Page 5 of Soulmarked
The photos had turned my stomach, and that took some doing these days. The victims had been opened up like bloody butterflies, their insides arranged with a sick attention to detail. This wasn't just killing for food or territory. This was something worse.
I crouched behind an overturned shipping crate, scanning the warehouse's second level. A shattered skylight let in shafts of moonlight, cutting through the dusty air like silver blades. The light played tricks with the shadows, making them shift and dance, but I'd been doing this too long to be fooled by mere darkness.
There. A movement above. The scrape of claws against metal grating, too deliberate to be accidental.
Found you, you bastard.
I started to move, already plotting my route up to the catwalk, when a sound froze me in place. A voice, deep andguttural, barely more than a growl but forming words that cut through the warehouse's hollow silence.
“Hunter.”
I went still, every muscle coiled tight. The voice had come from above, but it echoed strangely, making it hard to pin down the exact location. Smart bugger, using the warehouse's acoustics against me.
“You smell like him.”
My grip tightened on the knife's handle. I didn't need to ask who “him” was. Though I had to admit, it was unusual for one of them to talk. Most werewolves, even alphas, were more animal than human when transformed. This one was different.
“Jaysus,” I muttered under my breath, “can't you just be a normal bloodthirsty monster? The chatty ones always make it complicated.”
More movement above, the metal walkway creaking under significant weight. The alpha was big, probably closer to three hundred pounds of muscle and fury. The standard tactics wouldn't work here. In close quarters, with that much raw power, I'd need to be perfect.
Good thing perfect was what I did best.
I reached into my coat with my free hand, fingers finding the familiar shape of the UV grenade. Werewolves might not have a vampire's fatal reaction to ultraviolet light, but the flash would disorient it long enough for me to close the distance.
“You're new to the city,” the creature continued, its voice taking on an almost conversational tone that made my skin crawl. “We heard about Dublin. About what you did to the pack there.”
That made me pause. Dublin was supposed to be buried, literally and figuratively. I'd made damn sure of that before leaving Ireland. The fact that word had crossed the Atlanticmeant either my reputation was growing, or someone was talking who shouldn't be.
“If you've heard about Dublin,” I called out, letting my accent thicken deliberately, “then you know how this ends. Make it easy on yourself.”
A laugh rumbled through the warehouse, a sound like rocks in a garbage disposal. “The famous Sean Cullen. The hunter who never misses, never fails, never shows mercy.” A pause, then: “Never forgives himself, either, does he?”
Images flashed through my mind, Eli's face, the London rain, the moment everything went wrong. I shoved them back down where they belonged, into that dark box in my mind labeled 'never again.'
“Right then,” I said, palming the grenade with practiced ease. “Talking time's over.”
I exploded upward in one fluid motion, my body a weapon honed through years of blood and survival. My arm whipped forward, already tracking the alpha's position before my eyes confirmed it, crouched on the catwalk, its massive form silhouetted against the cold moonlight. But something was wrong. The beast wasn't tensing to attack, wasn't showing any sign of the aggression I'd come to expect.
It was smiling.
“The thing about hunters,” it said, voice like broken glass, “is they're so focused on being the predator, they forget what it's like to be prey.”
The air pressure changed behind me. Imperceptible to most, but to me, it screamed danger. I was already pivoting, muscles coiling to counter, when something slammed into my back with the force of a wrecking ball. The grenade sailed from my grip as I tucked into the impact, converting the devastating blow into controlled momentum. I hit the ground in a roll that would haveshattered a normal man's bones, my body distributing the force through trained pathways of muscle and sinew.
Pain lanced through my shoulder, hot and sharp, but pain was just another language I'd learned to speak fluently.
Rookie mistake. I'd been so focused on the alpha, I'd missed the tactical play. It hadn't been hunting at all, but baiting me, keeping me distracted while its partner executed a textbook flanking maneuver.
I rolled to my feet in a single, economical movement, dropping into a fighting stance that felt as natural as breathing. Blood traced rivulets down my arm, mapping the contours of muscle beneath my torn jacket, but the wound was shallow.
The second wolf circled to my left, yellowed fangs bared in what could almost pass for a smile if it wasn't promising death.
“Two on one?” I spat a mouthful of copper-tasting blood onto the concrete, my lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. “And here I thought you lot were supposed to be all about honor and fair fights. What happened, get tired of killing teenagers on camping trips?”
The alpha dropped from the catwalk, a thousand pounds of predator landing with impossible grace. The concrete cracked beneath its massive paws.
“Honor?” it growled, the word rumbling like distant thunder. “Is that what you call what happened in Dublin? What you did to our brothers and sisters?”
