Page 21 of Soulmarked (Hellbound and Hollow #1)

20

THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

T he dream started like vertigo. One moment I was asleep in my bed, Sean's warmth solid against my back, and the next I was elsewhere. Watching myself sleep, which should have been the first sign this wasn't a normal dream.

My apartment looked different from this perspective, shadows deeper and more alive, edges of reality blurring like watercolors left in rain.

“What the hell,” I muttered, my voice echoing strangely in this not-quite-space.

Something pulled at me, an invisible current drawing me toward the balcony. The city beyond my windows looked wrong, buildings too tall, spaces between them too dark, lights flickering in hues that defied the visible spectrum. Purples that darkened to black at their centers, reds that pulsed with an inner luminescence, blues that seemed to absorb rather than emit light. The cityscape wavered and distorted like reality was being viewed through cracked glass.

That's when I saw him.

He stood at the balcony's edge with his back to me, facing the cityscape. Tall and elegant in a way that screamed predator trying to look prey. His suit was perfectly tailored, but something about the way it sat on his frame suggested it was more costume than clothing. Power rolled off him in waves that made my ethereal form want to kneel.

“I've been waiting to meet you properly,” he said without turning, his voice carrying harmonics that hurt something deeper than ears. “Face to face, so to speak.”

“Who,” I started, but the question died as he turned.

His face was handsome in that ageless way that spoke of something inhuman wearing human features like a mask. But it was his eyes that stopped me cold, bright blue, like lightning trapped in ice. The same eyes I'd seen in the asylum, in every nightmare since.

“Asmodeus,” I breathed, the name carrying weight even in this dream-space.

His smile was perfect, practiced, terrible. “You recognize me. Good. That will make this conversation easier.”

“What conversation?” I tried to back away, but space worked differently here. Distance seemed meaningless, fluid. “What do you want?”

“Such simple questions for such complicated answers.” He gestured at the cityscape, and reality rippled like disturbed water. “What I want, Cade Cross, is to offer you a choice. A real one, not like the false choice that marked you all those years ago.”

“What do you know about my mark?”

“More than your hunter friends. More than that federal director who plays at understanding ancient powers.” Asmodeus's eyes fixed on me with terrible focus. “I know whose mark you bear, though they have been absent for some time.”

“Who marked me?”

“Names have power,” he cut me off smoothly. “And that name? It would shatter the fragile walls of this dream- meeting. But know this: the power that chose you? It's older than Heaven's gates, darker than Hell's depths. A being that understood what both sides tried to hide.”

My head spun with implications. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to understand what's coming.” He moved closer, and reality bent around him like light around a black hole. “The gates we're opening? They're just the beginning. What comes after...” His smile widened, showing too many teeth. “Well, that depends on whose side you choose.”

“I'm not choosing any sides,” I snapped, but even in the dream, my voice shook. “Especially not yours.”

“No?” He laughed, the sound devoid of any real humor. “You already chose once, in that alley. When a voice asked if you wanted to live, and you said yes without asking the price.”

Ice crawled down my spine as memories surfaced, snow falling, blood on concrete, a presence vast and terrible offering salvation. “That wasn't...”

“A choice?” His expression turned almost pitying. “Everything is a choice, Cade. Even inaction. Even silence. And now you have another one to make.”

“What choice?”

“Join us.” The words carried weight, like chains trying to bind. “Help us reshape what reality means. Or watch as we tear down the walls between worlds, releasing every creature your kind has locked away. Every demon, every monster, every nightmare given flesh, all of them free to walk your precious city.”

I thought of Sean sleeping beside my physical form, vulnerable and trusting. Of Sterling and Alana and everyone else I'd sworn to protect. “You're trying to blackmail me into helping you destroy the world?”

“Destroy?” Asmodeus actually looked offended. “No, dear boy. We're trying to set it free. To return it to what it was before arbitrary rules about what can and cannot exist. Before Heaven and Hell drew their lines in the sand.” His eyes blazed brighter. “Before reality itself became a prison.”

“You're insane,” I managed, but something in his words resonated with the mark, made it pulse faster.

“Am I? Or am I simply offering what you've always wanted, answers. Understanding. The truth about what you are and what you could become.” He reached for me, his hand passing through my ethereal form like smoke. “The mark you bear? It's a key to something greater than either side imagined. And soon, very soon, you'll have to decide how to use it.”

The dream began to fray around the edges, reality reasserting itself. Asmodeus's form started to blur, but his voice remained clear.

“Choose wisely, Cade. The price of refusal will be higher than you can imagine.”

I jerked awake with a gasp that felt like drowning, sweat cold on my skin despite the warm body pressed against me. Sean stirred instantly, hunter's instincts bringing him alert.

“Cade?” His voice was rough with sleep but sharp with concern. “What's wrong?”

I couldn't answer immediately, too focused on trying to breathe. The mark burned beneath my skin, more active than I'd ever felt it.

“Nightmare?” Sean asked softly, his hand finding mine in the darkness.

“No,” I managed finally. “Something worse. A warning.”

Because that's what it had been. A choice I wasn't sure I was ready to make.

The city lights painted patterns across my ceiling, and I wondered how many of them were real anymore. How much of what we thought we knew was just consensus reality, waiting to be unmade.

Sean pulled me closer, solid and warm and wonderfully human. But even his steady presence couldn't quite chase away the memory of Asmodeus's words, or the way they had made my mark sing with recognition.

Something was coming. Something bigger than princes or gates or the war between Heaven and Hell.

And I had a terrible feeling I was going to be the key to all of it.

Sean's warehouse had always been a study in controlled chaos. Usually, it felt like a fortress, a place where the world's darkness couldn't quite reach.

Tonight, it felt like an invasion.

Sterling moved through the space like he owned it, inspecting Sean's arsenal with the kind of calculated interest that set my teeth on edge.

“Quite the collection,” Sterling remarked, fingers hovering over a blade that probably cost more than his monthly salary. “Some of these items aren't exactly legal for civilians to possess.”

“Touch that and you'll find out how illegal they are,” Sean growled, his Irish accent thickening with barely contained aggression. He stepped between Sterling and the weapons rack.

Sterling didn't flinch. “Are we really going to do this dance, Mr. Cullen? Posture and threaten while Phoenix moves closer to their endgame?”

I couldn't stop moving, pacing near the weapons table while my fingers drummed restlessly against my forearm. The mark hadn't stopped burning since my dream encounter with Asmodeus, like it was trying to tell me something I couldn't quite understand.

“You're gonna wear a hole in my floor,” Sean muttered, his attention shifting to me, concern bleeding through his irritation. “What's got you so wound up?”

Before I could answer, Sterling finally turned away from his inspection. “We need to discuss what happened at the asylum,” he announced, his eyes scanning the room. “And what it means for what's coming.”

“Why here?” Sean demanded, deliberately positioning himself between Sterling and his weapons cache. “Got plenty of fancy federal offices for your meetings.”

Sterling's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Because, Mr. Cullen, what I'm about to discuss doesn't belong in any official record.”

I caught the subtle shift in Sean's stance, the way his weight moved to the balls of his feet, how his hand drifted closer to the knife at his back. Sterling might look like a bureaucrat, but Sean had survived this long by recognizing predators in any form.

“You're awful comfortable walking into a hunter's den alone,” Sean observed, his Irish lilt carrying an edge sharper than any of his blades.

“Alone?” Sterling's laugh was soft but held no humor. “Mr. Cullen, I haven't been truly alone since 1987.” He turned, and something in his eyes made my mark flare with recognition. “But we can discuss my security measures later. Right now, we need to talk about what's hunting Cade.”

I stepped forward, placing myself between them before Sean's tension could explode into action. “I had a visitor last night. In my dreams.”

Sterling's expression tightened. “What aren't you telling us, Cade?”

I hesitated, feeling Sean's attention sharpen. The dream felt both distant and too immediate.

“Asmodeus, he came to me,” I admitted finally. “In a dream, but it wasn't just a dream. He said the mark I carry is different. Older than the usual bindings. That whatever gave it to me understood something about reality itself.”

“When were you planning to mention this?” Sean's voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the hurt beneath it.

“I'm mentioning it now.” I met his eyes. “I needed to understand what it meant first.”

“And do you?” Sterling asked. “Understand what it means?”

I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “I understand that everyone seems to know more about what I am than I do. That some Prince of Hell thinks I'm key to unmaking reality. That my mark...” I stopped, the words sticking in my throat.

“That your mark what?” Sean pressed gently.

“That it recognized him,” I finished quietly. “Not just his power, but something deeper. Something that felt like coming home.”

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush. Sterling studied me with new intensity while his agents shifted uneasily. But it was Sean's reaction I couldn't bring myself to watch, couldn't bear to see fear or doubt in eyes that had looked at me with such trust just hours ago.

“Well,” Sean said finally, and there was something like dark humor in his voice, “at least now we know why the prince wants you so badly. You're not just any key, you're the key to everything they've been planning.”

“This changes nothing,” Sterling declared, but his tone suggested otherwise. “We still need to stop Phoenix, still need to prevent them from opening these gates before...”

“Before what?” I cut in. “Before they unmake reality? Before they tear down the walls between worlds? Or before they wake up whatever gave me this mark in the first place?”

Sean's hand found my shoulder, steady and warm. “Before we lose you to whatever game they're playing.”

“So what's our play?” I asked Sterling, grateful for Sean's grounding presence.

Sterling gathered the photos carefully. “We find out exactly what Phoenix is trying to do. What they need you for. And then...”

“And then we burn it all down,” Sean finished, his smile cold and merciless, a hunter's promise of violence. “Before they can use you to reshape reality in their image.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy as a loaded gun. My jaw clenched so tight it hurt, fingers curling into fists at my sides. The mark throbbed steadily, a constant reminder of what was at stake.

“So, what?” My voice came out quiet but sharp enough to make Sterling's agents shift uneasily. “I'm some kind of key to their endgame? The final piece they've been looking for?”

“We don't know exactly what role they want you to play,” Sterling admitted, and I appreciated that he didn't try to soften the truth. “But they do. And based on their accelerated timeline, they're running out of time to get to you.”

Sean caught my eye, and I saw my own unease reflected there.

Then the world tilted sideways.

I staggered back, breath catching in my throat as reality seemed to blur at the edges. My hand found the table's edge, gripping hard enough to whiten knuckles as my vision started to swim.

“Cade?” Sean's voice sounded distant, underwater. I felt him reach for me, but I was already falling into somewhere else.

The warehouse dimmed, shadows stretching like living things across my vision. Cold air pressed against my skin, carrying the unmistakable charge of supernatural energy. The mark blazed beneath my shirt, not painful but insistent, like it was trying to tune into some frequency I couldn't quite catch.

Then everything shifted, and I wasn't in the warehouse anymore.

Central Park sprawled before me, but wrong, twisted, like reality had been stretched too thin. Unnatural darkness pooled between the trees, deeper than night should allow. The grass beneath my feet was black and brittle, as if something had drained all life from it.

A massive ritual circle dominated the Great Lawn, its symbols burning with cold fire.

Hooded figures surrounded the circle's perimeter, their chanting reminiscent of a funeral dirge played backward and underwater. The sound made my head scream and my mark pulse in recognition. But it was what formed at the circle's center that made my soul try to crawl out of my skin.

Something vast and terrible was taking shape, a mass of shifting darkness and contradictory dimensions, of limbs that folded through spaces beyond the third dimension and geometries that fractured the mind's ability to process them. It was forming, growing, waiting...

Then eyes opened in the void, countless, ancient, hungry. They fixed on me with the weight of epochs, seeing past flesh and bone to whatever spark of power marked me as theirs.

A voice slithered through my mind, not sound but pure concept: YOU ARE THE MISSING PIECE.

Reality snapped back like a rubber band, sending me stumbling forward. Sean caught me before my legs could give out, his arms solid and wonderfully human against the lingering cold of the vision.

“Cade? Cade!” Sean's voice was sharp with worry, his accent thicker than usual. “What the hell just happened?”

I couldn't answer immediately, still trying to process what I'd seen. The room spun sickeningly, and I gripped Sean's arms to stay upright. The mark on my chest burned like ice, pulsing with an energy that made the warehouse's lights flicker.

“Get him sitting down,” Sterling ordered, moving forward with unexpected urgency.

My knees buckled before he could finish. Sean lowered me into a chair, keeping one hand steady on my shoulder while the other reached for a weapon, hunter's instincts responding to a threat he couldn't see.

“His eyes,” Sterling muttered, crouching to study my face. “They're not right.”

“What did you do?” Sean snarled at Sterling.

“I didn't do anything,” Sterling cut him off.

I managed to focus enough to see my reflection in a nearby window, my pupils were blown wide, ring of blue almost swallowed by black. But it wasn't just dilation. There was something else there, something that made the mark pulse in recognition.

“Central Park,” I gasped out, the words feeling like glass in my throat. “They're in Central Park.”

“Who's in Central Park?” Sean demanded, but Sterling had gone very still.

“You saw something,” he said quietly. “A vision?”

I nodded, still struggling to translate the impossible geometries and ancient hunger into words that wouldn't shatter reality. “They're trying something. Not just a gate. Something bigger. And they're...” I swallowed hard, tasting copper. “They're waiting for me.”

“Like hell they are,” Sean growled, but I caught the fear beneath his anger.

“How long?” Sterling pressed. “How close are they to finishing?”

“Soon.” The certainty in my voice scared me. “Tonight, maybe tomorrow. I don't know, okay. I saw...” I trailed off, the memory of those countless eyes making my mark burn colder.

I wiped cold sweat from my brow, forcing my legs steady as I stood. “We need to move.”

“Not yet,” Sean cut me off, his accent thick with concern. “Not without proper intel and backup.” He was already pulling out his phone. “Skye! Get your arse over here.”

Sterling raised an eyebrow. “Your tech specialist?”

“Among other things,” Sean muttered, then hesitated before making another call. “Juno? Yeah, I know what time it is. We need you. And before you say no, it's about the Prince.”

I caught the slight tension in Sterling's shoulders at the mention of Juno's name. “A vampire? Really, Mr. Cullen?”

“A former hunter,” Sean corrected sharply. “Who knows more about demon politics than any of your fancy federal databases.”

The warehouse door opened before Sterling could respond, revealing Skye laden with laptops and equipment. They took one look at my pale face and Sean's protective stance and sighed. “What fresh hell are we dealing with now?”

“The literal kind, apparently,” I managed, the mark still burning cold beneath my shirt.

“Fantastic.” Skye started setting up their gear with practiced efficiency. “And here I was hoping for a quiet apocalypse.”

Twenty minutes later, Juno arrived, bringing with her that predatory grace that made my mark hum in recognition. She assessed the room with hunter's instincts that vampirism hadn't dulled, her gaze lingering on Sterling with dangerous interest.

“Well,” she drawled, “when you said it was interesting, Sean, you weren't kidding. A fed, a marked one, and...” She tilted her head at Sterling. “Something else entirely. This should be fun.”

“This isn't about fun,” Sean growled. “This is about stopping a ritual that could tear reality apart.”

“Even better.” Juno's smile showed just enough fang to remind us what she was. “So, what's the plan? Besides the obvious 'charge in and die gloriously' strategy I'm sure you were considering.”

I caught Sean's slight flush and had to bite back a smile despite everything. She wasn't wrong about his usual tactical preferences.

Sean shot me a look that said he hadn't missed my amusement. “We need to know what we're walking into. Full reconnaissance before we make any moves.”

“Look at you, being all strategic,” Juno said, her tone hovering between impressed and mocking. “The mighty Sean Cullen, actually planning before stabbing. Has our federal friend been a good influence on you?”

“We don't have time for this,” Sean said, checking his weapons with practiced efficiency. “If you've got useful information, share it. Otherwise...”

“Always so serious.” Juno sighed dramatically before her expression shifted to something more businesslike. “I did some digging after our last encounter. Called in a few favors from contacts who prefer to remain nameless.”

“And?” I prompted when she paused for effect.

“Before we start plotting our heroically stupid intervention,” Juno said, settling onto a weapons crate with inhuman grace, “there's something you should know about our Prince's new meat suit.”

The room went quiet. Even Skye stopped typing, their fingers hovering over keyboards as the tension thickened.

“You mean the man from my dream?” I asked, the mark pulsing beneath my shirt like a second heartbeat, burning cold at the memory of those ice-blue eyes.

“I don't know about your little dreamwalking adventures, Agent,” Juno's fangs flashed as she smirked, “but sure, let's go with that.” She leaned forward, elbows on knees. “See, our dear Dr. Chen was just the prototype, the Prince's first attempt at finding a permanent vessel. Didn't work out so well for her, obviously.”

Sean paced the length of the room, combat boots heavy on the concrete floor. “They were testing her compatibility.”

“Got it in one, hunter.” Juno examined her nails with practiced casualness that didn't quite hide the tension in her shoulders. “But this new vessel? He's perfect. Willing. Powerful. The kind of meat suit a Prince of Hell could really settle into long-term.”

“Can you remember his face?” Sean stopped pacing, his full attention on me now. The intensity in his gaze reminded me of a predator tracking prey, but there was something else there too, concern that he'd never openly admit. “Anything about this dream guy?”

I closed my eyes, forcing myself back into that nightmare, ignoring the chill that crawled up my spine. “Tall, maybe six-two. Lean but strong build. Dark hair, perfectly styled, like a Ken doll come to life. High cheekbones, straight nose, the kind of face that belongs on billboards.” My throat tightened as I reached the part that still made my blood run cold. “But his eyes, electric blue. Unnaturally bright, almost glowing. And cold, completely devoid of humanity despite his perfect smile.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” Sean muttered, glancing at Skye. “You catch all that? Run facial recognition against Phoenix Pharmaceuticals, prioritize the head honcho and his inner circle.”

“Already on it,” Skye's fingers flew across three keyboards simultaneously, screens reflecting in their glasses. “Cross-referencing with corporate databases and... holy shit.”

Sterling raised an eyebrow at their efficiency. “Your hacker friend works quickly.”

“Skye's saved our asses more times than I can count,” Sean replied without apology, checking the silver blade at his hip with practiced casualness. “Unlike some people's government resources.”

“And a damn good one,” Juno confirmed, sliding off the crate with predatory grace. “Custom-made, you might say. The kind of vessel that can channel serious power without burning up like a cheap fuse.”

Sterling's expression darkened. “Which means whatever they're trying to open in the park...”

“They're actually gonna pull it off,” I finished grimly. “Because they've got someone who can handle that kind of power without disintegrating.”

Sean caught my eye across the room, and something unspoken passed between us, understanding, maybe, or recognition of how screwed we really were.

“Sean,” Skye's voice carried a note of urgency I'd rarely heard from them. “You need to see this. Now.”

We gathered around their workstation as images appeared on multiple screens. A beautiful man with perfect features and those unmistakable blue eyes. He looked like he belonged on GQ covers, and according to the headlines flashing across one monitor, he frequently was.

“Alexander Caine,” Skye announced, pulling up corporate filings and news clippings. “Not just connected to Phoenix Pharmaceuticals, he owns the whole damn show. CEO and majority shareholder who keeps his name off most of the public-facing materials.”

“The hell?” Sean leaned closer to the screens, scanning the information with narrowed eyes. “Tech billionaire, philanthropist, America's most eligible bachelor three years running...”

“Here's where it gets weird,” Skye continued, opening records that looked like they'd been buried beneath layers of digital security. “Caine basically didn't exist until fifteen years ago. He appeared out of nowhere with revolutionary tech patents and billions in mysterious assets. No birth record, no childhood photos, nothing before his mid-twenties when he suddenly emerged fully-formed as a corporate titan.”

“Like someone created the perfect cover identity,” I murmured, the mark on my chest burning colder.

“Or something slipped into our world and built itself a human life,” Juno added, studying the images with predatory focus.

Sean straightened, running a hand through his hair. “So we're dealing with a Prince of Hell wearing a billionaire CEO like a prom tuxedo? Fantastic. Any other good news you want to share? World ending tomorrow? Sharknado becoming real?”

“A perfect vessel,” Juno said, ignoring Sean's sarcasm. “Possibly created specifically for this purpose.”

“Or something that's been hiding in plain sight for years,” Sterling added grimly. “Playing the long game.”

I stared at Caine's image, trying to reconcile the charming public figure with the predator from my dreams. The same face that smiled from charity galas and tech conferences had watched me with ancient hunger, had spoken of unmaking reality like it was discussing the weather.

“He's been planning this for over a decade,” I said, the weight of it settling in my gut like lead.

Sean's hand found my shoulder, gripping it briefly, the closest he'd come to offering comfort. “Longer,” he said, voice low and certain. “Much longer.”

“So what's the plan?” I asked, looking up at him. “How do we kill a Prince of Hell who's wearing one of the most powerful men in the country?”

Sean's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Same way we deal with anything that bleeds, Caddy.” He patted the silver blade at his hip. “We find what hurts it and use a hell of a lot more of that.”

“Don't call me Caddy,” I replied automatically, but there was no heat in it.

“You two finished with your moment?” Juno interrupted, fangs glinting in the harsh light. “Because if we're going after Asmodeus, we need more than silver blades and witty comebacks.”

“What we need,” Sterling said, opening a metal case that hummed with power even from across the room, “is something that can kill what's inside him without destroying the world in the process.”

Heaven's Lash lay coiled within, pulsing with its own light. Looking at it, feeling the mark on my chest respond with cold recognition, I knew our odds were slim. But slim odds had been my entire life since that snowy night so many years ago.

“Well,” Sean said, checking his weapons one last time, “let's go crash a billionaire's apocalypse party.”