Sins of the Soul

“Oh, God,” Marie whispered. “What do I do now? I can’t go home, can I?”


“No,” Naphré agreed, thoughts spinning. Marie most definitely could not go home. “The night you went back for your purse,” she prompted, instinct guiding her, “did you hear any names? Recognize any other faces?”

“No…” She frowned. “No. I told Mal that, too. He kept asking me the same thing. I told him, all I heard was something about going to the butcher.”

“The butcher,” Naphré echoed, every muscle in her body snapping to alert. She was hyperaware that, beside her, Alastor was reacting the same way. So this was new information to him. “You sure about that?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Naphré glanced at Alastor. She’d suspected that Butcher had been at a hit that went wrong. A hit on a soul reaper. Alastor’s brother. Damn. It was one thing to suspect it, another to have it confirmed. No wonder Alastor wanted Butcher’s darksoul.

“And what was special about tonight?” Alastor asked. “Why did the wanker decide to drug you tonight.”

A tear leaked from the corner of Marie’s eye to trace a path along her cheek. “I don’t know. We’ve been celebrating, preparing for a sacrifice of a sheep.” Marie turned and looked at Naphré, eyes wide, more tears leaking. “It isn’t as terrible as it sounds. The sheep’s going to be killed at a slaughterhouse, like any other sheep, and the meat distributed to the poor.” Her voice wavered and she didn’t look like she believed her own reassurances.

Alastor’s lips curled in a dark smile. “I have no doubt the good Reverend was planning a slaughter. But my bets would be on a lamb,” he said. One with big brown eyes and long, wavy hair. One that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, he didn’t say.

And Naphré would lay bets that he was right.

“Oh, God! Another one!” Marie pointed at the wall.

Naphré spun, lunged and slammed the heel of her palm against a centipede that looked a good three inches long.

“Gross,” she muttered as she used her nail to scrape up the edge, then peeled the thing off her skin and dropped it in Marie’s nearly empty glass of water. A couple of legs were stubborn, and she had to rub at them before they fell free.

Lifting her head, she found Marie staring at her, face chalk-pale with a tinge of green.

“Hall,” Naphré barked and used her index finger to point the direction. “Turn right. Bathroom’s under the stairs on the left.”

Marie was already up and stumbling.

“What?” Naphré asked as she caught Alastor staring at her with the oddest expression. “Four centipedes—”

“Five.”

“—in less than hour?” His voice was darkly soft. “Thought you said you didn’t have an infestation, pet.”

“I—” What was with him and his bug fixation? Guess everyone had their issues. She shrugged and headed for the kitchen to wash her hands. He followed.

“What do we do with her?” Naphré asked once she’d finished soaping and rinsing. Alastor was leaning against the pantry, arms crossed over his chest, looking disgustingly masculine and appealing. She huffed out a breath. “You have something against standing on your own two feet?”

He ignored the second question and addressed the first. “What do you mean, ‘do with her’?”

The yoke of responsibility loomed, heavy and confining. “She can’t stay here.”

“Then send her home.”

“They’ll come for her.”

“We can’t have that,” he murmured, and she wasn’t sure if he was serious or sarcastic.

“Okay, good. Glad we’re thinking along the same lines.”

“What lines would those be, pet?” He slanted her a glance, eyes bottle-glass blue against dark, curled lashes. He stared at her like he looked through her…no, like he wanted her to see clear through him, to see the hard truth of his words, though his tone was soft. “Do not think I am swayed by altruism or sympathy of any kind. I have my own reasons for wanting little Marie to stay alive. And they have nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.”

It seemed important to him that she view him as a coldhearted bastard, and she could only wonder why.

Maybe because he was.

“If this is your way of telling me that it was just sex…you don’t need to bother. Because—”

“It isn’t. Because it wasn’t.” His tone was hard. His eyes were hot, and the way he looked at her made her want to look away.

Which she didn’t. Turning your back on a predator wasn’t such a good plan.

Alastor reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Naphré couldn’t help it. She laughed. How funny was that? A reaper who used a cell phone.

He shot her a quizzical glance as he placed the call, but made no comment.