the corporate umbrella of the Northwest Wolf Pack, it was common to find a jackal, dingo, coyote, or fox working at the company. The largest group were wolves.

  Xander sat behind a sleek glass table with metal legs, wearing a suit that seemed too tailored and expensive for most assistants. I looked at the desk plate again: executive assistant. Still, his suit looked like it would pay my rent for several months.

  “Ms. Jensen,” he said, “Mr. Sullivan is expecting you.”

  Of course he is.

  It was good I’d abandoned my plan of surprising him. I reached for the door before Xander could release the lock on it.

  Really? Oh, Mr. Sullivan’s too important to let just any riffraff in. People have to be allowed entrance.

  Mr. Sullivan was waiting for me, insouciance itself as he settled back in the large chair, a cup of coffee in hand, watching me as I entered. Extending his hand to the chair in front of him, in a professionally neutral gesture, he offered me a seat.

  Dropping into the seat, I declined his offer of coffee. “They didn’t tell you that I already had coffee,” I said.

  “No, they didn’t. They’re not spies; but extra protection if you need them.”

  I sighed. “I get that, but I still need you to send them—”

  “No.” It was the same uncompromising tone as earlier. I stood and moved to the window that took up the back wall of his office.

  “I appreciate your concern, I do,” I said. “But I’m not your pack, and besides having a life I’m trying to live, I still have to work. Having shifters following me isn’t going to help anything.”

  He stood and moved to just inches from me, his finger gliding across my shirt where the scar remained from me being stabbed. Biting my bottom lip, I held his sharp, penetrating gaze while he rolled up the edge of my shirt. We both looked down at the scar that was healed more than it should have been at five days.

  “Each scar just shows I survived whatever was trying to kill me,” I said proudly. But I hadn’t survived.

  “Mmmhm,” he said, devouring the few inches that were still between us. Leaning in, he inhaled, and I wondered what he was taking in. What did I smell like now? Asher had said it was different, but how? Did it have a dark, ominous feel to it? A smell of desecrated earth or freshly turned soil? Petrichor or morning dew? Flowers or fruit? Was it pleasant or noxious?

  A vampire once told me I smelled like strawberries and Riesling. I took in Asher’s response as he leaned in and inhaled again. Clearly my smell wasn’t noxious or unpleasant, just different. Letting my shirt fall, he stepped back just enough to examine my eyes again.

  “Something has changed about you, Erin. You survived, but at what cost? You stayed at Mephisto’s for days and he’s”—he sucked in a ragged breath—“unique.”

  We directed our attention out the window as if looking at each other would reveal too much.

  “We’re immune to magic now,” he said. “I can sense things differently. I can tell when a witch, mage, or fae is near, not by their scent but by the smell of the magic.”

  “Me too. It’s similar but they all have nuances to them, don’t they?”

  He nodded. “With that in mind, believe me when I say there’s something different about you.”

  I returned to the chair. This line of questioning would probably lead to him figuring things out, and I couldn’t have that happen.

  “I appreciate your help and concern. I’m not too proud to ask for help when I need it.”

  “You aren’t, but you seem to seek it only from Mephisto.”

  “Asher, I won’t do anything dangerous without asking for assistance. I’m not in a hurry to go to a family reunion without backup.”

  “Give me your word?”

  I’m very particular about giving my word, because I stand by it. “What am I giving you my word on?”

  “If you need help, I’m the first person you call. Not Mephisto.”

  I leaned into the desk and shot him a defiant glare. “That doesn’t sound like you only want to help me, but rather that you don’t want it to be Mephisto.”

  His lips quirked up and he met my accusing eyes. “Fine. If you need help, only call me.”

  “No.” That shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. But after being treated to his defiance, it was a glorious feeling. And watching him try to let it roll off him made it feel even more delightful.

  Easing back into his chair, he clasped his fingers behind his head and a roguish look flitted over his face. “If two shifters following you bothered you, I bet six is going to drive you nuts. You’re going to have some hard days.”

  “Asher,” I pushed out through gritted teeth.

  “Erin.” His tone was light and laden with amusement. His brow rose as he waited for me to respond.

  “If I’m in need of help, I will call whoever can do it the best. That’s the best I can offer you.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “And I’ll keep you in the know.”

  After several moments of consideration, he nodded. “You have a deal. My shifters won’t follow you.”

  I turned the words over in my head, replaying them.

  Oh Asher, you’re always playing your wolfie games, aren’t you?

  “No one will follow me. Not one person who falls under the Northwest Wolf Pack.”

  His tongue slid lazily over his bottom lip before he gripped his lip with his teeth. Asher didn’t possess the humility to be embarrassed; this was as close as I would get. A vulpine smirk. A snared trickster.

  “Of course.” He stood in one graceful move. “I’ll keep my promise as long as you do.”

  I stood and headed for the door. I needed to get to Madison’s. She and Cory were waiting for me. When Asher called me, I turned and found him right next to me. His lips pressed l
ightly against mine. The raw intensity from such a light kiss surprised me.

  “Be careful, Erin.” There goes that insipid tautology again.

  Careful. Of course I’m going to be careful.

  “Erin, don’t try to command my wolves again, okay?” In a falsetto and dramatic imitation of my voice, he said, “Stop. Following. Me. I command you.”

  His robust laughter followed me out of the room. At least Xander had the good manners to suppress his response into the tight smile he gave me.

  CHAPTER 5

  The door swung open the moment I made it to Madison’s doorstep and I was face to face with a very anxious-looking Madison. Narrowed eyes skewered me with disapproval as if by some chance I’d managed to miss the reprimanding scowl.

  “Running late. Have a problem I need to deal with,” Madison ground out, reciting the text I had sent her.

  I wasn’t going to get any help from Cory, who was seething. His left eye was twitching.

  “Sorry. I had an Asher situation I had to deal with. It took longer than expected,” I explained, brushing it off with a wave of my hand. I should have known it wouldn’t work.

  “As if anything with Asher can be handled quickly,” Cory said.

  I’d expect that to come from Madison. Years of dealing with Asher, his pack, and their overly aggressive team of lawyers always elicited an eye roll from anyone working for the Supernatural Task Force.

  “What issues?” Madison asked.

  “Apparently he’s under the impression I need a bodyguard,” I said with an indolent shrug.

  “He’s not wrong. You didn’t send the shifter away, did you?” Cory said.

  “Not one shifter, two. And I couldn’t because apparently in the world of Asher, his wants override my rights.”

  “Yes, you have the right to be murdered. Cool.” Now he was just being bitchy for sport.

  I glared at him. “Well, yes. And speaking of death, you were right, I did die.”

  Madison paled and dropped onto the sofa, her hand covering her mouth. It made me instantly regret being so flippant with that information. Even having had days to deal with it, the thought of it was still troubling. I took a seat next to her, placing my hand on her leg.

  “I shouldn’t have told you that way. Forgive me.” I sighed. “I’m trying to deal with a lot of new information and issues that have irreparably changed my life, and I’m trying to hold on to some semblance of it,” I explained. “It’s not easy.”

  Cory nodded, giving me an apologetic half smile, pressing his hand to his chest, his way of asking for forgiveness. I nodded back, but us making up didn’t return the color to Madison’s face. Her expression was indecipherable, blank faced and hollow eyed. I wondered if she was in shock. Taking several deep breaths, she closed her eyes and relaxed back on the sofa and folded a forearm over her eyes.

  “Tell me everything that happened, starting with what preceded you dying. Give me very specific details as to how you died yet are here now,” she instructed in a low, modulated voice.

  Because I didn’t have to edit the way I had with Asher, retelling everything went smoother, with the exception of their interruptions: “What do you mean hell?” “It’s less draconian than it sounds,” “They’re all gods?” “That’s what I said,” “No, only Kai has wings. Clay has oceanic and elemental abilities, Simeon can communicate with animals, and Mephisto can Wynd and has the strongest defensive magic,” “Malific exiled them,” “A spell similar to the curse that the Caste used on the Immortalis. It was payback.”

  Madison was leaning forward, looking at me, studying me, concern in her eyes. I knew it was because I didn’t seem scared and delivered the information like a report: emotionless and measured. It was an act. A façade I was struggling to maintain. It was enough that I was worried; I needed to do whatever it took to mitigate theirs.

  “You seem to be handling this well,” she observed.

  Not at all, my life is a crapshow. The circus of the damned.

  “Yeah, too well, Erin,” Cory added softly, his tone laden with suspicion.

  “I’m sober and haven’t taken anything,” I assured him. “If I stress, you two stress,” I finally admitted under their scrutiny. “She killed her own brother and we’re pretty sure she only had me to use as a tool to release herself from imprisonment. And now I’m the only thing standing between her ability to restore her full power and create more Immortalis.” Malific was an evil I wasn’t sure I was prepared to deal with.

  We lulled into a stiff silence, and I watched Cory fidget. If we were at my house, he would have busied himself with straightening the room, folding blankets on my sofa, aligning things on my tables and consoles. But being at a fellow type-A’s home, there wasn’t anything to straighten or any unrequested suggestion to offer for improving the home’s efficiency.

  “Do you think Mephisto can find a way to remove your restriction?” Cory finally asked, his gaze bouncing around the space as he intermittently wrung his hands. I considered dumping the contents of my purse on the floor just to give him something to tidy.

  “He thinks so.” I wasn’t as confident. Magic was mercurial. In all the time Mephisto had been here, he hadn’t been able to find a way back into the Veil. I explained what happened when they attempted to remove the restriction. Neither Madison nor Cory seemed surprised that the Others had the second copy of Mystic Souls or that they could speak a dead language. I suspected they’d become desensitized. After all, they were sitting next to someone who had been brought back to life by a spell. Not too many things were going to be more shocking than that.

  “Your magical restriction is similar to a curse by the Caste. Only they can remove their curses. If there were enough Caste, they could remove the curse on the death mages. Only the person who invoked the spell can remove it.” Madison looked dejected. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear because it was something I had considered after the removal attempt.

  “Probably, and everyone seems to think my father invoked it, and we have no idea who or what he is.” Resting my face in my hand, I sighed. “I need to find my father.”

  Then, feeling just as fidgety as Cory, I stood, shifting my weight from ball to heel, ball to heel, unable to present the brave, calm, and collected front that I’d tried to project earlier.

  “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” I acknowledged.

  Cory started pacing, his long legs eating up feet of the walkway with each step. “Blood can be used to track people of the same bloodline,” he cited halfheartedly.

  “Cory, you know the success rate is less than one percent,” Madison said. We all knew that.

  “Less than one percent is better than nothing,” I said, sounding more optimistic than I felt.

  Madison shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

  It was a time waste and we all knew it, but the need to do something was too great. I didn’t want to feel like I was just sitting around waiting to be attacked by my mother or for some clue to be miraculously revealed. I needed to be proactive.

  Cory didn’t possess the spark of anticipation that he usually did when he performed a locating spell. Going into anything with a success rate of less than one percent was enough to dampen anyone’s enthusiasm. His finger danced over the glow of the golden map that presented itself to him, but not even a trace of red coloring showed to indicate someone. Even when the sample was weak, it at least showed some dim coloring that displayed for just a second, sometimes just long enough to get the general area as opposed to specifics.

  At least we weren’t dejected by the result because it was expected. We spent an hour putting on the greatest performance of pretending that it wasn’t doom and gloom. I made a sketch of the raven that showed up on my arm and the markings I saw on the Huntsmen when we went through the fire Mirra at Elizabeth’s. They wanted to use the information for research, but it was just busywork. We needed to do something until there was nothing to do.

  Confession was good for the soul, or at
least it was good for sleep, because after returning home, I fell asleep fast and didn’t wake until my phone buzzed at three in the morning. Looking at the number, I groaned. They weren’t creatures of the night although they seemed to prefer it, which was why Landon, the acting vampire Master of the city, was calling me.

  “Erin,” said Landon, his silky voice twining around me.

  “Bring it down several notches. I have no intention of ever being your midnight snack or sleeping with you,” I informed him, my voice rough from sleep.

  “You say that every time.”

  “And yet you do the whole seductive voice thing. Every. Time.” Compelling was against the law. Because vampires were only able to compel humans, the law was strictly enforced. But there was something so intrinsically alluring and seductive about vampires that they didn’t really need compulsion. Humans convinced themselves that, like the vampires’ immortality, their allure was another facet of their magic. When humans were ensnared by the vampires’ seduction, they attributed it to being similar to the vampires’ compulsion magic. They just couldn’t help themselves.

  Whatever. You want some hot and freaky with a vampire—own it. People will judge you for a lot of things but desiring the vampire experience wasn’t one of them.

  I’d had my share of salacious nights with vampires. The bite was as seductive as their voices and as enchanting as any spell. The raw, unfettered hedonism always made me forget my magic cravings. At that moment, they offered a false fulfillment.

  “Do I ask you to stop being a feisty, snarky spitfire?” Landon asked, laughter in his voice.

  “I’m only two of the three,” I countered, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. I didn’t want to wake up too much; I planned to immediately go back to sleep, but I needed to be alert enough to talk to Landon.