Page 10 of Soulmarked (Hellbound and Hollow #1)

9

BLOOD, BLADES, AND BAD IDEAS

R ed lights pulsed overhead, painting everything in shades of blood and shadow. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, and I couldn't tell how many of them still had pulses. Typical Friday night. I rolled my shoulders, already itching for a fight or at least a stiff drink.

“Jaysus, I hate places like this,” I muttered, scanning the crowd. Too loud, too crowded, too many things wearing human skin like borrowed suits.

But Juno had agreed to meet, and she wasn't the type to make house calls. Not anymore. Not since she'd crossed that line between hunter and hunted. I'd known her back when she was one of Hallow's best, a trans woman who'd fought twice as hard to prove herself in our world of hunters, earning respect with every kill until no one dared question her place among us. Then a mission went sideways, and she'd been turned. Instead of following Hallow's protocol for turned hunters—a quick death by their own hand—she'd chosen to survive. To adapt. Now she walked the line between worlds, keeping her deadly skills and hunter's instincts even as she navigated vampire politics. Some called her a traitor. I just called her complicated.

I kept to the edges of the crowd, where the shadows were deeper and the music couldn't quite drown out my instincts. Silver blade at my hip, stakes strapped to my boots, holy water in my pocket—standard kit for walking into vampire territory. Though with Juno, there was always a chance she'd just try to kill me the old-fashioned way.

I spotted her at the bar, all deadly grace in designer black. She was swirling something dark in her glass that definitely wasn't wine, her sword strapped to her back because subtlety had never been her strong suit. Even turned, she carried herself like a hunter: back straight, eyes always moving, aware of every potential threat. Old habits die hard, I supposed. Even when you do.

“Thought you'd be too busy playing attack dog for Hallow to bother with me,” she drawled as I approached, not bothering to look up from her drink.

“Yeah, well, I missed your charming personality,” I said, settling against the bar. “Nice place. Got any actual alcohol or just that O-negative cocktail you're nursing?”

The bartender started to approach, then caught something in Juno's expression and found somewhere else to be. Smart lad.

“You don't come to my territory without a reason, Sean.” She finally looked at me properly, and I caught the faint red gleam in her eyes. “So what's got the great hunter crawling to the vampire underground for help?”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing around the upscale bar with its dark wood and subtle gothic accents. “Just added this place to your collection, have you?”

Juno's lips curved into a smile that was all fang. “Not just this place, darling. I own several establishments across New York.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “Including Purgatory. Though that's more of a... special investment.”

“Purgatory,” I said flatly. “Where a vampire nearly tore out a federal agent's throat a couple of nights ago. Some investment.”

Her smile remained, but her eyes hardened. “I was wondering when you'd bring that up. Don't look so surprised. News travels fast in the night. That wasn't my court, Sean.”

“Yet it happened in your club.”

“Under my roof, not by my hand or order.” She leaned forward, voice dropping. “The Manhattan territory has standards. We don't feed on unwilling victims, we don't kill randomly, and we handle our own problems.”

“Didn't know courts respected territorial boundaries these days.”

“They don't.” She took a long sip from her glass, the liquid leaving a faint crimson stain on her lips. “But they respect fear. And pain. I've made examples of those who cross me.”

“Charming.”

“Your federal friend was lucky,” she continued, studying me over the rim of her glass. “Brooklyn's court is getting bold. Something's got them spooked enough to risk my wrath.”

I ignored her obvious attempt to draw me out about Cade. “Phoenix Pharmaceuticals ring any bells?”

Her expression shifted slightly—barely perceptible, but I'd spent enough years hunting with Juno to recognize when she was hiding something.

“Upstairs,” she said, nodding toward the VIP section. “This conversation requires privacy.”

I followed her through the writhing crowd, feeling countless eyes track our movement. My hand instinctively drifted toward my blade. The weight of it was reassuring, familiar. The only constant in a world gone mad.

“I swear, if your bloodsucking friends are behind these killings—” I started as we climbed the stairs.

Juno's laugh echoed off the walls, sharp enough to make my teeth ache. “My friends? Please. Working with that pretty fed has made you sloppy, Sean. You're seeing fangs where there aren't any.”

“Five bodies drained completely? No visible wounds?” I countered as we reached the VIP section. “Sounds like your kind's signature move.”

“Give me some credit.” She sprawled across a leather couch, all predatory grace and deadly confidence. “You think we'd be this obvious? This messy?” She scoffed, gesturing for me to sit. “Even a rookie could tell the difference between a feeding and ritual draining. Those bodies weren't our handiwork.” Her smirk widened. “Speaking of rookies, how's your babysitting gig? That fed's quite the pretty boy.”

I remained standing, jaw clenched. “Cade can handle himself.”

“Oh, I bet he can.” Her eyes glittered with dangerous amusement. “But we're not here to discuss your questionable taste in partners.”

“Then get to the point,” I growled, patience wearing thin. “What do you know about Phoenix?”

Juno leaned forward, suddenly serious. “You're in way over your head this time. This isn't some run-of-the-mill monster hunt. We're talking old-school horror show.”

“Cut the cryptic crap and tell me what you know.”

“Phoenix is playing with fire,” she said, voice dropping. “They're bringing in specialists—humans, monsters, beings that don't play well together—all working toward something big. And trust me, it's not a company picnic.”

“What kind of big are we talking? Apocalypse big? Tuesday big?” I asked, thinking of all the end-of-the-world scenarios I'd already lived through.

“The kind of big that has thousand-year-old vampires stockpiling weapons.” Her eyes met mine, dead serious now. “The kind of big that has ancient beings making alliances they'd normally rather die than consider. When immortals start prepping for doomsday? That's when you know we're screwed.”

I ran a hand through my hair, already feeling the weight of another world-ending crisis landing squarely on my shoulders. “Any connection to the marked bodies?”

“Those kills were calculated,” she said, setting her glass down with a decisive click. “Each victim was chosen for a specific reason. Something about their energy signatures being compatible for what they called 'Ascension.'”

The word sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I'd heard it before, in contexts that never ended well for anyone involved.

Juno tilted her head, studying me with unnerving intensity. “Didn't think you played well with others, especially government types.”

“I don't,” I snapped, suddenly defensive. “But this case... it's messed up. Wrong in ways that make my skin crawl.”

“Hmm.” She gave me a knowing look that made me want to stab something. “Must be serious if you're working with a fed. Unless there's another reason you're keeping him close?”

“Don't start.”

“What? I'm dead, not blind. He's exactly your type: righteous, damaged, probably hiding something interesting under that federal facade.” Her smile turned wicked. “Plus, the way he moves? Definitely trained in something besides standard law enforcement. Might be fun to?—”

“Finish that sentence and I'll stake you myself,” I cut her off, hand instinctively moving to my blade.

She laughed, the sound carrying just enough of an inhuman edge to make nearby patrons shift uncomfortably. “Some things never change, do they? Still so serious, so focused on the mission.” Her expression sobered. “But Sean? Phoenix isn't just playing with power—they're trying to rewrite the rulebook.”

“What do you mean?”

“They're trying to create permanent doorways,” she said bluntly. “Not just summoning or bringing things through temporarily. We're talking about tearing holes in reality that don't close. Ever.”

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, mind already racing through the implications. Permanent breaches meant constant incursions, an endless flood of nightmares pouring into our world.

Juno nodded, recognizing my understanding. “And there's one more thing. Your fed friend? The vamps called him 'marked one.' That mean anything to you?”

I hesitated, weighing options. Juno might be a vampire now, but she still had hunter's instincts. And more importantly, she had connections I couldn't access anymore. “You heard about that, huh?”

“I hear everything.” She tapped a crimson nail against her glass. “There are stories, you know. Old ones, about humans who carry special marks. Powers beyond the natural order.”

“And?”

“And those stories never end with everyone singing kumbaya around a campfire.” She stood in one fluid motion, gathering her coat. “Whatever your fed is, whatever he's marked for—it's connected to all this. Has to be.”

I watched her move toward the stairs, her grace just slightly too perfect to be human. “Juno,” I called after her. “Why help? Why tell me any of this?”

She paused, looking back with a hint of her old smile—the one from before fangs and blood hunger had changed everything between us. “Because the world ending is bad for business. And...” She hesitated. “Not all monsters deserve hunting, Sean. Remember that when the lines start blurring.”

The words followed me out of the club like a shadow, settling into that space between my shoulders where conscience lived. The night air hit me like a slap, carrying the familiar cocktail of city pollution and underlying rot that marked Manhattan's supernatural districts.

What did she mean? That Cade might be something other than human? That I might have to choose between the hunt and...

“Fecking hell,” I muttered, pulling out my phone. Three missed calls from Skye, which meant either they'd found something important or they'd run out of coffee. With them, both were equally likely emergencies.

I pushed open the heavy metal door to my warehouse, the familiar scent of gun oil, old brick, and leather greeting me like an old friend. My converted industrial space wasn't just a home—it was my fortress, my armory, and the one place in the city where I could truly let my guard down. Three stories of brick and steel, protected by wards carved into the foundation and enough security tech to make military contractors envious.

The main floor's open layout stretched before me, exposed beams crossing the high ceiling above mismatched furniture that prioritized function over style. One corner served as my command center, humming with the sound of servers and equipment I'd acquired through channels best not mentioned in polite company. And there was Skye, exactly as expected, half-buried under a pile of screens and wires, their combat boots propped on my desk. A forgotten cup of coffee sat beside them, likely gone cold hours ago.

“You look like shit,” they greeted without looking up from their screens, fingers never stopping their dance across multiple keyboards.

“Yeah, well, you're not exactly America's Next Top Model yourself,” I shot back, dropping into the chair beside them. “What've you got for me?”

Skye huffed out a breath, the sound half exhaustion and half excitement. “You want the good news or the bad news?” Their eyes finally flicked to me, taking in what must have been a lovely picture of post-vampire-negotiation dishevelment.

“Bad. Always start with bad.”

“Phoenix is cleaning house.” They pulled up multiple windows, each one showing a different kind of nightmare. “Anyone who worked on Project Ascension and got cold feet? They're dead. And I mean dead-dead, not just fired-dead.”

Crime scene photos flashed past, bodies arranged in ways that spoke of message-sending rather than simple murder, medical reports that made no sense, places wiped so clean they practically glowed.

“And that's just what we know about,” they continued, typing rapid-fire commands that made more windows appear. “I'm finding gaps in their personnel records that suggest we're missing a lot more bodies.”

I frowned, studying the patterns of death and corporate cover-up. “And the good news?”

“I might have a lead.” Their grin turned predatory as they pulled up what looked like a wall of encrypted code. “Someone inside Phoenix left a backdoor in their system. Someone who wants to be found, but only by the right people.”

I watched strings of numbers and letters cascade across the screen, not understanding a bit of it but trusting Skye's excitement. “Who is it?”

They snorted, spinning in their chair to face me properly. “Oh, wouldn't you like to know? But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?” They stretched, joints popping in ways that suggested they'd been at this for hours. “I don't have a name yet, but I've got something better: a location. Midtown, old church. They're moving something big there tomorrow night.”

A familiar weight settled in my chest, the kind that usually preceded violence and property damage. “Another old church it is. Then that's where we go.”

Skye's smirk was pure mischief as they tapped their earpiece. “Already setting up surveillance. Got eyes on all approaches, and I'm working on their security systems. You gonna thank me?”

I rolled my eyes, already heading for the weapons cache. “Thanks. You're a regular hero. Want a medal?”

“Then get me another coffee,” they shot back, grin widening. “And none of that instant crap you tried to pass off last time. I want the good stuff from that place on 9th.”

“Anything else, your majesty? Diamond-encrusted keyboard, perhaps?”

“Now you're talking. But coffee first.” They turned back to their screens, fingers dancing across three keyboards simultaneously. A moment later, their expression sobered. “Sean? Whatever they're moving tomorrow... it's bad. We need to be ready.”

I moved closer to look over their shoulder at a chaotic display of data points and energy signatures that only Skye could fully interpret. Clusters of red markers pulsed across a map of the city, concentrating around Phoenix's main facility.

I paused in my inventory of silver ammunition. “How bad are we talking?”

“Remember Dublin?”

My blood ran cold. “Ah, shite.”

“Yeah.” They pulled up another window, this one showing wavelengths that pulsed like heartbeats. “So maybe call your fed friend? Something tells me we're going to need all hands on deck for this one.”

I wanted to argue, wanted to say this was hunter business and we didn't need government complications. But Juno's words echoed in my mind: Not all monsters deserve hunting.

“I'll think about it,” I said finally, which made Skye snort.

“Sure you will. Just like you'll think about why you can't stop checking him out when he's around.”

“Coffee privileges revoked.”

Their laughter followed me as I headed out, but their earlier words kept circling in my head. Something big was coming. Something that made Dublin look like a warm-up act.

And whether I liked it or not, I had a feeling I knew exactly which federal agent I needed to call.

The training area was exactly what you'd expect from a hunter's gym: bare concrete floors scarred from countless fights, worn mats that had seen more blood than sweat, and a weapons rack that would make most military installations jealous. After the night's revelations, after Juno's questions about monsters and mercy, I needed something simple. Something that made sense.

I needed a fight.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one.

“Been a while since we sparred,” Juno's voice echoed off the concrete as she emerged from the shadows. She tossed me a practice blade, the metal catching fluorescent light. Even in training gear, she moved with that peculiar grace of the turned.

I caught the blade one-handed, testing its weight. “Stalking me now? That's cute. Just can't stay away, can you?”

Her laugh held echoes of the hunter she'd been, but the predatory edge was all vampire. “Cocky little bastard, aren't you?” She unsheathed her own sword in one liquid motion, the blade humming through the air. “Let's see if you've learned anything since Dublin.”

We moved at the same moment, muscle memory and trained instinct taking over. I struck first, a testing blow meant to gauge her defenses. She countered with brutal efficiency, turning my momentum against me. She was stronger now, vampire reflexes and inhuman speed making her deadly in ways that had nothing to do with skill.

But she still fought like a hunter. Every strike was meant to kill, every movement economical and precise. No flashy vampire tricks, no supernatural showing off. Just the pure, lethal grace of someone who'd spent years learning the best ways to end a fight permanently.

She caught my blade with hers, the impact jarring up my arm, and smiled. “Losing your edge, Sean? Too much time playing nice with federal agents?”

I tasted blood where I'd bit my cheek, used the sharp pain to focus. “Just warming up, sweetheart.”

I switched tactics, trading power for speed. Her vampire strength gave her the advantage in direct confrontation, but it also made her overconfident. I broke her stance, forced her onto the defensive, used every trick I'd learned about fighting stronger opponents.

It worked, right up until she stopped pulling her punches.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, concrete cold against my spine and Juno's blade kissing my throat. Her eyes gleamed red in the harsh light, power rolling off her in waves that made my hunter instincts scream.

“You're good,” she said, pressing just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. “But you're still fighting like a human.”

I met her gaze steadily, refusing to show the fear that any sane person would feel with a vampire's blade at their throat. “And you're still fighting like you've got something to prove.”

For a moment, I thought she might actually do it, might finally answer the question of whether our old friendship meant more than what she'd become. Then she stepped back, lowering her sword with a grace that made the movement look almost lazy.

“You know,” she said, studying me with that unnerving stillness only the dead could achieve, “you talk a lot of shit for someone who hasn't had to make a real choice yet.”

I pushed myself up, wiping sweat and blood from my face. “What the hell does that mean?”

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she moved to the weapons rack, replacing her blade with the kind of care that spoke of years of training. When she finally turned back, her expression was unreadable.

“One day, you'll have to choose between the hunt and someone you care about,” she said simply. “When that happens, I hope you remember what makes a real monster.”

I scowled, not liking the knowing look in her eyes. “I won't hesitate.”

“We'll see.” She smiled, but it held no humor. “When it's your pretty fed standing on that line between human and monster... that's when we find out what you're really made of.”

Before I could respond, she was gone. The air where she'd stood still hummed with power, a reminder that whatever she'd been before, she was something else now.

I exhaled slowly, letting my head fall back against the concrete. Her words settled like lead in my gut, mixing with everything else I'd learned tonight. About Phoenix, about their plans, about forces beyond our control.

About a certain federal agent who carried power he didn't understand.

Tomorrow, we'd find out just how deep this mess went. Tomorrow, we'd face whatever Phoenix was bringing through those ancient doors they were so keen on opening.

But tonight, alone in a training room that smelled of blood and old violence, I couldn't shake the feeling that Juno was right.

And I wasn't sure I was ready for the answer.