Sins of the Soul

A bird. Perhaps a vulture. What felt like the slope of a hill. A rectangle. He knew that shape. It represented a pool. A semicircle, flat at the bottom. His lips curved. He knew that shape as well. It represented a loaf. The walls were marked with hieroglyphics. These things he knew. He knew them. Recognized them. For some reason, that made him feel light, even giddy.

A faint purple glow began in the distance and grew and grew until it enveloped everything, both near and far. He saw then that he stood on a staircase. Narrow stairs bordered on all sides by walls so close that he could not fully extend his arms on either side. The stairs went on and on, down and up, with no end in sight. And everywhere, hieroglyphics.

He read them. Frowned. Tried again. He recognized the symbols, each one with individual meaning, but when he tried to string them together to tell a tale, they became simply a garbled mass without connotation or sense.

A vague sense of unease gnawed at him. He needed to move. Now. There was…danger. Not to him. To someone he loved…his brother. His brother was close. So close he could almost touch him.

His brother. He knew what the word meant, but couldn’t place it in relation to himself. And then suddenly, he could. Alastor. Alastor was close.

Spinning a full circle, Lokan searched for a way out. His brother was there, right there. He but needed to find the way to reach out and touch him.

“Alastor!” A single cry, and then he fell silent, stunned by the sound of his own voice, rusty and harsh with disuse.

The urgency grew. He needed to find him. Needed to warn him. He should not be here. He should not be this close to the precipice. One wrong step, and like Lokan, Alastor would fall over the edge, into the abyss, drowning in the endless absence of self.

But there was something more. Lokan himself had been put here by…whom? He needed to remember. He needed to tell Alastor to get away.

He turned and looked up. The stairs formed a jagged, convoluted path to the stars.

Again, he turned. The way down was a straight line that led only to darkness.

Choose. He must choose.

And as he stood there, the seconds ticking past, he forgot where he was and why he was there. He forgot who he was. There was only darkness and quiet and…nothing.

Nothing but the gnawing certainty that he needed to warn…someone…about…something.





NAPHRé REACHED UP OVER her head, stretching, feeling like a cat. Except she was a bruised, sore cat who was thirsty and exhausted.

But at least she was a sexually satisfied cat. She felt Alastor’s palm on her skin, skimming down along her arm to her breast, lingering there, then down to the curve of her waist and the flare of her hip. Proprietary.

Closing her eyes, she just enjoyed his touch, let the moment spin out, and regretted its loss when he drew away.

“Get dressed. We need to go.” She heard him rise.

She shot him a glance through her lashes. He was standing up now, glorious naked male, long legs, broad shoulders.

“Where, and how?”

He looked to the right, then the left. After a moment, he said, “We’ll walk downstream.”

“Downstream is good. Walking isn’t. We’ll get nowhere. I noticed that when I was trying to find you. I walked and walked and the scenery stayed exactly the same. The only thing that moved was the river. I think that’s our only bet.”

“Bloody hell,” he said softly, his gaze sliding to the water, a frown creasing his brow. His eyes narrowed.

She wrapped her hands around her knees and gave him a moment to figure out whatever it was he was trying to figure out.

One small part of her wished they could stay here, exactly here, with the red sky overhead and the river running past, lost in time and place, here but not here, time passing but not.

If they took even one step forward, this moment would be lost.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. No, rather, he demanded. He expected her to say.

So for all his loss of control, some things hadn’t changed. The thought made her smile. She liked him as he was. Exactly as he was.

“I was thinking there is a certain comfort to this moment. I was thinking…I guess a little wistfully that I don’t want to leave it behind.”

He glanced around. “I’ll gladly leave it behind. Happy to see the back of it. But not you, love. You I won’t leave behind.”

A promise. A vow. He wouldn’t leave her behind.

“What if it’s the only way that you can have Butcher’s darksoul?”

He stared down at her, eyes gone that cold, glacier blue. And he said nothing. She didn’t know if that meant he would trade her for Butcher’s darksoul, or trade his chance for information about his brother in order to keep her. She didn’t want to ask again. Maybe she didn’t really want to know.

Suddenly, his expression shifted. His head jerked up, his nostrils flaring.

“What?” she asked, adrenaline kicking in, making her senses hum.

For a long moment, he said nothing, and then, “I thought I sensed Lo—” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Nothing.”