Page 42 of Veiled By Smoke (The Nature Hunters Academy #5)

“Chaos is a language, and only those who speak it fluently can command the world.”

~Viscious

T he world was a feast for those who thrived in the dark.

Viscious prowled the broken edge of a city skyline, a silent, invisible force perched atop a rooftop where the wind howled and the night was thick with the tang of smoke and fear.

Down below, shadows flickered—demons, slick as oil and twice as slippery, slithered through alleys and abandoned shops, their laughter echoing off brick walls.

A car sped past, screeching tires and then, in a heartbeat, a tragic collision. Another Mark was made.

It was happening everywhere. Viscious watched, arms folded, a smirk curling his lips.

The other dark elementals had their acolytes out in force tonight—clever little monsters with a talent for chaos.

They created Marks by orchestrating “accidents,” by whispering into the minds of the desperate and the wicked.

A shove here, a broken brake there, a moment’s inattention that became a lifetime of regret.

And always, always, the race: get to the Mark before a light elemental did.

Win a new servant, gain another soul for the dark. The rules were simple, the stakes high.

He relished it, the thrill of the hunt. But his mind kept circling back to one Mark in particular—the girl. Aurora.

Why was Ra taking so damn long? he wondered, jaw tightening.

He’s had plenty of time. It’s not like he couldn’t just scoop the girl up and walk through a damn portal with her.

The bond he’d forged through him should be more than enough to keep him compliant.

Unless . . . is he wavering? No. He wouldn’t break his promise.

There was too much at stake. Were the light royals involved?

The thought irritated him, a smoldering coal under his skin. He could go himself, tear through whatever protections the light had set around her, but even Viscious knew better than to charge in blind. He needed to be smart.

So, he reached out—subtle, careful, sending his consciousness sliding along the thread he’d wound through Ra’s blood bond–and sought the girl in the fragile landscape of her dreams.

He found her, drifting in a field of winter light, uncertain and alone. Aurora . . . His whisper curled through the dream, warm as a campfire, gentle as a secret.

You’re powerful, he told her, his voice the perfect blend of comfort and temptation.

You don’t have to be afraid. If you learn what it means to be an acolyte, you’ll have strength, freedom.

You’ll never be at anyone’s mercy again.

Not the world’s, not anyone’s. Ask Ra—he’ll explain.

Find him alone. He can teach you how to never be afraid again . . .

He wove the words with honey, spun the promise like gold. Power. Safety. Belonging. He was careful not to push too hard, not to awaken her suspicions. A gentle nudge. A seed planted.

But just as he was about to draw her deeper, the dream fractured.

A foul, sulfurous stench invaded the cold air—like rotten eggs and burnt flesh.

Viscious’s concentration snapped. He was yanked out of the dream, back to the rooftop, where a demon stood awkwardly at the edge, trying and failing to look casual.

The demon scratched at his horns, eyes darting everywhere but Viscious’s face.

“Uh, Lord, King, your royals highness, Viscious, sir.” The voice was oily, high-pitched, and about as subtle as a marching band in a library.

“I wants to meet you. You are a legend among all the legends.” The demon rocked back and forth on his clawed feet as he swung his arms awkwardly.

“And, well, I’s just thought I’d say hi. ”

Viscious arched a brow, letting just enough fire spark in his eyes to make the demon shuffle his feet. “You thought you’d say ‘hi,’” he repeated slowly.

The demon blinked, then nodded as if he actually understood. “Yeps. ”

Viscious seriously wanted to punt-kick the hell spawn down the hill, but he prided himself on his self-control, and kicking a demon, even if he deserved it, definitely didn’t show self-control.

“You’ve met me. I’m sure I have surpassed what you ever imagined,” Viscious said dryly, then with a flick of his hand he sent a whip of fire out.

“Be gone with you. I have important matters to attend to.” The demon went flying as the fire burned him and an unnatural snarl mixed with a yipping sound filled the air.

So much for self-control , Viscious thought with a shrug.

Viscious returned his gaze to the city below, his mind already reaching again for Aurora’s thread. He would have her—one way or another. The world was burning, and he was the king of fire. It was only a matter of time before everything—light, dark, and in between—bowed before him.

He opened a portal, feeling for the magic of the other dark elementals, and then stepped through.

He stood in a ruined cathedral, the stained glass high above fractured and bleeding color across the cracked stone floor.

He relished places like this—sacred once, now hollowed out by grief and time.

It was where darkness felt most at home.

A cold wind slipped through the gaping windows, carrying the faint, sweet scent of fear.

The city outside was restless, sirens echoing, distant and unheeded.

It was the kind of night when children didn’t sleep well, when parents locked doors and whispered prayers to gods that no longer listened.

He smiled, sharp and slow. The hunt was on.

At the sound of voices, he turned to find the other dark royals gathered, each one haloed in shadows and the essence of their corrupted element: Lamia, the Dark Air queen, with hair that whipped and twisted as if caught in an invisible gale, her eyes pale and storm-bright; Nimue, the Dark Earth queen, her skin dappled with moss and her presence heavy as a landslide, eyes the color of rich, upturned soil; And Radagast, the Dark Water king, limbs of liquid grace, his eyes deep and turbulent like a midnight sea, his very aura damp and cold.

The dark royals moved with purpose, silent but electric, the air around them crackling with anticipation and power.

In the nave, a small shape huddled between pews—curled up, knees to chest, eyes wide and rimmed with red. The Mark. Viscious could see the fracture in her aura, a jagged wound left by violence and loss. Her parents had been dead less than a week. The soul was still raw, still bleeding.

He crouched, boots echoing on stone, and the child’s head snapped up. There was defiance in her, even now.

“Who are you?” she whispered, voice thin but steady.

Viscious let the shadows dance around his hands, not quite touching her, dark fire flickering along his knuckles. “I’m someone who can make it stop hurting,” he murmured, his voice velvet and venom. “Someone who understands what it’s like to lose everything.”

Behind him, Lamia’s presence brushed the child’s hair with a sudden, chilly wind. Nimue crouched, the stone floor cracking under her weight, her earthy scent mingling with the incense of old prayers. Radagast’s eyes glittered, a puddle of shadow collecting at his feet.

Demons flickered in the corners—Lucifer’s minions–their forms indistinct but their hunger palpable. They ringed the cathedral, cutting off escape. Viscious, though annoyed by their presence, did not completely resent them. He could admit he slightly respected the old devil’s efficiency.

“Why should I trust you?” The Mark’s eyes never left his face.

He saw the wound in her soul throbbing, the temptation to reach for light, but the dark was closer, so much easier. “Because the world above doesn’t care about you anymore,” Viscious said, gentle as a lullaby. “But we do. We care enough to take away the pain. All you have to do is let go.”

Nimue extended a hand, her nails black with earth. “We’ll give you power, little one. We’ll make sure no one hurts you again.”

The child’s lip trembled, anger and sorrow warring in her eyes. She glanced toward the ruined altar, as if searching for a sign. There was none.

A whisper of movement—light elementals, too late, pressing at the doors. But the demons closed ranks, snarling, their eyes pits of black fire. Viscious felt a surge of triumph. The balance was shifting. More and more, the light was being shut out. He offered his hand, fire curling in his palm.

She reached for it.

The moment her fingers touched his, Viscious felt the rush—her pain, her rage, her hope twisted into something new. The fracture in her soul widened, and he poured his darkness in, shaping her into what she was meant to be.

The light elementals smashed through the doors, shouts echoing.

But Lamia’s wind rose, a howling gale that pushed them back.

Nimue’s earth cracked beneath their feet, and Radagast’s shadows swelled, the air thick with the stench of sulfur and sorrow.

The child—no longer just a Mark—stood, her eyes reflecting the cathedral’s broken colors, but already there was something else in her gaze: the hunger, the promise of vengeance.

Viscious rose, drawing her close. “Welcome home,” he whispered.

He felt the weight of Ra’s bargain then, like a coiled serpent in his chest. Soon, he would collect. Soon, Ra would have to choose how he wanted to spend his eternity.

As they vanished into the night, Viscious glanced up at the shattered glass and grinned. The world was breaking, one soul at a time, and he would be there to gather the pieces.

* * *

Lucifer paced, boots clicking on the polished bones that made up the floor of his private chamber—a throne room carved out of the agony of centuries.

Shadows clung to him, cowering as he seethed, the air thickening with each pass.

He could feel it: the pulse of the gate in the Dark Heart forest—the Devil’s Heart, as the soul bonded liked to call it—growing weaker, the rift shrinking.

The darkness he’d so carefully threaded into the world was receding, cut off by the meddling of those damn soul bonded and their infernal hope.

He bared his teeth, frustration boiling over, and sent a goblet of black wine flying. It shattered against the wall, splattering viscous liquid that smoked where it hit the stone.

Crecious, the little demon who once served Osiris and now lurked on the fringes of Lucifer’s new court, edged into the room, wringing his hands. He looked like he’d been stepped on, set on fire, and then made to apologize for the inconvenience. “Um . . . sire? You called?”

Lucifer spun, eyes alight with a rage that would have sent lesser demons scurrying for the deepest pits.

“Do you feel it, Crecious?” His voice was silk stretched over blades.

“The gate. It’s closing. Those cursed soul bonded are actually doing it.

The power I spent centuries cultivating is slipping through my fingers like sand. Like your loyalty, for that matter.”

Crecious blinked, his ears flattening. “I—I was always loyal, my lord. It’s just, um, Osiris used to have such . . . dramatic punishments. And, well, you seem to prefer . . . ah, creative ones.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Lucifer stalked closer, his shadow swallowing Crecious whole for a heartbeat.

“If they close that rift, I lose access to half the power I’ve got funneled into the human realm.

My demons will be nothing more than party tricks—sulking in alleys, making bad deals for lost souls who barely know how to sin properly. It’s embarrassing.”

Crecious winced. “It is a little embarrassing, sire. I’ve gotten reports that some of the lesser demons have started, um, getting distracted with a thing called social media.

From what I understand, it’s humans doing stupid stuff and then making it viewable for the entire world.

One demon tried to possess a golden retriever. It was . . . not dignified.”

Lucifer let out a hiss of disgust. “Pathetic. I’ve been freed.

I’ve got demons roaming the upper world.

All that work, all those wonderful tragedies and evil acts, and now it’s being undone by a handful of lovesick children who think the world can be saved with hand-holding and emotional breakthroughs. ”

He raked a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. “And Osiris—Osiris has the gall to stand in my way after he took everything from me. Ungrateful, self-righteous—” His words broke off in a snarl.

Crecious shuffled his feet, glancing sideways as if hoping for an exit to open beneath him. “Should I . . . send more distractions, my lord? Start a rumor? Set a few souls on fire?”

Lucifer leveled him with a look. “If you want to be useful, Crecious, watch the gate. Listen for the soul bonded. Find out how close they are to closing the rift for good. I need to continue working on this child, Aurora. She’s my ticket to the gate being opened, I can feel it.”

Crecious bobbed his head, relief and terror mingling on his face. “Right away, sire. I’ll . . . just . . . um . . . go now.”

Lucifer turned away, staring into the deep, swirling shadows where his power once flowed without limit. He could feel it: the gate growing smaller, the magic slipping from his grasp. His fingers curled into fists, claws biting into his own palms.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, voice low and lethal. “Not by a long shot. You can close the rift, soul bonded. But the darkness always finds another way in.”