Page 14 of Soulmarked (Hellbound and Hollow #1)

13

TOO LATE

S terling's office held its usual ordered chaos. His files were arranged in precise stacks, artifacts that looked like modern art but carried deeper purpose, everything positioned with careful intent.

I sat across from his desk, trying not to fidget as he reviewed my report on the Sullivan case.

“Cut the crap and walk me through this again,” Sterling growled, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he studied the crime scene photos. “The body was found in his home office, completely drained of blood, but with no obvious entry wounds? You expect me to believe that?”

“That's correct, sir.” I kept my voice steady, professional despite his gruff approach. “Initial ME report suggests some kind of toxin might have been used to thin the blood, making extraction easier, but we're still waiting on full tox screens.”

It wasn't exactly a lie. There had been something in Sullivan's system, just not anything a normal lab would be able to identify. The real cause of death would never make it into an official report: ritual draining by something that fed on more than just blood.

Sterling looked up, his eyes hard as flint behind those reading glasses. “These photos...” he slapped the printouts with the back of his hand, “they're from after the scene was processed, correct? Your initial report mentioned electronic interference at the location. Convenient.”

“Yes, sir,” I nodded, relieved he'd noticed rather than caught me in a contradiction. “We couldn't get digital equipment to work properly at first. These were taken after the... phenomenon subsided. Roughly six hours post-discovery.”

“Interference just magically cleared up on its own, huh?” Sterling remarked, studying me with narrowed eyes. “Ain't that just perfect timing.”

I maintained eye contact, though my pulse quickened. “The tech team suggested it might have been related to electrical anomalies in the house's wiring. They documented similar cases where supernatural-appearing phenomena had mundane explanations.”

“Save it for someone who's buying,” Sterling set the photos aside with a harsh scrape across the desk. He'd been more than just my director over the years; he'd become the father figure I'd lost that snowy night so long ago. Which made lying to him feel like swallowing broken glass.

“And these symbols found under his desk? The ones that keep corrupting our photography equipment even in these later images? You got some fancy technical explanation for that too?”

My heart skipped, but I maintained my calm facade. “Likely related to whatever cult activity we've been tracking. The patterns match some known occult groups operating in the area.”

“You know what this reminds me of, boy?” He yanked off his glasses, polishing them with rough, impatient movements. “That case in Boston last year. The one with the 'ritual killings' that turned out to be a cover for corporate espionage. You think I'm too old to see the connections?”

I nodded, grateful for the reasonable explanation. “I've been looking into Sullivan's work. His involvement in the Phoenix Pharmaceuticals merger might be relevant.”

“Might be?” Sterling's laugh was harsh and cold. “A high-level executive dies right before a major acquisition, his blood completely drained, and occult symbols carved into his furniture? That's not 'might be,' that's staring you in the damn face!”

The familiar rough tone twisted in my chest. How many times had he guided me through cases, helped shape me into the agent I'd become? And here I was, hiding the truth about what really lurked in our city's shadows.

“The timing is suspicious,” I agreed, shuffling through my notes to avoid his too-perceptive gaze. “We're checking staff records, looking for anyone who might have opposed the merger. The ritualistic elements could be meant to obscure a more mundane motive.”

“Could be.” Sterling stood abruptly, moving to his window to look out over Manhattan's skyline. “But you and I both know there's more to it than that. The precision of the draining, the specific placement of those symbols... it's like looking at a puzzle where all the pieces fit too perfectly.”

I swallowed hard, watching his reflection in the glass. “Sir?”

“You've been handling our unusual cases for years now, Cade.” His voice carried weight beyond the words. “Built quite a reputation for finding patterns others miss. For seeing connections others don't tend to see. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

“Just doing my job, sir.” But my pulse quickened. Had he noticed more than I'd thought? Had all my carefully sanitized reports not been quite careful enough?

Sterling turned back to face me, his expression hard as granite. “Are you? Or are you seeing something in these cases that you're not putting in your reports?”

“I've included everything that might be relevant to the investigation,” I replied carefully.

“Everything that might be relevant,” he repeated, voice rough as sandpaper. “But what about the things that shouldn't be possible? The things nobody wants to put a name to?”

For a moment, I thought he knew, thought he'd somehow seen through all my carefully constructed explanations to the supernatural truth beneath. But then he snorted, shaking his head slightly.

“Listen to me, sounding like some conspiracy nut.” He returned to his desk, gathering the photos into a neat stack with quick, decisive movements. “Keep digging into the Phoenix angle. See what you can find about who stood to benefit from disrupting this merger. And don't come back with half-assed theories.”

“Yes, sir.” Relief mixed with an odd sort of disappointment. Part of me had wanted him to know, wanted to share the weight of the truth I carried. But a larger part knew better, knew that keeping him safely ignorant was the best protection I could offer.

“And Cade?” He looked up as I stood to leave, his gaze piercing. “Be careful with this one. Whatever it is, it's got teeth. Last thing I need is another agent's blood on my conscience.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Because he was right; this was different. This was something darker and older than corporate espionage. But I couldn't tell him that without destroying the carefully maintained wall between his world and mine.

“I'll keep you updated, sir.” I headed for the door, the mark still pulsing faintly beneath my shirt.

“You do that.” His voice followed me out, gruff but with an undertone of genuine concern. “And boy? My door's always open if you get in over your head. We clear?”

The words hit harder than they should have. Because I knew he meant them, knew he'd listen without judgment, try to understand whatever I brought to him. But some truths were too dangerous to share, even with the people who'd earned our trust.

My phone rang, cutting through the moment. Unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail, but something made me answer.

“Agent Cross.”

“They're here.” Diana Sullivan's voice crackled with static and raw terror. “Oh God, they found me. The hungry ones, they...” A crash in the background, then a scream that made my blood run cold. The line went dead.

“Go.” Sterling was already standing, reading the situation in my face. “Whatever that was, it sounded urgent.”

I was moving before he finished speaking, muscle memory taking over as I pulled my phone back out. My fingers found Sean's number without conscious thought, and I didn't examine too closely why he was my first call.

“What?” His Irish accent was thick with irritation.

“1242 Park Avenue. Don't ask questions, just get there.” I hung up before he could argue, already sprinting for my car.

The drive was a blur of red lights and squealing tires, my federal plates getting me through traffic that shouldn't have been navigable. Diana's scream echoed in my head, mixing with memories of her warnings about things that watched from mirrors, that drained more than just blood.

Sean was already there when I pulled up, his hunter's grace making him look more predator than human as he melted out of the shadows.

“Want to tell me what's got ye breaking traffic laws across Manhattan?”

“Diana Sullivan.” I checked my weapon as we approached the house. “Wife of a financial exec who died under... unusual circumstances. Called me in panic, something about 'the hungry ones' coming for her. Then screamed. Line went dead.”

Sean's expression sharpened. “The hungry ones?” He studied the house with new intensity. “Victim's cause of death?”

“Complete blood drainage. No entry wounds. And symbols carved under his desk that our cameras can't seem to photograph.”

“Jaysus.” He drew one of his many blades, the silver edge catching moonlight. “Why didn't ye mention this case earlier?”

“Didn't think I needed hunter backup for what looked like corporate murder.” The mark pulsed cold against my chest as we reached the front door. Deep gouges ran through the solid oak, like something with impossible claws had torn its way inside. “Starting to think I was wrong about that.”

We moved in sync, weapons drawn, falling into a rhythm we probably should have discussed but somehow just knew. The interior was dark except for strange patterns of light thrown by dozens of scattered salt lines and silver crosses, attempts at protection that clearly hadn't been enough.

The metallic tang of blood hit us at the top of the stairs. Diana's bedroom door hung askew on broken hinges, and beyond...

“Jesus.” The word came out barely above a whisper.

Diana Sullivan lay crumpled beside an ornate mirror, surrounded by scattered salt and silver that had failed to save her. The cause of death was obvious, the same bloodless grey pallor that had marked her husband's corpse. But the expression frozen on her face spoke of terrors beyond simple death.

Movement flickered in the broken mirror, just for a moment, but enough to make both our heads snap up. Through the shattered glass, something dark and fluid disappeared over the building's edge.

“Contact!” Sean was already moving, hunter's instincts taking over. “East side, heading for the roof!”

We burst through the fire escape door just in time to see a figure drop into the alley below, its landing too smooth, too controlled for anything human. It flowed through shadows like water finding the path of least resistance, each movement a mockery of natural physics.

“CITD! Stop!” I shouted, though some part of me knew federal authority meant nothing to whatever this was. My gun barked twice, rounds that should have dropped any normal target. The figure didn't even flinch.

“Regular bullets won't work on that thing!” Sean vaulted a dumpster beside me, his own shot going wide as our quarry cut through a maze of abandoned scaffolding. “Need something with more bite!”

We chased it down 5th Avenue, past startled pedestrians whose eyes seemed to slide right off the supernatural pursuit happening in their midst. The thing moved like mercury through the city streets, flowing around obstacles that should have stopped anything solid.

“Down!” Sean tackled me as the thing suddenly reversed direction, moving faster than thought. Claws carved furrows in the pavement where we'd been standing. The stench of sulfur filled the air.

I rolled to my feet, squeezing off three more shots. Silver rounds this time. The bullets passed through it like it was made of smoke, leaving brief holes that closed like water.

“Fecking hell!” Sean's blade sang through the air, drawing a line of black ichor that seemed to evaporate before hitting the ground. “Nothing's sticking!”

The thing laughed and launched itself through evening traffic. Cars swerved wildly, horns blaring as drivers responded to danger they couldn't quite process. It was playing with us now.

“Any bright ideas?” I vaulted the hood of a taxi, feeling the mark pulse colder with each step closer to our prey. “Because I'm running out of ammunition that doesn't work!”

Sean's grin was fierce in the streetlight. “Aye, might have something special for our friend.” He pulled something from his jacket, bullets that seemed to glow faintly in the growing dark. “Holy oil infused. Bit more bite than your fancy silver.”

The thing led us on a desperate chase across Manhattan's rooftops, each impossible leap carrying it further from natural law.

I lined up a shot, compensating for movement that didn't follow normal rules. The bullet caught it mid-leap, and for a moment, everything stopped.

It hung suspended between buildings, its human disguise peeling away like burning paper. Darkness leaked from the wound, not blood but something older, something that moved with terrible purpose. Then it dropped, hitting the alley below with a sound like reality tearing.

We found it trying to crawl away, its form flickering between human and demon.

“Last chance,” Sean growled, silver edge drawing a line of black ichor. “What are they planning?”

Its laugh was like glass breaking underwater. “The marked one thinks he can stop what's coming? The Prince will...”

Sean's blade ended whatever it was about to say. Black smoke poured from its eyes and mouth, carrying harmonics that made my teeth ache. The cloud writhed like a living thing, trying to maintain cohesion, but whatever Sean had done was forcing it down, down into cracks in the pavement that suddenly looked deeper than they should be.

“What the hell?” I shoved Sean back, fury rising hot and sharp. “It was about to tell us something! About whatever's really happening...”

“It was going to tell us what it wanted us to hear,” Sean cut in, his voice steady despite my anger. “Demons lie, Cade. They twist truth into weapons, feed you just enough reality to make their poison go down smooth.”

“You don't know that! This could have been...”

“Could have been what?” His hand found my shoulder, grip firm but not unkind. “Could have given us information that wouldn't drive us mad? That wouldn't cost more than it was worth? Trust me on this. I've seen what happens when you let them talk too long.”

The fight drained out of me as I watched the body dissolve into grey powder. He was right, of course he was right. But that didn't make the frustration any easier to swallow.

“Come on,” Sean said quietly. “We need to get back to the house. Make sure nothing else came through while we were chasing this one.”

The drive back to the Sullivan residence felt longer, heavier with the weight of failure. I pulled out my phone, dreading the call I had to make.

“Sterling.” His voice was sharp with concern. “Report.”

“Diana Sullivan is dead.” The words tasted like ash. “Whatever killed her husband found her.”

A long pause. “You're sure?”

“Evidence won't be... conventional. But it's there. All of it.” I stared up at the house where another person had died because I hadn't been fast enough, hadn't seen the patterns in time. “I failed her. I said I would keep her safe, and look where that ended up.”

“This isn't on you, Cross.” Sterling's voice was firm, purely professional. “The perp was clearly unstable. We'll run toxicology, check for hallucinogens. Maybe that explains the... unusual aspects of the scene you're describing.”

I bit back what I wanted to say. Sterling was a good man, an excellent director, but he lived in a world where monsters weren't real, where rituals and magic were just the delusions of disturbed minds. Someday I might have to shatter that worldview for him, but not today.

“I'm calling other agencies to handle cleanup,” Sterling continued. “We'll make sure the family gets proper closure, even if the case ends up classified.”

I ended the call, feeling Sean's steady presence beside me. The night wasn't over; there would be reports to file, evidence to catalogue, another version of events to construct that would satisfy the CITD while protecting people from truths they couldn't handle.

“We'll find answers,” Sean said quietly, reading my expression. “But we do it smart. Do it right.”

I nodded, touching the mark that still pulsed cold against my chest. Whatever was coming, whatever had started this chain of death and revelation, I would be ready.

I had to be.