Page 15 of Soulmarked (Hellbound and Hollow #1)

14

NIGHTMARES

B lood on snow. Screams in the dark. My mother's perfume mixing with copper and gunsmoke.

I jerked awake with a gasp that felt like drowning, sheets twisted around me like restraints. Cold sweat made everything stick, and my heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The darkness of my bedroom felt too close, too much like that alley where...

No. Don't go there.

My phone's display cut through the darkness: 3:17 AM. The city would be quiet now, empty. Perfect for driving until the memories faded.

I didn't consciously choose a direction. Just let the streets guide me through Manhattan's twisted arteries, past buildings that looked like sleeping giants in the pre-dawn gloom. Steam rose from grates like spirits, and the neon signs painted everything in colors that didn't quite exist in nature.

This wasn't the first time I'd found myself drifting toward Sean's place after nightmares or particularly bad cases. Three times now, I'd caught myself heading in this direction during late-night drives, like some internal compass was slowly being recalibrated to point toward him instead of true north. Twice I'd managed to turn around, telling myself it was just coincidence. Once I'd actually parked outside for nearly an hour, watching the building, before driving away without making my presence known. I'd never mentioned these nocturnal visits to Sean. I wasn't sure I could explain them to myself, let alone to him.

It wasn't until I recognized the industrial district that I realized where muscle memory had taken me. Sean's converted warehouse loomed against the sky, all brick and steel and carefully cultivated neglect. I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't even know how to find this place. But something about it called to me on nights like this.

The security panel glowed red in the darkness. I almost turned around then but my hand was already raising to knock.

Music guided me up to the main level after Sean buzzed me in, something with a heavy beat that spoke of controlled violence. I found him in his training area, working a heavy bag with the kind of focused intensity that suggested he had his own reasons for being up at this hour.

He was shirtless, because of course he was, bandages stark white against skin marked by old scars and fresh bruises. His movements were pure predator.

He paused mid-combination when he saw me. “Bit late for a social call, fed.”

“I was just...” I gestured vaguely, not sure how to explain ending up here when I barely understood it myself. “Sorry. I shouldn't have come.”

“Driving?” His lips quirked slightly. “At three in the morning?”

“Something like that.” I ran a hand through my hair, embarrassment mixing with the lingering unease from my nightmare.

He studied me for a moment, probably noting the cold sweat and haunted eyes. But he didn't ask, just nodded toward the kitchen area. “Kettle's hot if you want tea. Got coffee too, if you're feeling adventurous at this hour.”

The simple offer, without questions or judgment, made something twist in my chest. I moved to the kitchen, letting the familiar motions of making tea ground me in the present. The cabinets were sparse, mostly protein bars and weapon maintenance supplies, but I found an old box of tea that would do.

“It wasn't your fault,” Sean said quietly, reading the guilt in my expression. “Diana Sullivan, what happened to her, you couldn't have known.”

“I should have.” The words felt raw in my throat. “All the signs were there. The symbols, her fear, everything she tried to tell me about things watching from mirrors... I did the research. I knew something was wrong.”

“And what would ye have done differently?” His accent thickened with emotion. “Told her the truth about monsters? About things that hunger in the dark? Would that have saved her, or just made her last days even more terrified?”

“I could have protected her better. Could have...” I stared down at my hands, the logical part of my brain knowing he was right while guilt still twisted in my gut.

“Could have what? Stationed yourself outside her door twenty-four seven? Given up your whole life to guard one person against monsters?” He moved closer, his presence steady and grounding. “You're doing the best you can in an impossible situation. That's all any of us can do. Saving people isn't an exact science.”

The truth in his words hurt, but something in them helped ease the crushing weight of failure.

“Your security's intense,” I said, because it was easier than explaining why I was really here.

A grunt as he landed another combination. “Keeps the wrong sort out.”

“And what sort am I?”

He paused, turning to face me fully. “That's the question, isn't it?”

Our eyes met across the space, and something electric crackled in the air between us. This was dangerous territory, not just being here at this hour, but this whole thing. This understanding that went deeper than it should.

But maybe that's why I'd ended up here. Because despite everything, despite all the reasons to stay away, something about Sean felt... safe. Even if he was probably the most dangerous person I knew.

He moved to a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of something that definitely wasn't tea. “Here's the thing about late-night drives,” he said, pouring two generous measures. “They usually mean you're running from something. Trust me, I'd know.”

I accepted the glass, letting the whiskey warm my hands. “Would you believe I just got lost?”

“No.” His smile held no judgment, just quiet understanding. “But I'm not asking. That's your business.”

And maybe that's what I needed most, someone who knew about darkness, about the things that haunted the night, but didn't need to know my specific demons to offer shelter from them.

Sean studied me over his glass, eyes catching the low light like a predator's. “You know what helps more than whiskey?”

“If you say talking about it...”

“God, no.” His smile was quick, sharp. “Was gonna say hitting things. Nothing clears the head like a good ass-kicking. Not that you'd know about that with your fancy federal training.”

He moved back to the training area, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on, fed. Show me what they teach you at Quantico when the cameras aren't watching.”

The invitation was exactly what I needed, a chance to exhaust myself physically instead of drowning in memories. I shed my jacket, noting how Sean's eyes tracked the movement as I stepped onto the mats.

“Your form any good?” he asked, falling into a loose fighting stance. “Or is it all government-approved moves by the book?”

Instead of answering, I moved. Years of training took over as I closed the distance, using his expectation of federal stiffness against him. The combination came naturally, feint, strike, pivot, sweep. Sean barely managed to block the first series, surprise flickering across his features as he was forced back.

“Well now,” he breathed, recovering his balance. “That's not standard training. Someone's been holding out on me.”

“Disappointed?” I kept moving, letting muscle memory guide me through forms I'd practiced since childhood. Each strike was precise, controlled, but carried the kind of power that came from years of dedication.

“Impressed.” He countered with a combination of his own, hunter's grace matching my technical expertise. “Where'd you really learn to fight? Not the official version.”

“Here and there.” I deflected a strike, used his momentum to throw him. He rolled with it, coming up grinning. “Had good teachers. Started learning when I was a kid.”

The training mat felt solid beneath my feet as I circled Sean, watching for tells in his element. He moved like a coiled spring, all contained violence and lethal efficiency. When he struck, it was lightning-fast. A combination aimed at my throat that would have ended the fight instantly if this were real.

But I'd been training since childhood. My body flowed around his attack, redirecting force rather than meeting it head- on. Where Sean fought to end threats, I'd been taught to understand them. His next strike found empty air as I pivoted, using his momentum to slide past his guard.

“Not bad,” he grunted as I caught his arm, turning what should have been a devastating blow into an opportunity. “But too pretty.”

I proved him wrong by sweeping his legs, nearly taking him down. He recovered with inhuman grace, rolling away from my follow-up strike. His counter-attack was pure hunter.

We found a rhythm then, like some deadly dance we both somehow knew the steps to. Sean would strike with brutal efficiency, all predator grace and killing intent. I'd redirect, flowing around his attacks like water, turning defense into offense. When I landed a throw that sent him flying, his grin was fierce with approval.

The fight became more intense after that, Sean adapting to my style while I learned to read his patterns. He fought like someone used to ending threats quickly, permanently. Each strike was meant to disable or kill. But there was beauty in his efficiency, just as there was deadly purpose behind my more technical approach.

Our styles shouldn't have meshed, but somehow they did. Like we'd been training together for years instead of minutes. And underneath it all, I felt something else building.

Something that had nothing to do with combat and everything to do with the way he moved, the way he read my body like he'd been studying it all along.

“Krav Maga?” he asked after I countered one of his throws.

“Among others.” I caught his arm, used his weight against him. “You telegraph your left side.”

“Cheeky bastard.” But there was admiration in his voice as he recovered. “Show me that counter again.”

The next hour blurred into shared movement and quiet instruction. Sean's hands were warm when he adjusted my stance, lingering slightly longer than necessary. I returned the favor, showing him how to tighten his defense against faster opponents.

“You're full of surprises,” he said during a water break, both of us breathing hard. “Don't meet many feds who can fight like that.”

“Don't meet many hunters who can either.” I watched a bead of sweat trail down his neck, tried not to think about following it with my fingers. “Most rely too much on weapons.”

“Weapons are reliable. People aren't.” He took a long drink from his water bottle. “Besides, a good knife never lets you down.”

Something in his tone made me look closer. “Speaking from experience?”

He was quiet for a moment, then: “Foster system's good at teaching that lesson. Nobody stays. Nothing's permanent.” The words carried the weight of too many homes, too many closed doors.

The admission hung between us, heavy with unspoken history.

“Parents died when I was eight,” I found myself saying. “Car accident, officially.” My voice caught on the lie I'd been telling for twenty years. “It was my birthday. We'd been at Bella Notte, this Italian place we always went to. Dad let me have a sip of his espresso when Mom wasn't looking.”

Sean's eyes met mine, and I saw understanding there, the kind that only comes from knowing what it's like to have your world torn apart. “But unofficially?”

“Something attacked us on the way home.” The memory rose up, sharp as broken glass, snow falling, streetlights going out one by one, creatures emerging from shadows that shouldn't have been that deep. “Never knew what exactly they were. Just that they weren't human. That they'd been waiting for us.” I took another drink of water, using the motion to hide the tremor in my hands. “The official report said black ice, loss of control. Easier to believe that than what really happened in that alley.”

“The monsters are always there,” Sean said softly. “Just waiting for someone to see them. Most people are lucky enough to go their whole lives without knowing what's really out there.”

“Remember how they found you? The hunters?”

“Aye. Was causing too much trouble in the system, seeing things others couldn't, or wouldn't.” His smile held no humor. “Declan and Moira took me in when I was seventeen. Trained me, made me into a weapon.” The words carried old pain, old anger. “Wasn't exactly a loving home, but at least they didn't tell me I was crazy when I talked about what lived in the dark.”

“But they gave you purpose.”

“Something like that. Though sometimes I wonder if that was better or worse.” He studied me with that unnerving intensity. “Your grandparents raised you after?”

I nodded, remembering quiet rooms and careful conversations. “They did their best. Couldn't explain what really happened that night, couldn't tell them why I woke up screaming about things with too many teeth.” The memories of those early days still hurt, trying to be normal, trying to forget what I'd seen. “So...”

“So you learned to carry it alone,” he finished. “To smile and nod and pretend you didn't see the shadows move.”

The simple understanding in his voice cracked something open in my chest. Because he knew, knew what it was like to be that kid. The one who learned to keep secrets before learning to drive.

“Want to go another round?” he asked, offering an escape from emotions neither of us was ready to face. “Promise I won't go easy on you this time.”

“You were going easy before?”

His grin was challenge and invitation wrapped in one. “Only one way to find out, Agent.”

We squared off again, but something had shifted between us. Each strike carried more than just physical intention, we were communicating through movement, through shared understanding of what it meant to be shaped by darkness.

His hands on my shoulders as he demonstrated a counter-strike felt different now. My fingers lingering on his wrist as I corrected his block meant more than just technical instruction. We were dancing around something deeper than combat training, and we both knew it.

Sean cleared his throat, reaching for his water bottle with calculated casualness. “Speaking of secrets... what's happening with O'Brien's journal?”

“What about it?” I kept my voice neutral, though my guard immediately went up.

“Just wondering where something that valuable ended up.” He toweled off his face, but I caught the sharp assessment in his eyes. “Given what happened to its owner.”

“It's being analyzed.”

“By?”

“Someone I trust at CITD.” I met his gaze steadily. “She knows what she's doing.”

Sean's expression shifted from casual to intent in an instant. “You gave classified supernatural evidence to a federal analyst?”

“To the best data forensics expert I know,” I corrected, bristling slightly at his tone. “Alana's been working these cases with me for years. She knows how to be discrete.”

“Discrete isn't the same as safe.” He stepped closer, all pretense of casualness gone. “That journal got O'Brien killed. Whatever's in it...”

A crash from upstairs cut him off. We both moved instantly, combat training taking over. Sean reached for a blade that wasn't there, cursed, then grabbed one from a nearby rack. I drew my backup piece from my ankle holster, earning a raised eyebrow.

“You brought a gun to workout?”

“You didn't?” I asked, already moving toward the stairs with practiced caution.

His grin was quick and fierce. “Fair point. Always be prepared, right, Agent?”

We moved up the stairs in perfect sync, all our earlier sparring paying off in coordinated movement. But what we found in Sean's office wasn't an intruder.

Skye sat cross-legged in the middle of what looked like a paper explosion, surrounded by multiple laptops and tablets. They didn't even look up as we entered, just waved a hand vaguely in our direction.

“Put the weapons away, boys. Unless you're planning to shoot these encryption algorithms into submission, which, honestly? Might be more effective than what I'm trying.”

Sean lowered his blade with a sigh that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd found Skye breaking into his space. “There's this thing called calling ahead.”

“Phones are traceable.” They finally looked up, eyes sharp behind thick-rimmed glasses. A knowing smirk spread across their face as they took in our sweaty, disheveled state. “Though clearly I interrupted something more interesting than research.”

“We were training,” I said, maybe too quickly.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Skye smirked, before their expression turned serious. They gestured toward one of the screens. “Found something interesting in those files you sent over. Or rather, found something suspiciously wrong with them.”

Sean's head snapped toward me. “What files?”

“The encrypted data from O'Brien's computer,” I explained, feeling a flash of defensiveness at his tone. “I made a copy before CITD took the hardware into evidence. Figured Skye might catch something our techs would miss.”

“You gave classified evidence to...” Sean started, then caught himself with a glance at Skye.

“To someone who actually knows what they're doing,” Skye finished, not bothering to hide their amusement. “Unlike your government cyber team who think a strong password means adding an exclamation point.”

I saw Sean's confusion and added, “The journal was handwritten, but there were digital files too, research notes, emails, experimental data. All locked behind encryption our team couldn't break. Though something seems to be wrong with them.”

Sean moved to look over Skye's shoulder while I hung back, feeling like an outsider in their established dynamic.

“Define 'wrong,'” he prompted.

Skye's fingers danced across the keyboard, pulling up streams of code that made my eyes cross. “The encryption's too sophisticated. Government-level, maybe better. Makes no sense for a professor's personal files.”

“Unless he had help,” I suggested, already analyzing patterns in the data. “Maybe someone more powerful knew what he was working on.”

“Exactly.” Skye nodded, giving me an appreciative look. “No offense to your CITD colleagues, but this is beyond standard forensics. Whoever helped O'Brien hide this research made damn sure nobody would find it.”

“Phoenix?” Sean asked, leaning closer to the screen.

“Maybe. But...” Skye tapped their lip thoughtfully. “This feels different. Older. The code structure uses patterns I've only seen in ancient systems, like, pre-digital ancient.”

“What do you mean?” I moved closer, studying the screen with renewed interest. My research-oriented mind was already cataloging similarities to other cases.

“Look here.” Skye highlighted sections of code that seemed to shift and writhe unnaturally. “This isn't just programming. They are using digital encryption as camouflage for something.”

“So how do we crack it?” I asked, already formulating multiple approaches.

Skye's grin was pure mischief. “That's where it gets interesting. We don't break it, we let it think it's winning while we find the pattern underneath.” They looked between us, excitement sparking in their eyes. “But I'll need both of you. This isn't just tech or just supernatural, it's both.”

“We need to work together,” Sean concluded, sounding less than thrilled about the prospect. “Great. I love teamwork.”

“Precisely.” Skye's eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Hope you boys are ready for a long night.”

The office hummed with tension as Skye worked through multiple layers of encryption, fingers flying across keyboards while data streamed across their screens. Sean and I watched in silence, aware we were standing on the edge of something monumental.

“Wait.” Skye suddenly sat up straighter, focusing intently on one sequence. “That's not possible.”

“What?” Sean and I moved closer simultaneously.

“This reference keeps appearing in O'Brien's notes, buried under layers of code.” They highlighted a section that seemed to shift before my eyes. “Something about 'The Prince' and 'ancient gates.'”

Sean went completely still beside me. “The Prince?”

“According to these files,” Skye continued, pulling up additional data, “Phoenix isn't just opening gates. They're trying to bring something through. Something specific.”

“The Prince,” I whispered as the pieces clicked into horrible place, my mind immediately connecting to other research I'd done. “That's what all the power points are for. They're building a door big enough for an ancient entity to walk through.”

“Not just any door.” Sean leaned closer, his face illuminated by the screens' glow. “Look at these patterns. The gate locations, the ritual sites, they're forming a key.”

“Exactly!” Skye nodded enthusiastically. “O'Brien was helping them map it out. But then he found something.” They highlighted another section. “The energy requirements were astronomical, and the cost was...”

“Being paid in blood,” Sean finished grimly. “That's why they killed him. He discovered their true plan.”

The implications hit me like a physical weight. My researcher's mind was already racing, connecting dots, pulling from every ancient text I'd studied. “We need to decode that journal. Now.”

“About that...” Skye looked almost sheepish. “Your CITD friend, Alana? She might be our best option.”

Sean's head snapped up. “What?”

“Look, I'm good, but this?” They gestured at the screens in frustration. “This is next level. Whoever encrypted this used both technological and supernatural methods. We need someone who understands both.”

“And a federal analyst can handle that?” Sean's skepticism was palpable.

“If she's been working with Cade on supernatural cases? Maybe.” Skye shrugged. “Sometimes fresh eyes see what we can't. And right now, we need all the help we can get.”

I felt Sean's gaze on me, heavy with unspoken questions. “You trust her that much?”

“With my life,” I said without hesitation. “Alana's brilliant. If anyone can help us make sense of this, it's her.”

“Having someone inside CITD could be valuable,” Skye added. “Especially if Phoenix has government connections.”

Sean ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “If this goes wrong, we're all exposed.”

“It's already gone wrong,” I countered. “Phoenix is trying to summon an ancient entity that could destroy our world. I think we're past worrying about protocol.”

Something between a laugh and a sigh escaped him. “When you put it that way...”

“We need help,” I insisted, meeting his gaze. “All of us. Even you.”

The moment stretched between us, charged with everything we weren't saying. Finally, Sean nodded. “Fine. But we do this carefully. Secure channels, dead drops, the works.”

“I'll coordinate with Alana,” I said, already reaching for my phone. “Get her working on the journal while Skye handles the tech.”

“And me?” Sean asked, his voice lighter despite everything.

“You keep us alive while we figure this out.”

His lips curved into a half-smile. “That, I can do. Someone's gotta handle the dirty work.”

Looking at them both I felt something shift between us. We were an unlikely alliance: a federal agent, a hunter, and a hacker. But perhaps that's exactly what we needed to be.

Because somewhere in the city, Phoenix was preparing to unleash something ancient and terrible. And we were the only ones who knew enough to stop them.

“Right then,” Sean said, checking his phone. “Sun's coming up. Who wants coffee while we plan how to stop an ancient being from destroying reality?”

Skye raised their hand without looking away from their screens. “Make mine a triple shot. If we're saving the world, I'm going to need the caffeine.”

“Extra strong it is,” Sean nodded, heading toward the kitchen area. “We're gonna need it. Pretty sure apocalypse prevention wasn't in the federal training manual, right, Agent?”

I almost smiled despite everything. “No, but I've been doing my own research.”

“Of course you have,” Sean said, and there was something almost fond in his exasperation.