Sins of the Flesh

The other seven were still unaccounted for. Including Lokan’s heart. And they had no leads on his soul.

“What made you think of looking for him between realms?” he asked Alastor.

“Bloody brilliant of me, wasn’t it?” Alastor replied.

Dagan grunted.

Alastor ignored him. “After Naphré and I escaped Jigoku, I kept thinking that if there was one null place, why not others? And since they didn’t seem to be something anyone gave much thought to, what better place to hide Lokan’s body?”

“I just don’t get why there are seven parts in this box. I thought his body parts had been scattered across the earth. It’s as if someone other than us has been searching for Lokan, gathering his parts in one place.” Mal laid his palm on the lid, as though physically touching the casket that held part of his brother’s butchered body would offer a clue.

“And having far better luck,” Alastor said.

Dagan was silent, contemplating the box. “Why’d we think that, though? Why did we think his body parts had been scattered? Who originally told us that bit of information?” he asked.

They stared at each other for a minute.

“Got no fucking clue,” Mal said.

“And maybe we need to get a clue,” Alastor said.

With his hand resting on the lid of the lead casket, Mal closed his eyes, picturing Lokan as he had been. Fuck. He missed his brother. He wanted him back. He kept expecting to feel someone punch his shoulder, to turn and find Lokan standing there, laughing his ass off.

Something flickered against his palm, a faint spark of energy. It sparked brighter, a tiny flame in a sea of inky blackness. He reached for it, tried to tease it free, wanting with all he was for it to be a link to his brother. They could all sense each other’s pain. They’d all felt Lokan die. He wanted to be able to feel him still.

But they had lost him. His soul was gone. His spark gone. They were left with nothing but a burning desire for vengeance.

Just as he was left with nothing now as the spark sputtered and was lost. Likely, it had never been there at all. Wishful thinking did crazy things to the imagination.

He glanced at Dae, then at Alastor. We’re not going to find him. We’re not going to be able to bring him back. A part of him wanted to say the words, wanted to start the healing by putting it out there, naked and indescribably painful. But he knew they both wanted to believe, and so he held his silence and let them.

Pulling his hand away, he let his fingertips skim the etched symbols. He thought he ought to recognize some mystic clue there. He thought, too, that he ought to recognize the box, its origins, its significance, that he’d seen something like it…somewhere.

He shook his head, unable to quite nail down where or when. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe it was just one of those quirks that left him thinking he had. Just as he kept thinking he ought to know Calliope Kane. That he’d seen her before.

But thinking about her only brought a slew of emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge at the moment. Yeah, he was pissed at her. Yeah, he was attracted to her. Yeah, she kept crawling through his thoughts when he’d prefer she didn’t. Because every time he thought about her, his dick got so hard it hurt.

Which probably meant he ought to stop thinking about her.

He shot a glance at his brothers. “We’re missing something. We’re fucking missing something.” Mal still couldn’t wrap his head around what. He wanted names. He wanted someone to pay for what had been done to Lokan.

“Yeah, we are,” Dagan agreed. “And we need to figure out what before we run out of time.”

Time. Dae and Alastor viewed the contents of the box as a step closer to getting Lokan back before time ran out. Mal viewed his brother’s remains as proof that he was gone.

He knew better than to hope. He’d played that game before, held out hope for almost a decade back when he’d still believed he was mortal and believed he had a right to his happy ever after.

He’d searched for Elena for ten years, only to find she’d been dead for all of them.

It had almost destroyed him. And it had taught him not to hope, to live each day, to grab what enjoyment he could. To live for the adrenaline high.

He’d learned not to regret the past or dream of the future. Instead, he lived for right now, squeezing every drop out of every moment.

“It had to have been a sodding supernatural,” Alastor muttered.

“Take your pick,” Dagan said. “We have a fuckload to choose from. Aset. Osiris. Asmodeus. Xaphan.”

“Izanami,” Alastor offered. “Though my bets are against her.”

“We’re going around in circles,” Mal snarled, anxious to go to Topworld and do something. But they were waiting on Sutekh for a nice little strategy meeting.

The double doors at the far end of the greeting chamber opened, and a soul reaper entered. Kai Warin. He was a hair under six feet, dark eyed, dark haired. His features were handsome and hard.