Page 35 of Worse Fates (Soulmates Suck #1)

Dressed in black jeans and a long sleeved black top, I kneel beside the bed to run my fingers through Golden’s mess of dark curls.

He smiles, all sleepy and satisfied, and bathed in the dawn he shines true to his namesake.

“I don’t want you to go…”

He lays on his front, covers piled around his middle, the length of his smooth back exposed, the glimpse of his curved ass a temptation.

“I don’t want to go either.”

I kiss the outstretched hand that reaches for me.

“When all this is settled we’ll lay in bed for a week,”

I promise.

Sighing dreamily, the tips of his fingers run across my lips.

“You’ll show me all your DVD collection?”

“Mhm,”

I hum. Our fingers entwine and I lean in to kiss his nose.

“And…”

he flushes, but there is a little twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“And you’ll fuck me against every wall?”

I chuckle, pressing my forehead to his.

“Well, I did promise, and I’d hate not to be a man of my word.”

“We can’t have that,”

he breathes, nuzzling into me, as if trying to curl his whole body around mine.

Golden runs his fingers along my stubbled jaw while I play with his hair, and for a long time we simply bask in each other. Our eyes locked, our hearts beating as one—souls connected.

“Find Apollo,”

Golden whispers, so earnest in his concern.

“It’s a lot to ask, but keep Rurik and Summer safe, too. Even if he’s a right bellend.”

“I’ll keep them safe.”

His grip on my hair tightens, expression hard.

“And you better come back safe, too. Or I’ll kick your ass.”

“So ferocious,” I tease.

“Yep.”

He pops the ‘p’.

Only after kissing Golden boneless and tucking him under the sheets do I finally gather the willpower to leave. As much as I don’t want to, I push Golden to the back of my mind as I leave the mansion, the freezing winter morning slicing into my cheeks as I run at top speed to meet Rurik and Summer.

***

Wrenching open the door, I slip into the back seat of the parked car. Summer lets out a startled cry as the car rocks, black rings sucking in the light around us. Rurik acknowledges me with a slight incline of his chin as my door shuts, his arm resting on the open window and eyes fixed to the distance.

“Holy shit, Lucero. Give a warning next time.”

In Summer’s other outstretched hand is a small ball of pulsing black energy, and with a single dismissive gesture, it dissipates.

“I’m sorry,”

I say, remembering Golden’s words.

“Any news?”

“We might have something.”

Then she glances at Rurik.

His complexion is healthier, there’s even some pink to his cheeks, and his bloodshot eyes are clear—well fed, and recently.

“I found another of those assholes,”

Rurik grunts.

“Went into his head and ripped everything out before draining him dry.”

“Just another nightmare I’ll be adding to the list…”

Summer grumbles under her breath.

“And what did you find?”

I ask Rurik.

“There’s an abandoned industrial estate on the city’s outskirts—our last real lead, Luc.”

Rurik’s grip tightens, leather cracking.

“We’ll find Apollo there, I’m sure of it.”

Before I can say anything, Rurik slams his foot down and we speed across the salted road, Summer clinging to the door for dear life and making a high sound of annoyance. I don’t blame her, Rurik isn’t a careful driver at the best of times, and she’s been stuck with him for hours.

“Did you manage to get anything else from him?”

I ask, buckling in as we speed through narrow lanes and winding paths. Wind whips through the car, sending Summer’s hair and fluffy purple coat flying wildly around her scrunched-up face.

Rurik grunts.

“There are more blood mages than we thought,”

Summer shouts over the roaring engine.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Rurik swerves over a corner, jolting us all forward as he bumps over the pathway. He rights himself with little care of the man he almost hit.

“That Emma woman’s been collecting up people no one will notice are missing. That's why she started that fight club,”

he says.

“She was trying to find people with blood mages in their history.”

“This is a mess,”

I bite out.

“Why is she doing this?”

“I might be able to answer that.”

Summer pulls her coat tighter.

“I reached out to some other mages and turns out that the Sovereign to one of the oldest blood mage towers, Sebastain Roth, died without naming anyone heir.”

Rurik shakes his head.

“You mages and your fucking politics.”

“Hey, this isn’t all mages, it’s one tower.”

“One towering doing a lot of damage,”

I reply coarsely.

“Because vampires never cause problems,”

Summer grumbles.

“Anyway, there isn’t an heir and everyone is infighting. I can’t say for certain, but Emma has to be gunning for it, too.”

“And the other blood mages won’t care if she brings in untested weaklings?” I ask.

Summer shrugs.

“If she has more numbers, it won’t matter what any of them think.”

She has a point there.

A blood mage war is the last thing we need, even if it’s only one tower. There is only one in England, but two in Ireland. Another close by in France. Each with a power hungry Sovereign who’d do anything to expand their power, but as long as they keep their fighting as hidden as possible, the other supernaturals won’t get involved.

But if not…

Fuck, it’d be even more of a mess.

I need to stop this before we bring more death to our door. I care little for the humans and supernaturals who live in this city, but I’ll rip heads off before Golden gets dragged into the middle of a war.

Early morning traffic soon halts our progress, and we arrive at the abandoned industrial estate well into the late morning.

Brown grass and roots choke the entrance, doing more to keep people out than the rusted chain link fence. It’s no hulking beast like other estates, more a sad collection of two storey brick buildings and a handful of warehouses. The windows either boarded up or smashed in.

Rurik parks outside of a ‘Keep Out’ sign, covered in bold graffiti.

And under the scent of rotten wood and nature reclaiming what was always its, in a forgotten gray frozen landscape, is the rancid stink of blood.

Beside me, Summer shivers in her boots.

“Fuck,”

she curses, fists clench and nose turned up.

“Magic, a lot of it, too. How could I have missed this?”

Rurik steps forward and looks around.

“Everyone missed this.”

He turns, nods to the estate.

“No homeless or teens fucking shit up.”

Arms folded, I join them.

Summer curses again.

I kick a discard spray bottle away towards empty bottles that clink as they meet. Whatever poor souls who lingered around this place, for fun or safety, I can assume are most likely long gone—their blood drained or bodies used for their spellbooks.

“C’mon. No time to waste.”

Rurik crouches, then pushes off with powerful legs, vaulting over the fence.

I glance over at Summer. She cocks an eyebrow, as if I’ve somehow forgotten who she is. Then, with an air of casual arrogance, the shadow under her feet darkens—like a pool of spilled ink—before swallowing her whole, as if a trapdoor had sprung.

Shrugging, I leap over the fence just as Summer’s shadow unfurls, and she steps out like a diver emerging from deep waters.

I fill my lungs with scents, trying to hold back a gag as rank air churns my gut.

“There’s too much happening to get a read on where they are,”

I say, pushing the air out my lungs.

Beside me, I notice the waving tendrils of shadows flowing from Summer’s hand, that soon vanish on a huff.

“Same, a lotta magic and killing happened in too short a time for me to pin point any direction.”

“Then it looks like we hunt the old fashioned way. Stay low.”

Rurik moves on ahead, gaze whipping back and forth to ensure no one hides within the shadow.

I move beside him, stepping over frozen puddles and the odd dead rat. Overcast clouds shroud the sun, heavy with the promise of rain. But even a downpour won’t cleanse the rot of blood mages for an age.

Summer hisses for us to stop, and when we turn to her she’s aimed down another pockmarked road, near a stubby warehouse. A tree has toppled over into the roof and it’s hard to tell what colour it used to be with all the graffiti covering it.

I go over, Rurik a hunting dog at my side, and follow Summer as she carefully steps towards the building. As we draw closer, we press our backs to what must’ve been a small office block.

And, by the warehouse, I spot two blood mages. They look young, maybe even teenagers from their gangly postures. They’re joking about something, fist bumping with spellbooks made from human flesh clasped to their legs with belts.

“Apollo.”

Rurik’s voice is ragged as he moves forward and eyes desperate as if his long lost soulmate stood before him.

“He’s close.”

Hand shooting out, I take a fistful of Rurik’s leather jacket and drag him back.

“Brother, stop. Think. We don’t want to set off any alarms.”

Rurik doesn’t move an inch, he stays silent, his muscles taut and nearly vibrating with energy.

Shooting a weary look at Rurik, Summer edges closer.

“Let me handle this.”

The shadow mage holds out her hands—one above the other—as she twists her fingers and coaxes thin air to take shape. Her eyes swallowed in a dark eclipse as a ball of pure darkness, no bigger than a tennis ball, is weaved into existence that sucks away all light and sound.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she tosses it toward the two boys—almost casually, considering the destruction it’s about to cause

The ball doesn’t land but hovers midair when it reaches them, pulsing once before pushing everything outwards—the shocked boys, cast aside cans and debris, even their shadows.

If the orb hadn’t taken away noise in its small orbit, I could’ve almost heard the sick crunch of their noses and foreheads smacked together. But even as they crumble, unconscious, to the floor, there is only silence until the black orb sucks into its own orbit and vanishes with a wink.

Rurik rips out of my clutches after a beat and I follow him towards the two, our fangs sliding out.

“Wait, wait!”

Summer hisses.

“They might be able to sense fresh blood being spilled.”

So instead of murdering them, Rurik and I drag the two towards the back and tie them up with discharged rusted chains.

Now that we’re closer, I can hear voices inside the warehouse.

Dusting off my hands, I take the lead and go around back, trying to spy through cracked windows. But it’s difficult to make out anything through boarded up windows or glass covered in a thick layer of grime and dust.

It isn’t until we’re on the other side I find an uncovered broken window for me to peer through.

People move around. It’s hard to count, but maybe twenty. When Jace comes into view I have to hold back a growl. He’s speaking with an older dark haired woman, a shock of white running down her locks, Emma. The bitch who started all this.

“I can sense him,”

Rurik whispers.

“Apollo is in there.

I’m about to say something, tell him to be patient. We need a plan, but all the air leaves my lungs and my blood turns to ice.

No. No, it can’t be.

But I’d know those curls anywhere.

I’d know him anywhere.

“Golden…”

And he’s covered in blood.