Her Soul for Revenge (Souls Trilogy)
Her Soul for Revenge: Chapter 20

It took us a few hours to reach my cabin. The car couldn’t make it up the steeper portions of the road, so Zane carried Marcus, wrapped in blankets, behind me up the hillside. My feet felt like they were made of lead, every step dragging me down. I needed to stay awake. I needed to replace just a little more strength.

“You can leave us here,” I said as we reached the cabin. “I’ll bury him.”

Zane frowned as he lay the body down, looking around at the tiny cabin. “Do you even have heat here?”

“There’s a stove. Why do you care?” I winced. Why did that come out? Harsh words fell off my tongue easier than anything else, tumbling forward without thought. Demon or not, he didn’t deserve it.

Fuck, the last thing I needed to be feeling was even more guilt.

“Please,” I said softly. “Just…just leave me here. I need to be alone.”

He kept looking around the yard, his expression far from pleased. “Fine. Call me when you’re ready.”

He moved fast enough to simply vanish. Not another word, not a single protest. I winced as I stared at the spot where he’d been, digging my nails into my palm. I hadn’t even said thank you. Was I supposed to? Was I obligated to? The only reason he’d bothered to save me was because of our bargain, it was because…

Because…

“Fuck.” I slammed my fist against the side of the house as I went back to get the old shovel. The head was rusted and the handle was full of splinters, but it would have to do. I had a few hours until nightfall, but the dark would move in quickly thanks to the cloud cover. I needed this done before sunset, so despite the pain in every muscle, I started digging.

There was an old log at the far side of the yard, a tree that had fallen years ago during a storm. Dad used to say he was going to cut it up for firewood, but it became one of my and Marcus’s favorite places to play when we were kids. It used to look huge to me, and in my memories, it still was. A monstrous, moss-covered tree that served as a home for a family of chipmunks and little bugs.

I used to have to climb up the side, imagining I was scaling Mt. Everest. I’d get to the top and reach down my hand to help Marcus up, because he was too little to climb it himself.

I dug his grave there, next to the log.

The hours passed and the darkness grew. My shoulders ached, my back was in knots, but I kept digging. My hands were rubbed raw from the shovel’s rough handle, my palms had formed blisters that broke and bled. But I kept digging.

Finally, when it was ready, I pulled Marcus’s body across the yard. I had to use the blanket to drag him. I wasn’t strong enough to lift him. He’d grown so much, but of course he had. The last time I’d seen him, he’d still been just a boy. His voice had barely started to change. I wished I could move back the blanket. I wished I could see his face. But I didn’t want to see what had become of him. I didn’t want to see that his eyes were gone and his body had begun to rot.

I didn’t want to remember him that way.

I wanted to remember him running around the yard with a stick for a sword, his shoelaces untied, wearing his favorite red-and-yellow Tonka Truck shirt. I wanted to remember him standing up on top of the log and giggling down at the little chipmunks when they emerged from their nest.

I let my feet dangle into the grave, his body beside me. I sniffed, wiped my nose and smeared dirt across my face. My throat tightened. My chest hurt. My eyes stung so badly no amount of blinking could make it stop.

I laid my hand over the blanket. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. The ache grew worse. “I’m so sorry.”

I hung my head. I let myself cry. I let the ache overtake me. I let the pain strangle me. It hurt, and nothing, nothing would make it stop.

The spigot wasn’t working, so I couldn’t wash the dirt off my hands. I always had a supply of baby wipes, because I was used to going long periods without access to a shower, so I wiped myself down with those as best I could. I only had a can of beans left and some crackers. I still hadn’t gotten gas for the generator, so the wood-burning stove soon became my only light.

I wanted a hot shower. I wanted a glass of cold whiskey. A blanket, even. I wanted to stretch out on a soft couch. I wanted to wrap myself in clean sheets. God, I wanted to stop crying.

I shouldn’t have stayed at the demon’s house, not even for a few days. I’d spent years on the road, sleeping in my car, in the open air, in shitty hotel rooms if I could afford it. Letting myself indulge in something comfortable hadn’t been worth it. Comfort wasn’t part of my life; it simply wasn’t. I didn’t need it. I didn’t even deserve it.

I’d run away and let Marcus die. I hadn’t been here to protect him. I hadn’t even been able to protect his body. All I could do was make sure the Hadleighs paid for this. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how alone I felt. Tomorrow I’d wake up and figure out what the next step would be. I’d figure out how to hurt them like they’d hurt me.

I curled up near the fire, since it was too cold to sleep across the room in the bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but I was too tired to care.

“Get up into the castle! Quick! We’ll be safe up there!”

I sprinted across the yard, leaving Marcus in the dust. I hauled myself up onto the mossy log, our “castle,” my fingers clinging onto the scratchy bark until I’d pulled myself all the way up. I raised my arms triumphantly, watching as my little brother tried to climb up after me.

“It’s too tall, Juni!” He pouted, standing back with his arms folded. “How am I supposed to get into the castle?”

“Your knight will help you, of course!” I got down on my hands and knees, extending an arm to help him. I hauled him up, until he was able to scramble atop the log and stand beside me, surveying the yard from our perch.

I put my hands on my hips. “Our enemies will never defeat us now!”

Marcus wrinkled his nose skeptically. “But…what about…the army?”

“No army can reach us!” I cried. “We’re too high up for them to ever reach the castle.”

“What about a dragon?” he said, his face somber. This was, after all, a very important wartime discussion. “What if they have a dragon, Juni?”

“Then your knight will slay it,” I said. I whipped my stick out from where I’d tucked it into my belt loop, brandishing it. “Fear not, Prince Marcus! Your knight fears no armies and no dragons!”

He giggled, plopping down on the log. I sat beside him, but kept my stick in my hand. A knight should never be without her trusty sword.

“I’m not afraid of dragons either,” he said.

“Good. Remember: we’re safe as long as we’re in the castle. And as long as you have your knight to defend you.”

He giggled again, kicking his feet so his heels knocked against the log. The sun was beginning to set, staining the sky pink and orange, like ice cream melted amongst the clouds. Dad would call us inside soon, and we’d make a wild dash across the yard through enemy forces. Right as we’d reach the house, a dragon would swoop down, and I would defeat it, and our kingdom would be safe.

After all, a knight feared nothing. A knight would never be defeated.

“Juni? What’s that?”

I looked up. Marcus was pointing his little finger across the yard, toward the trees that led down to the creek. The sun was getting low, so the shadows were growing. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t see anything, Prince Marcus. Is it the dragon?”

He shook his head. His face looked strange. He didn’t look like he was playing anymore. “No, Juni, look.”

He was still pointing stubbornly into the trees, and a cold feeling went down my back. I hopped off the log — being the knight, obviously I had to be the one to bravely go into danger. I looked back into the trees, expecting to see a deer or maybe a coyote slinking through the dusk.

But it was so dark.

I shook my head, turning back toward him. “Marcus, I don’t see —”

Marcus was gone. All that remained was a long, narrow strip of upturned dirt at the base of the log, and the cold feeling on my spine came back.

I looked down at my hands: long, calloused fingers, dirty and scarred. It wasn’t a stick tucked into my belt loop; it was a gun in my hands. I wasn’t a child anymore. This log wasn’t our safe castle. And Marcus…

Marcus was…

Behind me, in the trees, something howled.

I snapped awake, jerking up from the floor. The fire had gone low, and only smoldering coals remained. My hands and feet were freezing cold. I sat there for a moment, breathing slowly, listening. I could hear the wind moving through the trees outside, the groaning of their boughs, the distant trickle of the creek.

I could hear growling.

I leaped up and grabbed my gun, tugging aside the curtain over the window. The clouds had cleared, and silver moonlight lent faint illumination to the yard. Eldbeasts yipped and fought amongst each other, their bodies hunched and horrifically ragged as they swarmed the yard. There were so many — too many. Six, seven, even more back amongst the trees. They were all gathered at the far side of the yard, around that fallen log…

A furious, agonized cry ripped out of me the moment I realized what they’d done.

They’d dug up Marcus.

They’d dug him up.

They were fighting over his corpse, snarling at each other, rough growls and deep barks sounding as they snapped their teeth at each other. Saliva dripped from their jaws as they tugged at him, as they pulled at his arms and ripped the blanket I’d wrapped him in.

I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. My mind was a barren wasteland of white-hot rage as I sprinted into the yard.

I fired wildly, erratically, again and again. The beasts scattered for a moment in confusion, but quickly swarmed back. They cut off my route back to the house. Their horrific cries filled the air as they surrounded me, lunging for me. As soon as I’d shoot at one, another would leap in. Their smell was heavy in the air, sickly sweet, turning my stomach.

“Get away from him!” I screamed at them, as if they could understand, as if there was any semblance of humanity behind those dead, white eyes. I struggled to reload, swung the gun to try to force them back. One of them lunged, gripping the stock in its teeth. They snapped at my legs. They were wrestling the gun away —

They ripped it out of my hands and swarmed over me.

Their claws lacerated me, tearing through my clothes. It should have hurt, but all I had left was blinding fury. They couldn’t take him. Not again. They didn’t get to consume his body like it was mere meat. They didn’t get to take my brother from me! I still had my knife strapped to my leg and I tugged it free, slashing at them. But their flesh was rotten, and it didn’t matter if I stabbed it or ripped it. One got its teeth into my arm and wrenched its head, piercing into me so deep that the pain finally exploded through the rush of shock and adrenaline.

I tried to curl my legs up to protect my stomach. I tried to thrash and fight. I screamed at them and swung the blade at their eyes. But there were too many. There were so many of them on me that they were fighting each other for me, fighting like they had over Marcus. Who would get the best flesh, who could sneak a bite. I curled up, my hands over my head, my legs drawn close. Their claws tore into my back, their teeth snapped near my head. I was surrounded by their stench, choking on it, unable to breathe.

They were going to eat me alive.