Curse of Souls (Warrior of Souls Book 1)

by S Mays

  “I think you’re resisting them. Just relax. Think of...I don’t know. Just think of fighting or violence or justice or something. I don’t know how the bonding process works,” she admitted.

  “You have to think of something personal,” Bilford offered.

  “This seems like a really half-assed idea,” Sverre complained.

  He closed his eyes, trying to think of combat techniques, weapons that came to mind, whatever he could. He thought of the spirits that lent him their strength, the innocents he was supposed to protect. Following that train of thought, he thought of his parents, which reminded him of the werewolves he had fought that night. That led to his combat with Rilus and the beast’s ferocity and power. The particles on his hands slowly expanded around each hand as these thoughts and images cascaded through his mind until the substance encircled his hands completely. They then coalesced into strange interlocking runes and symbols that formed a latticework around his hands, looking almost like tribal tattoos. The tips of his fingers ended in sharp inch-long claws.

  “What the hell did you think of?”

  “Um, werewolves? Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

  “I guess that explains the claws, but what’s up with those symbols?” she asked, looking to Bilford.

  Bilford leaned in close and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve never seen the like.”

  They helped Sverre to his feet. He was unsteady, grabbing onto the edge of the tank. His hand sliced through the edge of the tank, causing him to stumble forward.

  “What the…?” he asked, looking at his outstretched hand.

  Curious, he touched the edge of a nearby support pillar. Again, he sliced through it with no effort.

  “My word!” Bilford exclaimed.

  “I guess it worked, somehow,” Izzy said.

  “What are these? Some kind of gauntlets?” Sverre asked, examining them. He hesitantly touched his arm with the tip of one claw, but there was no damage. He clasped his hands together without incident. He picked up a shard of glass with the tips of the claws. It crumbled.

  “How the hell am I supposed to eat and go to the bathroom?”

  “It’s obvious they don’t harm you, but there’s usually a verbal command to suspend or initiate the attack mode, but the weapon wasn’t supposed to be bonded to the user like this. They usually have some kind of device like a hilt, a piece of armor, or something else they use as a conduit and focus. Sorry ’bout that. Why don’t you try — wait.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got company. Three hostiles just blew through the front door upstairs,” Izzy said, turning toward the corridor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Hoss took up a position against the edge of the door. Valkyrie grabbed Mercury and carried the prone woman to cover, then turned to assist Hoss.

  Izzy fiddled with her visor. “I’m trying to play back the footage, but it’s going to take me a minute to find it.”

  “I don’t think we have a minute, Miss Ford,” Hoss said, firing his gun into the hallway. “Looks like —” he had started to say when a large form burst through the doorway, sending him flying across the room. He crashed into one of the inactive machines, which tumbled over on top of him. He did not move.

  Valkyrie fired several bursts at the intruders, then shifted into wolf form and leaped at one of them. It was difficult to make out the two combatants as they slashed and tore at each other in a frenzy.

  “They’re werewolves!” Izzy shouted, firing at the one that had sent Hoss reeling. She fumbled in her belt, looking for something. “Use the silver flash-bangs —” she started to say, but then she was in the shadow of the beast. It had closed the distance from the doorway to the center of the room in two heartbeats.

  She lashed out, striking it with her palm, directly in the chest. It convulsed several times, then its movements ceased. Sverre appeared between them, launching a flying kick that staggered the creature. It stumbled backward a few steps, then shook its head as if clearing its vision. This werewolf was about thirty percent larger than Rilus, and Rilus had been huge. The three new werewolves wore body armor of similar design to the armor designed by the Tailor. Sverre could not discern if they carried any weaponry.

  “You!” it growled upon seeing Sverre. “You will come with us now.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sverre said, grabbing the hilts of the two swords he carried. Sparks exploded as the claws from the gauntlets cut into them. The hilts were left in ragged pieces where the claws had cut out chunks of metal and leather. “Holy hell,” he said, looking at the runed claws on his hands. He looked back at Izzy. “How do I turn them off?” he shouted over his shoulder.

  “You’d better just use them right now and worry about turning them off later,” she offered, running away from the two combatants. She took up refuge beside Bilford. The third werewolf from the new trio had slunk away from sight, slowly circling around the pair, using the machinery as cover.

  Bilford walked around in a circle, stamping his staff every few feet as he went. Upon returning to his starting point, he mouthed a minor spell, a cantrip. At each point he had stamped, red glowing lines formed, crisscrossing at his feet, connecting the dots to his position. He then sat at the center. “Do not fire your weapon inside the circle,” he instructed Izzy.

  “But now we can’t help them!” she said, frustrated.

  “You don’t have the weaponry to help them, and my power is nearly exhausted. This shield will only last a few minutes.”

  “They’ll be killed! Sverre can’t fight that monster in hand-to-hand!” she argued.

  “I think he will be fine. If I’m right, these are the escorts from Dragos we were supposed to wait for,” he explained.

  “If we were waiting for them, why are we letting them fight?” Izzy said, glaring at him.

  “I’m interested in seeing what Sverre can do,” Bilford admitted.

  “If you’re wrong, what he’s goin’ to do is get splattered across the walls,” she said. “If that happens, then your girl is dead, too! Hell, we’re all dead!”

  “Perhaps, but it’s beyond our control at this point.”

  Sverre lunged and slashed at his opponent, attempting to strike a blow with his clawed gauntlets. The gargantuan beast easily dodged his blows, bounding back and forth, sizing up the young man.

  “Where did you acquire those toys, stripling? You seek to imitate our natural weapons? Your clawed combat form is laughable. I’ve seen what the God Particle weapons are capable of. I have no intention of letting you touch me. I doubt they could do me any real harm, but I’m in no mood for games at the moment,” the beast boomed.

  The werewolf was right. Sverre wasn’t used to fighting like this. He might have multiple martial art styles available to him through his subconscious, but not many martial arts were formed around trying to slice your opponent with your fingernails. He switched to a conventional stance.

  “Whelp, you amuse me. I’ll entertain myself with your foolishness for a moment, but then we must be going,” the werewolf declared. “I’ll make a bargain with you. If you manage to put up a worthwhile fight, I’ll leave your friends alone, despite their attacks on me.”

  Sverre looked at Izzy and Bilford across the room. The third werewolf circled them, cautiously poking at the air around them. Sparks rained down as its probing claw interacted with an invisible barrier. Across the room, Valkyrie and the second invader had stopped, each dripping blood and breathing heavily. Hunks of fur, skin, and mesh armor were scattered across the floor around them.

  “Deal.”

  The large beast laughed. It sounded like a lion hacking up a hairball.

  “Show me your supposed skills,” it demanded. “I’ll try not to maim you, although it’s not in my nature to treat my opponents gently, but I have my orders. My scouts say you are a powerful warrior. I’d like to see this for myself. Hurry, I am losing interest already.”

  Sverre took a deep breath, then dashed forward, striking with his
right palm. The creature turned the strike away with no effort, but it felt to Sverre like someone had hit his forearm with a lead pipe. He kicked at the inner shin of his opponent, simultaneously bringing up his left elbow to try to strike the beast in the jaw, but it leapt backward several feet, avoiding both blows. He continued forward with a leaping roundhouse kick. The werewolf brought up its forearm. The kick stopped as if it had hit a brick wall. Sverre fell back, putting his weight on his other leg, and brought up the same leg again with a straight kick which connected with the huge muzzle of the beast.

  “You managed to hit me. That is an admirable accomplishment in itself. For that, I’ll give you my name. My clan calls me Varulf. I lead the Cen’Ful pack,” the beast stated.

  “I-I’m Sverre.”

  “Did he say ‘Varulf’?” Izzy asked Bilford. “I couldn’t hear through this stupid barrier of yours.”

  “I’m sorry, my child, I can’t hear well under normal circumstances,” Bilford replied.

  Izzy attempted to shout through the barrier, but the volume of her voice was dampened as it passed through the magic screen.

  “Are you done, boy?” Varulf asked. His arms were folded in front of his chest. His tone suggested he was admonishing a toddler that had just had a tantrum.

  “I’m just getting warmed up,” Sverre blustered, clearly worried that he was completely unable to barely annoy this mountain of muscle in front of him.

  “You cannot match my strength, but can you match my speed?” the man-wolf asked. He unfolded his arms and moved to a crouching position. Sverre backed up, putting around twenty feet between them.

  In a split second, Varulf covered the distance, gently nudging his fist into Sverre’s solar plexus. At least it was as gentle as he could perform such an action. To Sverre, it was as if someone had swung a sledgehammer directly into his abdomen. All the air in Sverre’s lungs rushed out. He collapsed to the ground, attempting to breathe. The claws in his gauntlets retracted. The raised glowing runes protecting his hands flattened, resembling nothing more than darkly-inked tattoos.

  “Leave them be. We have what we came for,” Varulf commanded, scooping up the prone young man. He slung the limp body over his shoulder with ease.

  The large wolf turned to find Hoss blocking his path. Blood glistened on the large man’s forehead. His arm hung limply by his side.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you take the young man. He fought to protect us, and I aim to return the favor,” he said, grimacing in pain.

  Varulf smiled, revealing a wide, toothy grin. He pulled back his hand, black razor-sharp claws glinting under the florescent lights. He intended to swing the sinewy limb at the man’s head with enough force to decapitate a bull. However, the titan-wolf’s hand did not move. He puzzled for a split second before looking over his shoulder at Sverre holding on to his wrist with both of his hands. Sverre’s arms shook from the tremendous strain.

  “You’re not...going...to...kill...that man,” Sverre gasped, grunting against the sheer power of the large beast.

  Varulf slowly increased the force, thinking he would easily pull away from the young man’s grip, but Sverre held tight, locking his legs around the werewolf’s torso. Varulf jerked, attempting to wrench free, but he did not break Sverre’s grip. The wolf’s eyes grew wide in surprise and anger. With one final burst of renewed strength, he punched forward, ripping Sverre free from his body, flinging him across the room. Hoss intercepted the human missile. They collided with a loud thud, tumbling onto the ground violently.

  Sverre slowly stood, his unwavering steely stare locked with Varulf’s glowering yellow orbs.

  “Still have a little fight in you, pup? I respect tenacity. I’ll give you one final blow. If you impress me, the man can live.”

  Sverre looked around the room at the combatants gathered. They each looked back at him. The two werewolves that had accompanied Varulf stood defiantly, ready to either finish their prey or leave. Hoss leaned heavily on the machine behind Sverre. Izzy’s look of concern was unmistakable. Bilford was calm. He smiled and gave Sverre a knowing nod of confidence.

  Sverre turned to face his opponent, a look of grim determination on his face. Varulf stood tall, his chest bared and his arms spread wide, leaving himself open. Breathing deeply, Sverre concentrated, suppressing his fear. He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, then pulled his most tortured memory to the surface in vivid detail. That night at his childhood home.

  Rational thought was replaced with blinding hot rage. His lips peeled back, revealing his gritted teeth. Eyes full of pain burst open, a spark of red glowing once more, focused on the beast before him. Just as Varulf had done earlier, he exploded across the space between himself and Varulf in less than a second. Twisting his torso for maximum force, he swung around with an underhanded closed-palm strike that was followed by an overhand palm strike from his other hand. The first caught Varulf under the ribcage, knocking the wind from him. The beast had not even seen his opponent move. In the next instant, Varulf felt himself being lifted from the floor by the sheer power of the boy before him. The second strike built upon the first, accelerating the werewolf like a rocket. Varulf soared across the room, smashing into the reinforced wall, then falling face-first to the floor.

  The other two werewolves were upon Sverre in an instant. He ducked, jumped and dodged their claws and bites, weaving a dance of savage grace. His renewed vigor and skill surprised them. Each time he dodged, he struck a pressure point on his foes, which numbed their limbs and slowed their movements. Valkyrie grabbed one from behind and restrained him. The enemy wolf kicked and snarled but was unable to break her hold.

  “Stop!” Varulf boomed, slowly rising from the ground like a bear emerging from its den after a long winter. His chest was partially caved in from the force of Sverre’s meteoric punches. As he rose, the tissue knitted back together. Audible cracks could be heard from across the room as broken ribs straightened and hardened.

  “I don’t know what you are, boy, but you’ve earned my respect. However, I must still insist you come with us. There are too many lives at stake for us to fail,” Varulf proclaimed. “Leave the others. Let us return. Do you have anything to say, boy?”

  “I’ll go with you willingly. It’s to save my friend, so I have no other choice.”

  Varulf’s two companions looked to each other in surprise, then at their commander. They turned to leave, falling in behind their leader.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Wait!” Izzy screamed, chasing after them. Bilford slowly rose from the floor, using his staff as a cane. His arm shook from exhaustion. His robe was stained with sweat.

  “You. I know you, girl,” Varulf said, curiosity in his voice.

  “I’m Izzy Ford. We talked to you and your pack about joining us in Xibalba.”

  “I recall now. What do you want, girl?”

  “I’ve got to tell you something. About your pack. I think you’re being set up by Dragos.”

  “How do you mean? I have made an arrangement with the vampire lord. His word is his bond.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know there is something strange going on here. Your village was hidden from the Order’s satellites by someone inside the organization, but then that same person allowed your village to be found again.”

  “We’ve noticed some of their drones and spies lurking about in recent days,” Varulf admitted.

  Sverre stepped between them, his eyes full of anger. “Did your pack kill my parents?” he demanded.

  Varulf seemed surprised by the accusation. “We killed no one that night. We were informed that Rilus would be at that dwelling, but he had escaped before we arrived.”

  “But Rilus is dead,” Sverre said, confused.

  “Dead? How would you know this?”

  “Because I killed him. Well, Jessica and I did, together,” Sverre explained.

  “I... can see how you might be able to do that. He was a vile creature and a powerful warrior, bu
t you do have some great power within you as well. I don’t know what to make of this,” Varulf said.

  “Who told you that he would be at Sverre’s house?” Izzy asked.

  “My second in command — my mate, Tarja.”

  “And who did she get the information from?” Izzy questioned.

  “She... I didn’t ask,” Varulf admitted. He appeared to be trying to work through a jumble of thoughts within his mind.

  “Did you know your village was just evacuated earlier today?” Izzy said.

  “What?” Varulf bellowed.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Several aerial transports came in fast and carried most of the clan away. It looks like there was a bit of fighting, too.”

  “I must get back to them,” Varulf said, turning to leave.

  “I’m going with you,” Sverre stated. Everyone in the room turned toward him in surprise.

  “Why would you do that?” Varulf asked.

  “Because you need to take me to wherever Jessica is, just like you said you would,” Sverre said.

  “You know that will surely mean your death? Why would you go with us?”

  “Because my friend needs me. And maybe I can help you, too.”

  “I do not know what we will face. There is some sort of treachery afoot. I think you are throwing your life away, but I made a deal with Dragos to bring you to him. If you agree to go, I will not stop you. If it is true that my village has been evacuated, then I have no reason to honor my bargain, but I have only your friend’s word about this.”

  “Sverre, what the hell are you doing?” Izzy said, pulling his shoulder so he turned to face her.

  “This is sort of what I do,” he said, sounding unsure of himself.

  “Stupid things? Yeah, I’ve figured that out from the short time we’ve been together. Don’t throw your life away for some witch who don’t care one lick about you,” she argued.

  “Jess…isn’t like that. She’s a good person. If this vampire will trade her life for mine, then I don’t see a problem with that. Plus, I have no intention of dying.”