Page 4 of Soulmarked (Hellbound and Hollow #1)

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NIGHT STALKER

E ach report in front of me was an exercise in creative writing that would make any fiction author proud. My latest case file lay open, its clinical language hiding the truth beneath layers of bureaucratic bullshit.

“Victim shows signs consistent with animal attack, likely bear or large predatory cat...”

Right. Because New York was just crawling with bears these days.

“Subject exhibited extreme psychosis, possibly drug-induced...”

Sure. If by “drugs” you meant “being ripped apart by something with too many teeth.”

“Gang-related violence suggesting ritual elements...”

At least that one was closer to the truth, if you replaced “gang” with “vampire nest” and “ritual” with “feeding frenzy.”

My fingers drummed against the desk as I stared at the crime scene photos spread before me. Three victims in the past week, each with identical wounds. Surgical precision in the organ removal, entry wounds that matched no known weapon. The pattern was clear as day, if you knew what to look for.

The mark over my heart throbbed faintly, a reminder that I knew exactly what to look for.

Around me, the office hummed with typical federal agency activity. Phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the occasional burst of forced laughter at someone's bad joke. Everything perfectly normal, perfectly mundane. No one talked about the things that went bump in the night, about the real reasons we had a dedicated “unusual occurrences” division.

“Cross!”

Director James Sterling's voice cut through the ambient noise like a thunderclap. I looked up to see him standing in his office doorway, his tall frame filling the space with authority. Every other agent suddenly became fascinated with their computer screens, pointedly not looking in my direction.

Great. What now?

I straightened my tie and stood, feeling the weight of unseen eyes as I crossed the office floor. My reputation preceded me, the agent who took the weird cases, who saw patterns where others saw coincidence.

They called me “Spooky Cross” behind my back, thinking I couldn't hear them. If they only knew how right they were about the spooky part.

Sterling's office was exactly what you'd expect from a federal division director, awards on the walls, perfectly organized desk, family photos arranged just so. But I knew better. The seemingly random arrangements of his desk items formed protective sigils. The “modern art” piece behind his desk contained hidden wards. Even the pattern in his tie wasn't random.

He held up my latest report without a word, his expression unreadable. But I knew that look. It was the same one he'd worn when I'd first joined CITD, when he'd taken me under his wing like the son he'd lost years ago.

“Explain this,” he demanded, though his tone suggested he already knew what I'd say.

I met his gaze steadily. “Three victims, all with identical wounds, all missing the same internal organs. The evidence supports...”

“The evidence,” Sterling cut me off sharply, “supports something else entirely, and we both know it.” He set the report down with deliberate care. “You're pushing too hard, Cade. Making waves.”

“Sir, these people were murdered. Whatever did this is still out there, still hunting.”

“And what exactly do you think did this?” He leaned forward slightly. “Bears? In Manhattan?”

I could hear the real question beneath his words. How much did I know? How close was I to the truth he worked so hard to keep hidden?

“Sometimes,” I said carefully, “the official explanation doesn't fit the facts.”

Sterling sighed, some of his official persona slipping away. He looked tired suddenly, older. “Be careful, son. Some doors are better left closed. There are things out there...” He trailed off, his hand unconsciously touching his left arm where I knew he had a scar.

“I know,” I said softly.

“Do you?” His eyes searched my face. “Because from where I'm sitting, you're asking questions that could get you killed. Or worse.”

“I can handle myself, sir.”

“That's what they all say.” He picked up my report again, this time actually reading it. “Three victims in a week. No witnesses. No useful forensics. Just these peculiar wounds and missing organs.” He looked up at me. “You think there's a pattern.”

It wasn't a question. Sterling knew me too well by now.

“I think something's hunting in our city,” I said. “Something that's getting bolder. And I think we both know it's not bears or gang violence.”

Sterling was quiet for a long moment, studying me with that paternal concern that always made me feel like I was eight years old again, trying to explain why I could see things others couldn't.

“You're one of my best agents, Cade,” he said finally. “Smart. Dedicated. But you have a habit of digging into things that should stay buried.” He stood, walking to his window that overlooked the city. “Whatever you think you're onto here... whatever you think you know... be careful how deep you dig.”

I nodded, but we both knew I wouldn't stop. I couldn't. Not when people were dying, not when the monsters thought they could hunt with impunity.

“Is that all, sir?”

He turned back to me, and for just a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes. But it passed so quickly I might have imagined it.

“That's all. Just... watch your back out there. And Cade?” He waited until I reached the door. “If you do find something... something that can't be explained away... you come to me first. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As I walked back to my desk, I could feel the weight of Sterling's worry following me. He was right to be concerned. The things I hunted, the secrets I kept, they were dangerous enough to get me killed ten times over.

But as I sat down and looked at those crime scene photos again, at the precise wounds that spoke of something inhuman, I knew I couldn't stop. The victims' injuries told a story of calculated violence, of a predator with intellect and purpose.

After all, I had my own monsters to feed.

The night air hit me like a slap as I left CITD headquarters, my breath curling in visible streams under the streetlights. I had a lead, one that wouldn't make it into any official reports.

The trail led to Purgatory, one of Manhattan's more exclusive nightclubs. From the outside, it looked like any other high-end venue, sleek architecture, red velvet ropes, line of designer clothes and desperate faces waiting to get in. But I'd been watching it for days. Something was hunting here.

I positioned myself across the street, letting the shadows of a doorway hide my presence. The bouncer kept checking his phone, nervous. He knew what was inside, what was using his club as a hunting ground. They always knew.

That's when I spotted him, a figure on the edge of the crowd who didn't belong. Professional. Calculating. Watching the same vampire I was tracking, but with less experience in staying invisible.

I did a casual scan of the street, pretending I hadn't noticed him yet. Leather jacket, military bearing, looking like trouble personified. He was good, but not good enough. Most people wouldn't have noticed how he moved, how his stance suggested weapons hidden beneath that jacket. But I wasn't most people.

Our eyes met briefly across the street. He realized I'd made him, and his expression shifted ever so slightly. Interesting. He hadn't expected anyone else to be hunting tonight.

A commotion at the club's entrance drew my attention. My target was making her move, leading a stumbling Wall Street type toward the back alley. Perfect hunting technique. I'd seen it before, get them drunk, get them alone, then...

I moved to intercept, keeping pace through the shadows. The hunter was moving too, paralleling my course. Great. Just what I needed, competition.

“Please,” the drunk guy was saying as I approached, his words slurring. “My place isn't far...”

The vampire's laugh was like silver bells, beautiful and deadly. “I know somewhere closer.”

That's when I stepped out of the shadows. “Actually, I think the gentleman needs to call it a night.”

The vampire's head snapped toward me, nostrils flaring. Something flickered in her eyes, recognition? Fear? But that didn't make sense. She didn't know me. Couldn't know me.

“This is private,” she hissed, her perfect facade cracking just slightly.

“CITD,” I said, flashing my badge. “And you're going to let him go.”

The drunk guy looked between us, finally sensing something was wrong. “I should... I should call an Uber...”

“Run,” I told him, not taking my eyes off the vampire. Something in my voice must have cut through his drunken haze, because he ran.

The vampire's beauty melted away, revealing what lurked beneath, fangs extending, eyes going blood-red. But instead of attacking, she hesitated. Stared at me like she was seeing something else, something that scared her more than a federal badge.

Then she bolted.

I pursued immediately, aware of the hunter following us both. The vampire led us on a chase through back alleys and service corridors, moving with inhuman speed. But I kept pace, and so did our leather-clad friend.

The chase ended in a dead-end alley. Classic mistake. The vampire turned, trapped between brick walls and my advance.

“You,” she hissed, her crimson eyes narrowing with recognition. “You're the one they've been warning us about.”

I didn't know what she meant, but I could feel the hunter watching from somewhere above. Let him watch. This ended now.

The vampire struck first, launching herself at me with supernatural speed. Most humans would have been dead instantly, but I wasn't most humans.

I moved on pure instinct, sidestepping her attack with a fluid grace that surprised even me. Something was happening inside me, a power surging through my veins that I couldn't explain but couldn't deny. My blood sang with it, electric and foreign.

The impact of her missed strike tore my shirt slightly at the collar, exposing a small portion of the mark on my chest. The vampire froze, her eyes widening as she fixated on it.

“That mark,” she gasped, backing away slowly. Her voice dropped to a whisper, fear replacing hostility. “You're Cade Cross. The rumors were true after all.” She glanced around frantically, as if looking for an escape. “He never said you'd be this strong already.”

She tried one last desperate move, attempting to scale the wall and escape over the rooftops. But I was ready. My hand caught her ankle, yanking her back to earth. The movement felt natural, powered by something beyond normal strength.

“He said you'd come,” she gasped, eyes wide with terror. “Said you'd be the one.”

I didn't let her finish. My training took over, muscle memory from years of hunting these creatures. But before I could end it, she moved with desperate speed, bolting deeper into the maze of alleys and abandoned buildings.

The chase led us through narrowing passages, each turn taking us further from the city's pulse. I kept pace, my footsteps echoing off brick walls that seemed to press closer with each block. The vampire was running, yes, but something felt wrong about it. Too deliberate. Too planned.

The final turn brought me into a narrow alley, high walls on both sides, plenty of shadows for cover, and absolutely no witnesses. Perfect. Or perfectly wrong, depending on how you looked at it.

I stopped in the alley's center, every instinct screaming that I'd just walked into a trap. “Well?” I called out, keeping my voice steady. “Are we doing this or not?”

The silence that followed was absolute. No distant traffic, no city sounds, not even the usual rats scurrying through garbage. Just the sound of my own breathing and the faint drip of water from somewhere above.

Then something moved at the alley's mouth.

What stepped into view wasn't the vampire I'd been chasing, or at least, not entirely. The female vampire's form seemed to ripple and distort, something else moving beneath her skin like oil under water. Her limbs elongated, joints bending at angles that defied anatomy. Her face became a roadmap of scar tissue and exposed bone, fangs protruding past lips that weren't quite lips anymore.

But it was her eyes that stopped me cold. Where vampire red should have been, her eyes had flooded completely black—glossy, opaque darkness that swallowed all light, with no whites or irises visible. Ancient intelligence burned in that darkness, filled with a recognition that made my blood run cold. This thing knew me.

“He said you'd be pretty.” It hissed through the vampire's distorted mouth, its voice like gravel being ground to dust.

My fingers moved toward my gun, but I already knew I'd be too late. The possessed vampire moved like liquid shadow, crossing the distance between us before I could clear my holster. Pain exploded through my ribs as it slammed me against the alley wall, the impact driving the air from my lungs in a rush.

My head cracked against the brick, vision blurring with starbursts of white and black. I heard my gun clatter somewhere out of reach, the sound oddly distant through the ringing in my ears.

Claws like heated needles dug into my shoulders, piercing through my suit jacket and into flesh. I bit back a cry of pain, feeling warm blood begin to soak into my shirt. The creature's strength was impossible.

It leaned in close, its breath carrying the sweet-rot smell of ancient graves. “He wants you alive,” it murmured, almost tenderly. “But he didn't say unharmed.”

The impact had torn my shirt further, fully revealing the mark on my chest. Its black eyes fixed on the sigil, which pulsed faintly in response to the creature's proximity.

“Who's 'he'?” I managed to ask through gritted teeth.

The thing's lipless mouth stretched into what might have been a smile, those pitch-black eyes never leaving the mark on my chest. “You don't even know what you are, do you?” Its claws dug deeper, drawing a hiss of pain from me.

Questions burned in my mind, but they'd have to wait. The creature's grip was crushing, its claws seeking vital points within my body. I needed to move, needed to fight back, but my body felt like it was moving through molasses. Some kind of venom, maybe, or something worse.

“You know,” I said, forcing a smile despite the pain, “if he wanted to talk, he could have just sent an email.”

The creature's laugh scraped against my eardrums like rusted nails, black eyes glittering with malice. “Brave. Stupid, but brave. I see why he chose you.”

Its grip shifted, preparing for something I probably wouldn't survive. But before it could move, I caught a flash of movement from above.

I braced myself against the creature's grip, mind racing for options. No time to be afraid. No time to...

A shadow moved behind my attacker, so fast I almost missed it. The flash of silver in moonlight was my only warning before a blade struck, severing the creature's head in one clean motion. Black ichor sprayed across my suit as the body slumped forward.

As the dark energy dissipated, the corpse shifted back to the female vampire I'd originally been chasing, her features returning to normal in death. Whatever had been possessing her was gone, leaving behind only the faintest smell of sulfur and rot.

I sagged against the wall, chest heaving, shoulders burning where its claws had been. The whole encounter had lasted maybe thirty seconds, but my heart was hammering like I'd run a marathon.

“Are you actually fucking insane, or just suicidal?”

The voice cut through the alley's darkness, a gruff Midwestern accent thick with irritation. I looked up to find myself staring at a man who radiated danger like heat. Tall, muscular, with the kind of stance that screamed professional killer. His blade still dripped black blood, and his expression suggested he was considering using it on me next.

“Who the hell are you?” I managed, trying to push myself upright without showing how much everything hurt.

“Sean Cullen.” He wiped his blade clean with practiced efficiency. “And you're the one who decided to chase a vampire through dark alleys without proper weapons, backup, or apparently a single brain cell to rub together.”

I straightened my ruined jacket, pride stinging more than my wounds. “I had it handled.”

His laugh was sharp and utterly without humor. “Oh yeah? Was getting your throat ripped out part of the plan? Because that's exactly what was about to happen.”

“I'm a federal agent...”

“You're a dead man walking.” He stepped closer, and I had to fight the urge to step back. “A badge doesn't mean shit against their kind. You went in unprepared, untrained, and you're lucky I decided to follow when I saw you playing hero back at the club.”

Something in his tone set my teeth on edge. “I didn't ask for your help.”

“No? Tell that to your corpse if I hadn't shown up.” His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “What's your game here, fed? What do you think you're doing in my territory?”

“Your territory?” I couldn't help but scoff. “Last I checked, this was CITD jurisdiction.”

“CITD?” Now it was his turn to laugh. “Your little agency doesn't have the first clue what's really out there. You write reports about animal attacks and gang violence while the real monsters hunt right under your noses.”

He wasn't wrong, but I wasn't about to admit it. “So you're one of the Hallow Hunters?”

Hallow—the name carried weight in certain circles. A shadow organization that had existed for centuries, training hunters to identify and eliminate supernatural threats. No government oversight, no official records. Just a legacy of blood and protection most civilians would never know about. They were ruthless specialists who saw the world in stark black and white.

“Something like that.” His smile was all edges. “And you're way out of your depth, federal agent.”

I should have thanked him. Should have been diplomatic. But something about his arrogance, his assumption that I was just another clueless government agent, made me want to push back.

“Funny,” I said, “I've been handling these cases for years without any hunter deciding to claim my territory.”

“Then you've been lucky. But luck runs out, pal.” He gestured to the creature's corpse. “That wasn't your average vampire. That was something else. Something older. And it knew you by name.”

I tensed. He'd heard that part. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“No?” His eyes were too sharp, too knowing. “Then why did it call you 'marked one'? Why did it talk about someone wanting you alive?”

“I'm done here.” I pushed off from the wall, ignoring the protest from my ribs. “Thanks for the assist, but I don't need a lecture from...”

His hand shot out, catching my arm. The grip wasn't threatening, but it was firm enough to make his point. “You're going to get yourself killed. And normally, I wouldn't care. But something's happening in this city. Something big, and for some reason, you're connected to it.”

I jerked my arm free. “I don't know you. I don't owe you explanations.”

“No, you don't. But you owe it to yourself to learn what you're really dealing with.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a weathered business card. “When you're ready to stop playing fed and start learning how to actually survive in this world, give me a call.”

I took the card automatically, more to end the conversation than anything else. The paper was thick, expensive, with just a phone number and Sean's address embossed in black.

“Word of advice?” He started backing away, fading into the shadows with practiced ease. “Next time you want to hunt vampires? Bring silver bullets. And someone who knows what they're doing.”

I watched him disappear into the darkness, irritation warring with curiosity. Part of me wanted to follow, to demand more answers about what he knew. But my pride was still stinging from having my ass saved, and something told me Sean Cullen wasn't the type to give straight answers anyway.

I looked down at the card in my hand, then at the creature's rapidly decomposing corpse.

I pocketed the card. I wouldn't call, probably. But something told me this wouldn't be the last time our paths crossed.

Now I just had to figure out how to explain the ruined suit to accounting.