Blood Curse (DarkWorld: A Soul Tracker Novel Book 3) Page 20
It must have been the shock on my face that gave it away. Erik stiffened, staring at me, his eyes darkening as he took a step towards a totally oblivious Steph.
Everything fell into slow motion as I watched Erik reach inside his jacket and withdraw two guns. Steph’s eyes went wide as he moved to aim his right hand gun at her.
Silvanya stepped to my wide, aware now that something in the air had changed.
Erik’s second weapon came up slowly, pointing straight at Silvanya, but even as I considered jumping her to safety I knew Steph would remain in danger.
Choices I could not make.
Erik’s guns were rising, almost aimed and I could see every crease in his skin as his fingers curled around each of the triggers.
My limbs moved, muscle memory from years of training kicking in. Low at the knees, my fingers curled around each of my daggers.
Metal sang as the blades were slid from their sheaths.
My fingers gripped hilts tight and I wasn’t even aware of having made a decision.
Only when the blade left my open palm did I register what I’d done.
A gunshot went off as the dagger slammed into Erik’s chest, slicing between the ribs over his heart. Red bloomed around the blade where it had embedded itself into Erik’s flesh, so deep that only an inch of it remained between his body and the hilt.
My heart stilled at the shock on his face.
His body began to vibrate as he attempted to phase away, but he was too late.
The blade had hit its mark.
The light fled from his eyes even has he glared at me, hatred clear in his eyes.
How had I been so wrong about him?
Erik fell, knees slamming into the ground. He teetered there for a few moments before falling onto his side and crashing into the coffee table, smashing it into pieces.
Both guns clattered to the floor beside his lifeless body as Steph sprang away from the sofa to come to me.
Her words were calm as she shushed me, whispering that I’d had no choice.
Her fingers pulled the second dagger from my grip, slowly uncurling each stiffened finger, rubbing my frozen hands between hers, cupping my cheeks.
Sounds buzzed, unrecognizable in my ear until the front door opened and suddenly I could hear in crystal clarity.
Mayhem.
That was the only word I could use to describe our living room over the next hour. The Elite team had arrived to deliver Raulfir, only to hear the gunshot and come rushing inside.
A part of me registered they’d broken through the magical wards—that shouldn’t have happened.
When excruciating pain bloomed in my side, I looked down stunned as I watched blood stain my shirt. I’d been hit but I didn’t care.
I’d been so wrong about Erik.
“Erik is the one who tortured me,” Silvanya had whispered in my ear, “I was too afraid of him to tell you.”
Had he been innocent, he wouldn’t have understood the reason for my shocked expression. Nor would he have decided to shoot us in response.
“I’m so fucking over being betrayed.”
I flinched as my words rang around the silent bedroom. I glanced at Steph snoring softly on the bed beside me. She’d insisted on keeping me company just in case and I wondered who needed the comfort more—me or her.
Raulfir and Silvanya had taken their leave. Erik’s body had been taken away. And a crime scene cleanup tech had taken care of the bloodstains on mom’s old carpet.
Carter had come by to check up on me, and Steph had called to give Natasha an update.
Now the room echoed with silence.
Accusatory silence.
Chapter 40
Inhaling harshly, I slid from the bed careful not to wake Steph. I tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, going though the motions of making tea.
Boil water, pour, steep, milk, sugar.
When I finally sipped it I discovered I’d forgotten the teabag altogether.
I set the mug of milky water on the table and studied my phone. No call from Saleem.
Which reminded me I’d had no success with Samuel. And I had to tell Darius what had happened.
I grabbed my phone and placed a call to the ancient, giving him a brief update on everything that had happened including Erik’s betrayal. I didn’t talk about a certain god who’d laughed as he’d trampled our hearts.
Darius studied me for a moment, his eyes flicking to my arm. “Have the wards functioned in protecting you until the spirit is removed?”
I nodded and gave him a reassuring smile, but my voice would have clearly revealed my uncertainty. “It’s been better. But I suspect I‘d need time to recover so I’m strong enough.”
“Have you tried to look for Samuel again?”
I shook my head. “There’s been a lot going on, and my power for such an extensive tracking isn’t strong enough. Not yet.”
He nodded, his expression serious and worried. “I hope you don’t do anything rash.”
I frowned. “Regarding what?” I asked, already suspecting we’d moved on to another sore topic.
“You know what I’m talking about.” He nodded, his expression inscrutable now. “Do not act without thinking it over first. Often such actions come back to haunt you.”
I nodded and smiled, hiding the hurt in my eyes.
How had he sensed where my mind had been? He knew already that I’d planned on seeking out Storm again. I hadn’t obtained the explanation I needed from him.
Darius laughed. “I can tell a lie when I see one, young lady.”
I gave him an apologetic smile.
He leaned closer until his face filled the screen. “There is much that you will come to learn over time. You will need strength to face the adversity that will befall the DarkWorld. But you will not be alone.”
I frowned and shook my head. “What-”
He lifted a hand to silence me. “Under your pillow, you will find a message. Read it with care, and treat the information with even more care.” Then his image shrank as he moved away. “And now I must leave you. Know that I am always here for you, should you need me.”
I’d barely given a nod in response when the screen went blank. Off balance, I straightened, frowning and wishing he’d be a little less cryptic.
Then I stiffened.
Under my pillow?
I hurried upstairs and tossed my pillow on the floor, revealing a brown paper envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of yellowed paper, a few paragraphs of scrawled cursive majestically occupying the center of the paper.
I used my cellphone torchlight to read the words.
In the Dark World, when the night is black,
When darkness looms, to swallow you whole,
A quintet of courage will bring forth hope,
And reach across the planes to save heart and soul
She who shreds the Veils and she who hunts the Demons,
She who mends Minds and she who speaks beyond the Grave,
And she who bears the face of all - these five shall be as one.
For they are the saviors of the DarkWorld, they are the Ni’amh...
What in the world did that mean?
I reread the words, frowning as I tried to identify the people the poem mention.
The one who shreds Veils was most likely me. The demon hunter could well be Kai. A mender of minds had to be a MindMelder and the only one of impressive power that I knew of was Darcy Graham.
The DeathTalker could be Nerina, but I couldn't be sure. The soft-spoken girl had never seemed much of a fighter to me.
And the wearer of faces? Probably a ShapeChanger like Cassandra Monteith.
What did it all mean?
And why us? What was so important about us that we’d be summoned together to form this group called the Ni’amh?
Whatever it was, there was no doubt we’d eventually find out. But for now I had other things to think about.
Ari and Samuel were still lost to
me. Both Drake and Saleem were gone, and I had no idea if they’d return.
And Storm, my mentor and guardian for so many years, had betrayed me.
Erik, the victim, had been the perpetrator, wanting to abduct Silvanya in order to keep the diamond production going after he took over his mothers business. Elise Garner had been right after all—her son was really after the family business.
And a witch doctor awaited me in New Orleans.
My heart needed healing, but who knew if I’d ever have time to fully recover.
Especially with a future that looked filled with dire predictions.
Whatever came my way, there was one thing I was damned sure about.
I didn’t plan on taking anything lying down.
TO BE CONTINUED
The SoulTracker Series
For more of Mel, Saleem Drake and the team read book 4 in the SoulTracker Series- Demon Soul
The SoulTracker Series
Blood Magic
Demon Kin
Blood Curse
Demon Soul
If you want to be kept in the loop about this series please subscribe to my Newsletter : Tee’s Newsletter
Also, if you want more to read in Mel & Saleem’s world, then the SkinWalker Series is your next stop.
Scroll down for Sample chapters of Skin Deep
Skin Deep
Lost Soul
Last Chance
Blood Promise
Scorched Fury
Fate’s Edge
Demon Hunter
The DARKWORLD Series Timeline
SkinWalker/SoulTracker
SkinWalker 1 - Skin Deep
SkinWalker 2 - Lost Soul | SoulTracker 1 - Blood Magic
SkinWalker 3 - Last Chance | SoulTracker 2 - Demon Kin
SkinWalker 4 - Blood Promise | SoulTracker 3 - Blood Curse
SkinWalker 5 - Scorched Fury | SoulTracker 4 - Demon Soul
SkinWalker 6 - Fate’s Edge
Also by T.G. Ayer
Young Adult Paranormal
The Valkyrie Series
Dead Radiance
Dead Embers
Dead Chaos
Dead Wrath
Dead Silence
The Hand of Kali Series
Fire & Shadow
Blood & Gold
Time & Fate
Fury & Virtue
Spirit & Soul
Adult Urban Fantasy
The DarkWorld SkinWalker Series
Skin Deep
Lost Soul
Last Chance
Blood Promise
Scorched Fury
Fate’s Edge
Demon Hunter
The SoulTracker Series (A DarkWorld Spin-Off)
Blood Magic
Demon Kin
Blood Curse
Demon Soul
Blood Moon
Demon Born
The DarkWorld Origins
Pyros (Logan)
Ailuros (Kailin) - 2017
Chronicles of the Irin
Retribution
Requiem
Resonance
The Dark Sight Series
Dark Sight
Cursed Sight
Blood Sight
The Apsara Chronicles - releasing 2017
Immortal Bound
Gods Ascendent
New Adult Contemporary Thriller w/a Toni Vallan
Beautiful Collision
Beautiful Conviction
Desperation Boxset
Psychological Horror w/a Toni Vallan
Dark Shadows
Part I
Skin Deep - A SkinWalker Novel #1
Skin Deep Ch1
There was a razor-fine line between protector and vigilante, and right now I knew I was skating it blind.
Funny thing was, I didn’t much care.
Tangled nerves sparked liquid fire within my veins. Muscles tightened, knees locked in a solid crouch. The fevered rush was a familiar beast. Moisture filmed my palms, heat simmered in the whorls of my ears. On occasion, even my heart missed a beat or two. Slick palms and a dubious pulse were understandable. Hot ears? Not so much. Grandma Ivy had a theory — hot ears meant somewhere, someone spoke your name.
Not in a good way either.
If Gran was right — something I did not doubt — and my ears were some sort of psychic thought-detector; then I'd bet my twisted Panther DNA it meant some mean-assed Wraith was groaning for my head on a bloody spike. A fair number of those Shades lost in the Ether would have me to thank for their current address. But, as yet, none have dropped by to voice their dissatisfaction.
The rooftop view of Chicago's night sky was glorious. Faint strains of a string quartet wafted from the restaurant below. My mark had not yet arrived. I supported the steel crossbow with strong, steady hands. While its weight was solid, it was also a comfort. So strange when its purpose was to end a life. I crouched on the edge of the rooftop, a mere shadow, invisible in my dark turtleneck and black leather pants. The high-necked sweater was camouflage, hiding the stark truth beneath.
From hairline to lower spine, the skin of my back was imprinted with the tapered, irregular pattern of a Panther's pelt. Very few Walkers have such a Mark. A blessing and a curse, it meant I was special. It also meant growing up in the Colony pretending I didn't hear the snide whispers and envious comments.
Muscles bunched, tensed. I steadied the weapon, balancing it on my knee. A sudden wind gusted around me, tugging at my hair, pulling slim strands free from the thick braid, which hung to my waist. Loosened strands whipped around and stung my cheeks with tiny slaps. The one thing I got from my mother that I could have with me all the time — thick, midnight hair that sometimes caught my father's eye and cast a grayness over his face. Times when the distance between us felt like miles.
The glittering night was subdued. Silent condemnation? Even the chatter of traffic was a whisper on the air. A powerful engine throbbed below. An old Bentley pulled up to the curb pouring its passengers onto the sidewalk. Two young women, rail thin to the point of skeletal, were draped over their distinguished host, doe-eyed and adoring. I restrained the bitter urge to vomit.
Silver hair, arrogant lines. My target had arrived.
Game on.
The girls tittered and the night air drew the sound to me, crisp and clear. If I'd cocked my ear, I'd have heard the words he uttered to them. But I wasn't interested in anything he had to say.
Enjoy it while you can, you piece of scum. Tonight I will send your sorry hide back to the Darkness where you belong.
Larson Keyes: Politician, adulterer, wife-beater. King of vices. But none of it mattered - Senator Keyes was already dead. What was contained within the flesh-and-bone shell of the man was NOT a man. Inside the polished exterior, something insidious and gut-wrenchingly evil now lived, had taken slow and deliberate control. Neither the senator, nor his family, would ever know he'd been killed by a Wraith. A possessor of bodies, devourer of souls.
I forced my jaws to unclench — my teeth hurt.
Sliding the tiny vial into the chamber in the crossbow, I readied the weapon, taking care to keep my fingers clear of the poison-tipped arrow. The diminutive arrow was designed to sink into the creatures flesh, decreasing the possibility of it being removed. The longer the poison remained, the quicker the death.
I aimed and fired a single silent shot.
Below me, the Wraith clutched his chest. His breath clattered in his throat, Adam's apple bouncing in tempo. His eyes bulged, face caught in a horrible grimace, pulled taut in a gross parody of shock and agony. Screams echoed around him as the large man crumpled to the unforgiving concrete.
The sight of Keyes' now-lifeless body spurred both horrified girls to run in terror. They did not see the dark wispy shadows, which spewed from his mouth. Did not see those shadows writhe and curl and twist away from the body, grey smoky fingers reaching for the tiny rips in the Veil, seeking to escape to the questionable safety of the Dark-World. They shou
ld be grateful to be blessed with such blindness. I certainly would have been.
The body of the Host lay discarded. A dried husk of the man smiling and preening mere minutes before. Desiccated skin lay sunken on bones, papery thin and fluttering in the breeze.
I rose, stretched my cramped limbs. I had time to contemplate the blood on my hands. Impossible to avoid the body count. After all, I was a killer. A Wraith-Hunter. But even though it's the Wraith I track and sever from this World, it's the body of the Host I have to terminate. The same Host who dies soon after the Wraith takes up residence, smothered by an evil blackness which sucks the life from him until what's left is a living shell without a soul. The Host was a lifeless puppet, and it didn't matter. My heart still shattered a little, ached a little each time I lined my target up within the cross hairs of my scope. Every time I watched a Host die by my hand.
And, after the deed, I was still a killer.
I left the rooftop, stuffing the small crossbow into my backpack, and turned my back on the sirens. As they sang in the distance, I shimmied down the fire escape super-fast. I dared not tempting Fate. It would be difficult to save anyone else from the black clutches of another Wraith if I were stuck in a prison cell. As I jogged away, my body zinged with pride. Then I came crashing down from my temporary high.
I was probably the only one proud of me. Would my father care? Only enough to admonish me, and warn me not to embarrass his precious reputation. Would my mother care? Who knew? I hadn't seen or heard from her in twelve years. Nobody in my family had heard from her since the day she'd walked out on us without so much as a fare thee well.