Chapter 6 #2
A low chuckle. ‘You’re walking into something bigger than you. I’m just wondering whether the fireworks will be worth it.’
‘Probably. But hey, I’m already in it,’ I say. ‘So here’s the deal. You give me what you know, and I’ll take one off your board.’
He pauses. I can almost hear him weighing how much he trusts me against how badly he wants to stay alive. ‘Any bounty?’
‘One,’ I insist harder.
Another beat.
‘Okay. You’ve got a problem,’ he says. ‘And I’ve got something you can chase.’
‘Send it.’
The file pings through seconds later. I skim it, eyes narrowing.
It’s messy.
Good.
Messy gives my mind something immediate to focus on. Something that bleeds and breaks and ends. Anything to keep me from driving myself insane.
I gear up on muscle memory. Weapons checked. Pulse darts loaded. Mercy pin in place. I leave the Widow’s Fang locked in its case because I don’t trust my focus not to slip.
Then I head out.
The bounty is holed up along the East River in an abandoned shipping yard slated for demolition, the kind of place that smells like rust, rot and old mistakes.
My mark isn’t a vampire this time.
He’s a Myrkshade, a venom-born revenant thing that crawled out of a botched necromantic rite and learned to survive by feeding on fear and nerve endings.
They’re illegal and a fucking pain in the ass for a reason.
Myrkshades don’t just kill. They paralyse, infect, linger. Their venom seeps through skin contact, numbing muscles, slowing reflexes, shutting down breath if you give it long enough. Vile, shitty monsters who like to play with their food before they devour it.
This one is tall and thin, joints bending the wrong way, eyes reflecting green under the floodlights. His mouth splits too wide when he smiles.
He wants the challenge.
I can feel it in the way he circles instead of attacking. Testing. Measuring. Waiting for me to blink.
‘Revenant Agency,’ I announce mildly. ‘You’re overdue for pickup. And for putting down,’ I mutter under my breath.
He cackles with a sound that makes my bones ache.
Then he lunges.
Shit.
He’s fast. Faster than he should be. Faster than I expected.
I barely get my guard up before his hand skims my forearm, venom singeing against my skin like ice pressed to nerve. I grit my teeth and move as the anti-venom I downed starts to kick in.
Bonebreaker knuckles connect with his jaw, basilisk bone cracking through whatever passes for cartilage.
He staggers but doesn’t fall.
Good.
I need him vertical.
He lashes out again, fingers grazing my collarbone. My shoulder goes numb instantly, weight dragging like gravity has doubled.
Fuck.
I pivot, roll with it, and fire the pulse dart point-blank into his chest.
The resonance detonates through him.
The fear-paralysis-submission glamour combo he tries to spin collapses into static. He howls, stumbling, venom leaking uselessly from hands that no longer obey him.
‘Nice try,’ I tell him, breathing hard now, sweat slicked beneath my jacket. ‘But if this is your best move, you should’ve stayed dead.’
He snarls and comes at me anyway.
We crash into a stack of containers. Steel groans as I hook the Mercy Pin into the base of his neck and depress the injector. Paralytic toxin floods his system in seconds. He locks up mid-motion, eyes wide, mouth still trying to shape threats he’ll never finish.
I bind him fast, seal the transport restraints, and tag the pickup beacon before my shoulder decides to fail me.
By the time I step back, my pulse is high and my limbs feel heavy with the deep ache that comes from burning more energy than planned. I’m not bleeding or compromised, but I’m tired in a way one breath won’t fix.
Mission accomplished. It should feel good.
It doesn’t.
I text ‘Job done’ to Jax as the transport lights flare in the distance.
He calls immediately.
‘Speak,’ I snap.
‘You sound a little rattled, babe,’ he says instead of hello, dark amusement lurking in his voice. ‘But damn you’re good. Almost as good as me. We should team up again soon.’
‘Love to, but I have my hands full for the foreseeable. Now say your piece. I really don’t have time.’
A pause. Then, ‘He’s been digging.’
My spine goes cold. ‘Digging where?’
‘Everywhere,’ Jax says. ‘Word is he started a while back but things kicked into gear for real three months back. Almost a hundred graves disturbed across the city. Quiet work by a stealth crew no one’s heard of.’
My throat moves in a way I loathe to call fear. ‘Go on.’
‘They were all women. Early twenties. Brunettes when they were alive.’
Shit shit shit.
My grip tightens on the phone. ‘Why?’
‘No one knows,’ he says. ‘That’s the problem. No bodies missing afterward. No theft. Just… checking. Like he was verifying something.’
‘You have names?’ I ask, heart in my throat.
Another pause. Longer this time. ‘None that lead anywhere. Sorry, Cross. This one’s a dead end. And so am I. Don’t call me again.’ The call disconnects.
I stand there, listening to the river lap against concrete as the knowledge settles heavy in my chest.
A hundred graves of young women.
Valentin Moretti has been desperate enough to search for Lyra not only among the living, but among the dead.
As I walk away, the night feels heavier. Every step back towards my apartment is a step closer to seven days passing. To walking back into that tower. To standing in front of a man who waited six years to come looking for me again.
I glance at my phone.
Five days left.
Time isn’t looming any more.
It’s grown fucking horns and a tail, and it’s hunting me too.