Her Soul for Revenge (Souls Trilogy)
Her Soul for Revenge: Chapter 18

I’d learned to live a lonely life. It was safer that way. I moved often and didn’t linger anywhere too long. I didn’t use my real name, and I didn’t trust anyone I met. Companionship and pleasure weren’t things I encountered often. I already wasn’t very personable, so it was hard enough to make friends. But in the years since I’d left Abelaum, I’d learned that relationships were just anchors that would try to tie me down. Getting attached to anyone, or letting them get attached to me, was laughably foolish. I was a danger to anyone I got close to; I was literal walking bait for cursed, magical monsters.

Relationships were hard, but sex was easy. It was my favorite way to let off steam, the only thing I’d found that could give me some brief relief from my constant, crushing worry. But one-night stands could only do so much. Good sex, sex that left me sore and drunk off the orgasm were rare.

At least, it was rare…before.

Zane had turned my brain into lust-filled mush. His smell was so distracting, and it was everywhere in that house. I couldn’t lay on the couch without smelling him, and my entire body got hot and my stomach got all squirmy every time I saw him. The next morning, as I was trying to cook breakfast to prepare myself for the heavy task ahead, I could feel the weight of his eyes on me as he watched me from the living room.

I couldn’t look at that countertop the same way anymore. I glared at it as my eggs fried in the pan, my own pathetic whimpers echoing in my ears. Goddamn it, he’d made me desperate. He’d forced me to make sounds I didn’t even think I was capable of. Guns weren’t toys, but Christ, he’d had me so horny I’d fucked myself on my own weapon. At least he’d been just as desperate, at least he’d given in first. The satisfaction I’d felt when he —

I hurriedly turned off the stove, having nearly burned the eggs. I swore furiously, but I still plated them beside my toast. I wasn’t going to waste perfectly edible food.

I’d genuinely thought that, once our deal was made, Zane would be like a genie in a lamp and vanish until I needed him. It had been an outrageously naive belief. Now that we were bound, our bargain sealed in blood and cum, I couldn’t get away from him.

I didn’t think I wanted to.

Something else I’d learned in the years spent struggling to survive was to always appear confident, even when I knew I was fucked. If I clung hard enough to false bravado, it might just get me through another day.

So as we drove toward White Pine, the sunlight falling in shafts through the clouds, my spirits were high. My adrenaline was pumping, anticipation made my fingers tap rapidly against the door. I had my pistol strapped to my hip, my shotgun on my back, my knife at my ankle, and a demon on my side.

This wouldn’t be like it was before. I was older. Stronger. I wasn’t helpless.

We drove deep into the forest. The trees were draped in vines, ferns clustered around their roots, creating a wall of vibrant green on either side. Zane kept the radio turned up loud, playing KennyHoopla as we drove, and I moved my head along with it.

I tried to think only of what would come after we were done. I would bury Marcus up at Dad’s cabin, in the yard, where we’d spent so many weekends playing together as kids. It was isolated and quiet. If Kent’s demon came around for his body again, I doubted he would look there.

But as we pulled off the asphalt onto the narrow dirt road that wound back into the trees, my anticipation soured. My stomach was knotted, and there was a weight on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. The road ended at a metal gate with a rusted No Trespassing sign.

Zane turned off the engine. “You good?” I nodded. “Don’t lie, Juniper.”

“I’m fine.” I kept my voice clipped and short. I jerked open the car door and slammed it behind me, leaning against it. I’d be fine. I could get through this. I took a few deep breaths, inhaling the crisp, fresh air, but buried beneath the pungent scent of pine was something else. Something sickly and rotten.

It had been here — right here — where Victoria and I had dropped acid all those years ago. I’d laid in this grass and stared at the boughs above. I’d wandered through these woods as Victoria led me by the hand.

St. Thaddeus cathedral was beyond the fence, hidden behind the trees. I hadn’t been back here since. When doctors had tried to persuade me to go back to the church so I could see it was empty, I’d refused. It didn’t matter if the church was no longer filled with white-cloaked cult members. It didn’t matter if no evidence could be found of what had happened there.

That church was never empty. It was full of memories, full of pain.

“Juniper.”

I jerked my head around, but Zane wasn’t even out of the car yet. I guess he’d decided to give me a few moments of space. The wind rustled through the trees, the crisp autumn leaves shaking. I frowned. If Zane hadn’t spoken, then…

“Juniper.”

The clouds moved over the sun, casting me into shadow, and a chill went up my back. I turned slowly, scanning the trees. The greenery was so deep and bright. Every inch of ground was covered with flora, and all around me, the woods seemed to breathe. The wind, the bird song, the creaking boughs…

My grandfather’s warning echoed in my head: “If you hear your name called from the woods, run.”

The Deep One knew I was here.

I jumped as the car door opened. Zane laid his hands on the roof, watching me expectantly. “Let’s try again. You good?”

Confidence. Always be confident. “Yeah. Completely fine.” He tweaked an eyebrow slowly. “I’m fine. Come on, we’re wasting daylight. Let’s get up to the shaft.”

I led the way, even though every step felt heavier than the last. The trail into the forest was narrow, barely big enough for one person to walk along. I carried only my weapons, plus a small pack with climbing supplies: a harness, ropes, hooks. I’d climbed out of the mine without them before, but it was nothing short of a miracle I’d managed it.

Every fiber of my being was repulsed by this place, every step was a fight against my own frantic desire to turn back. Part of me knew this was foolish: Marcus was dead. Regardless of where his body lay, his life wasn’t coming back. But I’d been in the mine before, I’d been in the dark. The horror of that place would never leave my mind, and the thought of leaving my own brother down there was unbearable. It didn’t feel right.

It grew colder as more clouds gathered overhead, and it looked unlikely we’d be spared from rain for much longer. My hands were gripped tight around my backpack’s straps, my jaw clenched so hard it ached. Parts of the trail were overgrown, and I had to stomp my way through bushes and intruding vines.

The path forked, and I paused. I stretched my tingling fingertips in an effort to get some feeling back into them. To the right, the path sloped down and widened toward the cathedral. Uphill, to the left…

I closed my eyes. There was roaring in my ears like distant waves, but amongst the roaring, there was the silence. That terrible, suffocating silence of being underground with just the slow, distant drip of water.

“Don’t get lost, little wolf.”

I opened my eyes. Zane was right behind me, only inches away. He hadn’t touched me, but there was the sensation of a hand gripping the back of my neck. Instead of being menacing, it was grounding, almost comforting.

The overwhelming desire to feel his arms around me welled up in my chest. That was something else I’d learned to do without: physical touch, the comfort of an embrace, the intimacy of holding another’s hand. Over the last few years, the only times I’d let myself get physically close to another was if we intended to fuck. Sex was vulnerable enough, but allowing myself the intimacy of simple physical contact was far more intense.

I took a deep breath and turned left up the trail. The last place I should have been looking for comfort was in the arms of a demon.

The trees hung low over the path, their roots coiled out of the ground, and I had to move carefully to avoid tripping. As cold raindrops began to fall, the forest grew silent. As if it had taken a breath and held it, the air was tense. I kept an eye out beneath the trees, watching carefully for any unusual signs of movement. The Eldbeasts didn’t usually come out during the day, but there were other things that could come hunting us.

Something crunched under my foot and I paused. Crushed on the forest floor was a trinket, made of twigs bound together into a triangle with twine. I picked it up, turning over the broken pieces in my hand. Tiny fish bones had been interwoven in the twine, and little notches were cut into the branches.

“My grandpa used to make these,” I said. “He’d hang them around the porch and the barn. Said they’d protect the horses.”

“They’re about as useful as burning a candle to cover the smell of a corpse,” Zane said.

I dropped the trinket and kept moving, but I soon noticed more of them in the trees. Just a few here and there, at first. But soon, there were dozens, dangling down from the low boughs overhead, and Zane had to duck beneath them. They swayed in the breeze, the sound of the twigs knocking against each other strangely eerie in the quiet forest.

The trail flattened, and I stopped abruptly. “There,” I said. “There it is.”

The White Pine shaft was ahead. Set into the hillside, the old boards that framed it were stained with age and burned with markings: odd runes, not unlike the scars on my chest. A faded sign was pounded into the ground beside it, reading Caution: Open Mine Shaft. The opening was boarded up, but the boards nailed across it were clearly newer than the frame: they were pale and rough, with no rust on the nails.

It had been opened recently, likely when they threw Marcus’s body down.

Sickening dread wrapped its hands around my throat as we got closer. Cold air seeped from between the boards, icy enough to bring goose bumps to my skin. It smelled like wet stones, like ocean brine and mold. Zane began to break the boards, and as he did, another smell rushed in my nose.

It was sickly sweet, instantly tugging at my gag reflex. The smell of rotting flesh.

Zane peered down into the dark, his lip curled. “Can’t say I’ve ever wanted to be this close to a God. This place is…” He snorted. “Well, frankly this place is vile.”

Vile was putting it mildly.

As the rain fell harder, I prepared my climbing gear. The shaft had been destroyed by the mine’s flooding, the path down mostly eroded. What remained was a short, steep, muddy slope that abruptly fell into the water below. I could remember sliding in the mud, trying to replace traction, digging my fingers into the dirt but still slipping down, down —

I shook my head. No thoughts, just actions. No emotions, just survival.

“Juniper.”

“What?” I raised my head, but Zane frowned at me. I insisted, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

I moved faster. I couldn’t let my courage be shaken now. I tied my rope to a large stone outside the shaft and ensured my harness was secure. I avoided looking down into the dark, and tried not to contemplate what it would be like to rappel down. I clipped my light onto my jacket, tested the rope one last time, and said, “When we replace him, you’ll have to carry him. I’m not strong enough.”

Zane nodded, stretching his arms over his head. “Right-o.” He leaned into the shaft, looked down into the dark with an expression of resigned distaste. He inhaled deeply, and said, “Ah, the sweet scent of putrefaction.”

Then he leaped down, disappearing into the dark.

“Don’t think,” I murmured. “Just don’t think.” I held tight to the rope, keeping it taut as I backed toward the shaft. If I looked too closely at the old wooden frame, I’d replace my own nail marks in the wood. If I thought about it too long, I’d hear my own screams echoing in the trees.

My throat was so tight, my tongue like dry cotton. My feet found the edge and I was balancing on it, the darkness at my back. The darkness of my nightmares.

I eased back over the edge, and down.

I let the rope out slowly as I moved. Just one step at a time. The darkness closed in quickly, my light illuminating the smooth, muddy slope in front of me. I found the drop-off at the end, and with a slow, shaking breath, I rappelled down the rest of the way.

I landed in a few inches of water. Most of the cavern was filled with it. I unhooked my harness, leaving the rope to dangle there until I returned. Zane had already made his way across the water and was inspecting the branching shafts that led away from the cavern. He didn’t have any cheerful, sarcastic greeting for me, and his silence heightened my nerves.

I gave my rope one last tug to reassure myself it was still secure. But as I did, I noticed something sticking out of the dirt wall it dangled against. I frowned as I plucked it from the mud. Thin…almost translucent…the color of bone…

A fingernail.

I dropped it instantly, nauseated. The air was heavy, the crushing weight of the earth around me making my skull prickle with claustrophobia. I waded across the water, lifting my guns to keep them dry. The water didn’t feel as cold as I’d thought it would, but that didn’t make it any better. Its lukewarm temperature felt oddly sinister.

“Which way?” I said softly. Zane nodded up the shaft he stood beside, his eyes narrowed as he gazed into the dark. My light illuminated the narrow tunnel, but the shadows still lay thick beyond its reach.

“There’s drag marks on the ground here,” he said. “And I can smell it.”

“Smell what?”

“His corpse.”

Zane led the way down the narrow tunnel. The ceiling was low enough that he had to bend, and even my head brushed it as I walked. It wasn’t long before I could smell it too: that vile rot, like old meat left in the sun. I kept glancing back, unable to shake off the feeling of being watched. It was eerily silent save for our footsteps.

The tunnel opened into a low cavern. Stalagmites jutted up from the floor, and the remnants of an old mine cart track were scattered around. White mushrooms sprouted in clusters from the walls, and they glowed softly when I moved my light away from them. The smell was horrific, and I tugged my shirt up to cover my nose in desperation. Zane paused again, sniffing the air, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” My voice was barely a whisper, but even that felt too loud.

“His body is close.” Zane turned slowly. “Get ready.”

I pulled out the shotgun. We crept forward, our boots splashing through puddles. The cavern opened wider, the stalagmites and stalactites like the teeth of some monstrous beast encaging us within its jaws. As my light moved around the cavern, I noticed odd scratches in the stones. Like claw marks. There were more mushrooms too — across the ground, the walls, even the ceiling.

Suddenly, Zane stopped. I turned my light toward him, then looked past him.

We’d found Marcus.

But something else had found him first.