Fated Souls

by LJ Swallow

  As if battling a Nephilim isn’t enough, Ava faces another hurdle: getting past the strange human girl, Dahlia, who has an inexplicable hold on Keir.

  The pair have secrets and when Ava uncovers the true fate of the souls she returns to her superiors her world is turned upside down.

  Ava finds herself in the middle of a war where the lines between good and evil are blurred and she has two choices: betray Keir and live, or join his battle and risk going to Hell.

  ***

  CHAPTER ONE

  I squirm in my seat and straighten the arms of my leather jacket. The tall man across the mahogany table leans back in his chair, his body moulding into the plush upholstery. I dig my fingers into my knees as he regards me with unreadable eyes. “Ava, you are one of our best operatives. Your success is impressive. The number of souls we have retrieved with your help has made a huge difference to our future.”

  My stomach flips as I wait for the but. There’s always a but. Every time.

  “But, we need you to go back.”

  There it is. My shoulders slump but I keep my gaze fixed on his cold, grey eyes. Don’t show weakness. Deficiency would be the end—a return to my life amongst the Fated people, and to desolation.

  The man leans to one side and pulls open a drawer, his long black ponytail sweeping forward. He produces a manila folder and places the file on the table. Flipping to the first page, he points at a picture. The code printed reads NPHM.

  Shit. “That isn’t possible, Darius. Sir. I’m not capable…”

  “I don’t tell soul hunters to do the incapable.”

  “But a Nephilim… they’re stronger than demons, how can I retrieve his soul?”

  A young guy smiles up at me from a photograph, hooded jacket casually open across his broad chest, his violet-flecked blue eyes the single betrayal of his heritage.

  “I can’t go back there. Please.” Nausea pours into my stomach. The human world is abhorrent, and each time I’m sent to retrieve demon souls I struggle. Mixing with humans is bad enough, but what’s worse is my powers are useless in their world. I’m subjected to physical fights when I confront the demons. Fights that hurt.

  “Ava. You have been chosen to do this. Your skills as a soul hunter are some of the best, as is your ability to blend in. There is no one else we can trust.”

  The backhanded compliment doesn’t detract from the magnitude of what he’s asking me. I wipe a hand across my face to disguise the anxiety pulling down the corners of my mouth. “You said I wouldn’t have to go back…”

  “The previous soul hunters failed. I misjudged them. I am not misjudging you, because I’ve seen what you can do. The Nephilim are strong, but I know you’re capable of succeeding. I know you will make the right choices.” The unmistakable warning in his voice dampens my desire to retort. There’s no way I can refuse.

  I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my jeans. If I collect souls trapped in demons, in return, I’ll be free from servitude. The Caelestia who rule my world and life promise freedom, and I can live in their bright world. But after two years, this promise hasn’t materialised.

  Each time Darius sends me to collect a soul, he informs me I’ll receive my Will and be freed when I return. Yet every time I complete my mission, Darius calls me back to his office. Just one more. Every time.

  Two years ago, I snatched my chance, left my world of the Fated behind, and took on the duties of a soul hunter. As a reckless teenager, I didn’t listen to my people who told me I’d be making a grave mistake. I never considered life would be worse as a soul hunter than staying with my family and the Fated, but it is. Living as one of the Fated means a half existence, always at the whim of the Caelestia, who claim they keep us protected. No, we’re subdued; not good enough to share their utopia unless we prove ourselves worthy. My people are right; a soul hunter’s life is worse, the threat of death follows each day, and many of us never return from our missions.

  Darius again commands me to return to the living hell of humans and demons.

  “How did they fail?” I ask. “Can Nephilim sense soul hunters? Is that why?”

  “No. Your essence is no different to a human, the same as with all demons.”

  “Then what happened? How am I different?” Why are you sending me to my death?

  “Are you questioning my judgement?”

  I stare at my boots. “No.”

  A shadow crosses Darius’s face as he rises and moves across the room to the bookshelf spanning the wall. He traces a finger along a line of brown books and pulls one out.

  Darius tosses the book next to the manila folder. “Everything we know from the past can be found inside these.”

  I tip my head to read the spine, trying to decipher the words stamped in gold leaf on the well-worn book. Nephilim.

  “But I know the history,” I say.

  Darius leans towards me and I shrink back. Why can I never bite my tongue and say the minimum required? His grey eyes darken; his face an uncomfortable distance from mine. “You don’t know their future.”

  “Sorry.”

  Darius steps back and folds his arms across his chest. “You are unwise to question us. You are here to do as we tell you. How many times do I need to remind you of that?”

  “I’ll do what you say.”

  “Very sensible, Ava.” He reaches into his drawer again, pulls out a spherical crystal, and places it between us. The reality of what he’s asking hits home. Larger than the ones I’ve been given before, the crystal sparkles as if the illumination comes from within. Rainbows dazzle as they spread across the room, colouring Darius’s face.

  A soul crystal.

  “You know what to do with this, of course,” he says.

  Capture his soul inside. Bring the crystal back. Don’t fail.

  My heart thumps, and my palms slick with perspiration as I ready myself to raise the next question. I won’t see Darius again now, not until after the mission.

  Darius speaks before I can ask. “This time, I promise to give you your Will. I have contracted with the Caelestia; I cannot refuse you.”

  My eyes sting with tears of weakness I will never let anybody see. I want to shake Darius, scream at him not to lie to me again, cry that he’s broken his word so many times. But they won’t break me.

  Why involve the Caelestia? His superiors’ involvement screams danger, but Darius’s countenance betrays nothing.

  He returns to his chair, indicating with a flick of his fingers that I should take the items he provided. My damp palms stick to the manila folder as I pick it up. I tuck the file underneath the book and try my hardest to hide my shaking hands as I pocket the crystal.

  “Goodbye, Ava.” Darius turns to a clipboard and traces a finger down the list. “Ask Ben to enter when you leave.”

  Outside, I duck my head. I don’t want to acknowledge the row of unfortunate soul hunters waiting on the narrow benches; I only care about my own success or failure.

  “You’re next,” I mutter to the guy sitting nearest the door. He refuses to look at anything but his scuffed boots, a contrast to the gleaming marble floor. This guy disconnects too. We all do.

  I never meet the same soul hunter twice.

  The stinging tears threaten to flow at the memory of my friends and family in the Fated world. Back then, I was a guarded person but never held the emotionless persona I have now. I repeat my mantra: Do not show weakness, do not lose.

  The soul crystal nestles against my hip and I curl my hand around it, squeezing the crystal until the hardness bites into my palm. My success and survival in the field have an unfortunate side effect: suspicion. Nobody has ever told me the fate of the souls I return and the secrecy nags at me.

  Where do the captured souls go when I hand over the crystals to Darius?

  The majority of my comrades don’t survive long enough to consider this, and I can never ask my treacherous questions.

  I straighten as I continue along the bright hallway. The weak Fated g
irl paraded in front of Darius has to stay behind. I’m a soul hunter and a good one. If a Nephilim soul is required to end my servitude, I’ll give this impossible mission my best. No, I’ll bloody succeed. No one has beaten me yet, and I’m not about to let that change now. This is more than my life hanging on the line, I’ve spent two years fighting for my freedom and I’m almost there. Darius promised. He’s commanded by the Caelestia.

  I pull my long, aqua-coloured hair into a ponytail and yank the knot tight.

  Bring it on, Nephilim boy because you don’t know what’s about to hit you.

  THREE DAYS LATER

  I stride along the corridor to the entrance of the lecture theatre, rucksack slung over my shoulder and campus map in my mouth. Groups crowd outside, chattering, and I avoid looking at them. The girls I stop next to eye me, and I raise a pierced eyebrow at them. They might rock the Barbie doll look, but I have more of an bright-haired, big-booted leave me the hell alone image.

  The doors open and the previous lecture-goers flood out. I push through them and into the vast room. Students weave around me as I stop to survey the crowd. This room is bloody huge; how can I spot him amongst over a hundred people? I’m good but not that good. I slide onto a low bench seat and place my full backpack beside me. I wriggle down in the seat and pull my short black skirt straight, before resting my heavy boots on the seat in front; I’ll check the rest of the room out once the lecture starts.

  “Excuse me.”

  A slightly built girl frowns at my legs blocking her way to the seat beside me. A mouse. I giggle to myself. She is, in every detail. Short, small features, nondescript, brown hair—right down to her tiny voice. I slowly pull one leg and then the other down, not moving enough for the girl to pass without brushing me. The girl draws in a breath and hugs her books tightly to her chest as she slides through the gap, eyes on the floor.

  “Hey,” I say

  The girl’s eyes widen. “Hi,” she squeaks.

  Ha. Mousy girl. “I’m Ava, and I don’t bite.”

  “I’m Dahlia, and you look like you might.”

  “Do I? Why?”

  Dahlia examines me in greater detail than the girls did earlier. I flash her a grin. “Girls like you often do.”

  “What? And they don’t?” I point my pen towards the two blonde friends from outside, now wandering past us to the seats behind.

  “They don’t bite, but their claws are sharp,” says Dahlia, quietly.

  “Ah, clever. We can be friends.”

  Dahlia opens her mouth to respond, but the lecturer’s voice booms through the speakers and silences the room.

  I don’t listen to much of the lecture, spending the next hour checking out people around me. Bland. Boring. Nondescript human lives. Some shift uncomfortably at my gaze, so I keep my eyes on them for longer, daring them to keep looking. If only they knew the truth about their world and what I did for them, stopping demons from stealing their souls. Then they wouldn’t look at me like I’m some kind of fucking freak show. I give up, bored. No Nephilim eyes stand out amongst the sea of mundanity.

  I summon a memory of his picture from the manila folder back in my room. Is the image his current appearance? When was the photo taken? Humans changed a lot at this age, and in his half-human form, he would too. Great.

  At least I’m in the right town and the right college; now I need to find the right person and get this over with. I roll my head from side to side, stretching the muscles in my neck. I don’t want to stay a day longer than necessary in this godforsaken place.

  Dahlia taps dutifully on her laptop, recording the lecture on her phone, oblivious to the restless girl next to her. I yawn and stretch my legs out to rest my feet on the back of the seat in front again. The guy seated there tuts and pushes at my boots. I refuse to move them and when he turns to say something, I mouth an obscenity at him. He turns back round sharply and mutters something to the guy next to him. Screw this. I shift downwards in my seat and close my eyes.

  “Ava!”

  I open one eye to see Dahlia standing over me. “Time to go. You might want to sleep through classes, but I don’t—come on.”

  I drop my feet to the floor. “Fine…”

  Dahlia slides past and stalks off; I catch up in a few strides. “What class do you have now?”

  Dahlia pauses outside the lecture theatre. “Nothing, you?”

  “Same. What should we do then?”

  Dahlia stiffens. “I have things to do. I’d rather do them on my own.”

  “Oh sorry, I was hoping we could become besties.” I grin at her.

  Dahlia stares at me as if I’ve recently landed on the planet, which I guess is half-true. “First of all, I don’t really like you, and secondly, nobody says besties anymore. Please leave me alone.” She scurries away.

  I wrinkle my nose, glancing around. The break between lectures brought a new student throng walking down the corridor, and I rest against the wall, watching the stragglers leave the theatre.

  A guy walks out on his own, staring under long lashes at a sheet of paper in front of him. His dark hair falls casually into his eye and he shrugs his bag onto a shoulder as he passes. I straighten, comparing him to the image in my mind. Taller than most men. Check. Athletic build. Check. The hair. Longer than in the picture. A closer inspection is required. I catch up alongside and jostle him, pretending I’m pushed by the couple passing me.

  A shock surges from the place our bodies touch and into my head, blurring the world as a white light closes out my vision for a second. The panic that he’s somehow zapped me Nephilim-style recedes when his demeanour and interest in me don’t change

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  The guy turns his head towards me and I no longer hold any doubt. Not only is there a beautiful symmetry to his face, but below his heavy brow, glacial blue eyes regard me, the violet tinge to the irises betraying his bloodline. Gotcha.

  “Umm, no problem.” I’m caught in his allure but, weirdly, the guy can’t hold my look, shifting his focus back to the paper in his hand.

  That. I wasn’t expecting that. Arrogant, good-looking guy aware of his heat factor, yes, but not this. The good-looking part is right though. If he’d carried himself with confidence, every girl in the hallway would be staring at him. Instead, I run a gaze over the broad back beneath his black T-shirt, the muscles of his long legs, and take an extra few seconds to appraise his squeezable ass as he stumbles off, running a hand though his curls as he walks.

  I weave between students, following at a distance. The Nephilim reaches the library and I hover in the doorway, watching him chat to the librarian. The young woman with the brown ponytail and pink cheeks points him to a different area, and I smile as the woman’s gaze lingers on the guy a little too long. I need to fill out my borrower’s application, a perfect excuse to hang around and watch him. Pulling the form from my bag, I lean against the counter. I scrawl Ava Ford and my address, ensuring my date of birth matches the one on the enrolment form I faked a couple of days ago.

  The Nephilim sits at a corner desk, pulls a laptop from his bag, and switches it on. A girl approaches, and he turns a thousand watt smile in her direction. My pen clatters to the desk as mousy Dahlia sits next to him.

  What the hell? My plan of action rapidly dissipates. Past assignments taught me hot guys plus my alluring self equals souls taken in no time. Not happening this time, if he prefers plain girls, I huff. Worth a shot, I guess. I slip the form away and saunter over to the couple.

  “Hi again.” I set my bag on the desk, knocking Dahlia’s papers to one side. They look up at me, faces a mixture of fascination and alarm.

  “Hello…” says Dahlia.

  I shoot Dahlia a smile. “Dahlia.” My eyes shift to the Nephilim, gauging his reaction. He stares at his laptop, refusing to meet my gaze.

  “Gonna introduce me to your boyfriend?” I ask, manoeuvring myself into the chair opposite them.

  Dahlia scratches her cheek. “Boyfriend? Hear tha
t, Keir?”

  Keir.

  Keir gives Dahlia a crooked smile.

  “Oh?” Yes. One step closer.

  “We’re not a couple, Ava,” he says.

  I’m unsure what hits me the hardest; the fact he knows my name or the dark look in his eyes. For a second, I swear I’ve looked into his eyes before and a glimmer of recognition flickers across his too. No, all Nephilim eyes are the same; I’ve obsessed myself by looking for him, that’s all.

  “Old friends?” I ask in a light tone. “Or just study buddies?”

  “Kindergarten. Friends for years; we just happened to get into the same college.” The mouse smiles.

  “Just happened?” I could imagine the temptation to follow this guy across the country, if I were a stupid, human girl.

  Dahlia’s eyes narrow for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Lucky,” I reply. “I know no one. Just shipped in. Guess that’ll teach me not travel around Europe before college.”

  “Europe?” asks Keir.

  Those eyes. If it weren’t for their startling blue colour, I’d be searching campus for a different guy because he is not what I expected. Still, at least something about me piqued his interest.

  “Yeah. Just for a few months, had some business to attend to.” Killing demons and now it’s your turn. “So, here I am. Friendless.”

  Dahlia glances at Keir who’s resumed studying his laptop.

  “I’m not great at making friends. I think people misjudge me by my appearance.” I tip my head and raise an eyebrow at Dahlia.

  “I don’t agree with judging by appearances.”

  “So true, Keir,” I reply, trying to meet his eyes again. Is he actually aware of his Nephilim origin and clueless, or an expert at hiding what he is?

  “You guys want to show me around tonight?” I ask. “I’m free after eight if you have any suggestions.”

  The horrified look on Dahlia’s face, when Keir says yes, amuses me for hours afterwards.