The Umbra King (Vincula Realm Book 1)

Rory struggled to hook up a new beer keg at Whiplash, the dive bar she worked at five days a week.

“I would have helped if you’d asked,” Dume said from the other side of the bar.

She shot her oldest friend a glare, and he stared right back.

Dume became her best friend the moment she and Cora met him in grade one. Before long, the three were attached at the hip, including after school and weekends. They might as well have been siblings.

“I’ve told you a million times I will not ask you to work on your nights off,” Rory called from her position on the floor. “You worry too much about everyone else.”

Dume’s short, dark hair, and small, light horns appeared in her line of sight. “And I have told you—helping you is not working.”

He was a handsome man with a muscular build, dark skin, and big, innocent eyes. His good looks might have swayed the other women, but not her.

She stood and wiped her hands on her jeans before testing the tap. “Sit back down. Your next drink is on me.”

He shook his head. “You know I don’t drink.”

“One day you’ll say yes,” she quipped as she looked over Dume’s shoulder and rolled her eyes at the man approaching the bar. “Hey, Keith.”

Keith flashed his perfect teeth and winked. “If it isn’t my favorite bartender.”

Her eyes took in his finely tailored suit, and she shook her head. Keith was a Shifter and one of the biggest playboys in Erdikoa. His tall, fit build, hair Kordie called sandy blonde, and light eyes Kordie said were blue, had men and women from across the realm flocking to him in packs.

Rory wiped down the bar in front of her. “Whatever you say, wolf.”

He frowned. “Why do you always say that like it’s a bad thing? I could be a squirrel instead of the magnificent beast I am.”

Dume grumbled something under his breath, and Rory twisted her mouth to the side to keep from laughing. Keith drove Dume crazy, but she knew he would drop everything to help the wolf if he ever needed it.

If Keith was off work from the bank, then that meant Kordie would be here soon. Rory had known Keith and Kordie for about five years; the two would come into the bar after work, as would Dume, and it wasn’t long before Kordie forced them all to be friends.

Kordie was three years older than Rory and Dume, one year older than Keith, and had always been the peppy one of the group despite being the oldest.

“Hey, bitches!” Kordie’s loud voice came from across the room as she bounded through the door. Rory had no idea how that loud of a voice came out of such a small body. Rory waved to her friend. Kordie’s hair was a different color today than yesterday and cut off at her shoulders. It changed often.

“What color is your hair today?” Rory called across the bar.

Kordie picked through the after-work crowd. “Purple. It looks fabulous.” She waved her hand in Rory’s general direction. “It would go great with your eyes.”

Rory shook her head as her mouth suppressed a grin. “Never going to happen.”

Kordie was an Alchemist, and since Alchemists were the only mystics able to perform spells and create potions, she had an affluent beauty salon across the street.

Her spells could make a bridge troll look like a Royal. Not that bridge trolls were real; they were creatures from children’s bedtime stories Rory had been convinced lived under her bed as a child.

Her friend huffed and planted her hands on her hips. She had a petite frame, and her light skin flushed from head to toe when she was angry, and it took all Rory’s strength not to laugh. She was as far from intimidating as one could get.

Kordie was the exact opposite of Rory, who was five-foot-eight with a lean, rectangular body shape. Her boobs were small, and she had to work hard in the gym for what little ass she had.

“I should do it anyway,” Kordie mumbled. “You would thank me.”

“Beer, liquor, or wine?” Rory asked her, changing the subject.

Kordie sighed as she slid onto the barstool next to Keith. “Make it liquor.”

“I’ll take the same,” Keith added. “Since you forgot to ask me.”

Rory slid Keith’s bourbon across the bar. “I keep hoping you’ll go run with a pack and leave me alone.”

He glared over his glass, taking a long drink as Kordie laughed. Shifters didn’t have any animalistic qualities other than being able to turn into one, and Keith hated it when the girls insinuated otherwise.

“What are you smiling at?” Keith said to Dume. “You have horns, for aether’s sake.”

Dume shrugged. “And you have dog breath.”

Rory and Kordie were both leaning over laughing as Keith flipped them off.

“I like your hair today, Kordelia,” Keith said with a flirtatious grin. “The purple brings out the green in your eyes.”

Kordie grabbed an olive from the bar tray and threw it at him. “For the last time, I am not having sex with you.”

Keith dodged the assault and wound his arm around her shoulders. “You might change your mind.”

It was the same song and dance they did every day, and Rory suspected there was something there under the playful banter.

“Do you close tonight?” Dume asked.

“Yeah,” Rory replied. “But I’m off tomorrow.”

Kordie perked up. “You never have Fridays off.”

“I know.” Rory leaned on the bar. “We need to do something that doesn’t involve Whiplash.”

“Like what? Go to a different bar where we have to pay full price?” Keith joked.

Rory popped him in the arm with her bar rag. “We could go dancing.”

Dume groaned, Kordie clapped, and Keith pointed at her. “I like where your head’s at.”

“It’s settled,” Kordie declared. “Let’s meet at Wonder at nine o’clock tomorrow night.” Wonder was a popular nightclub a few blocks away from the bar.

Rory slapped the bar and straightened. “Sounds like a plan.” A customer waved her over. “I’ll be right back.”

After serving a few others, she walked back to her friends and noticed their attention focused on the essence screen behind her. “What’s so interesting that even Dume is glued to the ES?” she asked, but when she turned, her words died in her throat.

“The Butcher killed someone else,” Keith said grimly. “What kind of sick fuck sews someone’s hands to their shoulders?” He shuddered. “Could you imagine having to poke a needle—“ He stopped to gag.

Kordie wrinkled her nose. “That is what you’re the most concerned about? The Butcher is murdering people and stringing them up on meat hooks.”

Dume was quiet as he looked at Rory. “I’m walking you home from now on.”

She waved him off, trying to look unbothered despite wanting to crawl out of her skin at her friends’ disgust. “My Fey strength makes me stronger than most other mystics. I do not need, nor do I want, an escort.”

“And if The Butcher is a Munin and wipes your memory clean before they attack?“ he challenged, making her grimace. “You wouldn’t remember any of your training.”

Munins controlled memories, but surprisingly enough, they hated being around people and stuck together. A Munin compound was located outside of the city, and they kept to themselves. Even if she were not the culprit herself, Rory doubted a Munin would care enough about others to commit a string of murders.

“You know as well as I do that’s not the case,” she replied tersely. “You’re not escorting me like a child, and that’s final.” His knuckles turned white around his glass of water.

“After what happened to Cora, I can’t risk losing you too,” he said quietly.

Kordie and Keith averted their gazes, knowing Rory’s sister was a sore subject for both her and Dume. “I’m not Cora. Don’t forget I bested you in training last week. I can take care of myself.”

“Once,” Dume stressed. “We’ve been training together since we were sixteen, and you’ve only beat me once.”

“I thought you only trained as kids,” Keith said. “I want to watch next time.”

“We don’t train anymore,” Dume said, shaking his head. “It was for fun. As teens, she begged me to teach her what they taught me in enforcer training, and once my classes stopped and I joined the force, so did our lessons.” He looked at Rory suspiciously. “How did you improve so much since the last time we sparred?”

They were interrupted by a customer turning up the ES as it called The Butcher dangerous, warning the public to walk in pairs, and Rory sighed when Dume gave her an “I told you so” look.

She turned to the ES with a frown. They’d found this victim fast. Because of the locations she picked, it normally took days, sometimes weeks, to find the body.

She turned back around. “Maybe the victims deserved it.”

Keith nodded. “You could be right. Remember last year when they said one victim was wanted for suspected murder?” The Shifter looked thoughtful. “If The Butcher is a vigilante, that’s a different story.”

Dume rubbed his forehead. “This isn’t a supermystic movie.”

Keith ignored him and took a drink.

There was a sinking feeling in Rory’s gut. What would her friends think of her if they knew? She would lose them all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by yelling on the other side of the room, and when she looked up, fists flew. “For aether’s sake,” she muttered and rounded the bar. Secretly, she was thrilled at the prospect of hitting someone after that unflattering news report.

Dume stopped her. “Don’t even think about it.” He stood and made his way to the fighting duo as other patrons stood back, giving them ample room. He grabbed one man by the arm and pulled him back, earning him a right hook to the jaw.

Dume’s head snapped back, and when the man saw who he hit, his face drained of color as he backed away with his hands raised. “I was aiming at him,” the guy claimed, pointing at the man in Dume’s hold.

“Fighting is not permitted. You could have hurt someone,” Dume said calmly. “I won’t take you two to headquarters, but if I see you in this bar again, I won’t be lenient.” He turned to the crowd. “Who can take them home?”

A few people raised their hands and approached each man, grabbed them, and hauled them to the exit. The first two men passed through the door without opening it, and Rory shuddered.

They were Eidolons, otherwise known as phantoms. They could pass through any non-living objects, except iron, and it was unsettling to witness. Most buildings had iron built into the walls and entrances, but Whiplash had iron bars that pulled down after closing.

The other man from the fight was being led out by a woman who spoke in a heated whisper, and Rory shook her head.

Dume kept a level head despite taking a punch to the jaw, but Rory would have swung and relished in the crunch of bone. She closed her eyes, disgusted with herself. After Cora died, her obsession with vengeance turned her into a monster more and more every day. Now she understood why no one other than Aatxe could be enforcers. Enforcers upheld the law and protected the citizens of Erdikoa.

Dume was an Aatxe, and they were well known for their gentle souls; they wouldn’t abuse their power as enforcers and would treat offenders like mystics instead of animals, no matter their crimes.

All Aatxe had similar builds and tiny, bull-like horns sticking out of their hair that Rory and Cora teased Dume about when they were kids. He’d threatened to headbutt them both on more than one occasion.

Once the crowd settled down, Dume returned to his seat.

“You should have decked that guy,” Keith said to him. “You’re going to have a bruise.”

Dume ignored him and turned his dark eyes to Rory. “Can I get another water, please?”

She reached across the bar to pat his head, but he swatted her hand away, the brief contact making his almost white soul flicker. “Sure, you can, you big ol’ teddy bear.” He mumbled something under his breath as she refilled his glass and gave it back.

A large, handsome man sat down at the other end of the bar and lifted his hand to get Rory’s attention.

“I’ll be right back,” she told the trio in front of her.

She approached the man and smiled, but the moment she was in front of him, her breath caught. Something was off, and anytime she felt this way, it meant a black soul was near.

The man looked her over before his mouth pulled into a sexy smile. “It must be my lucky night.”

There was something sinister behind his words, and it made Rory sick to her stomach. “What can I get you?”

The man leaned on the bar. “I’ll have a RollMan beer, please.”

Once she was clear of the stifling air surrounding the man, she released a long breath. It was unusual for her to encounter two black souls this close together because there weren’t as many black souls as one would think.

Sure, there were plenty of shades of grey, including dark grey, but they still had a chance of redemption. Once a soul was black, there was no hope for them. Silently, she ran through her options as she grabbed a bottle from the cooler and popped the top. She would tail the man tonight, but to do that, she needed to keep him here until closing.

She set the beer down and smiled. “I just need to see your mystic card.”

Annoyance flitted across his face as he pulled his wallet from a messenger bag sitting on the floor. Rory thought she heard the distinct clink of glass from the giant bag, but brushed the thought aside when the man held out his card. Rory made quick work of memorizing the address before handing it back. Jessie Hines. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“Just the beer,” Jessie said with a charming smile.

Rory noticed him eyeing the crowd, and a chill crept up her spine. He stood and walked to the bathroom, and when he returned a while later, he had a young woman with him.

Rory cursed under her breath. She didn’t bring her things with her, and she needed them to take care of business. Usually, she kept her bag locked in her work locker until she needed it, but she hadn’t brought it back yet from her last kill.

She motioned for Brax, the other bartender, to follow her to the back, and once through the door, she put on a pitiful face. “I feel like shit,” she told him.

He took a cautious step back. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I might puke.” She made a show of holding her stomach with a grimace.

He took another step back and waved her off. “Go home. No one wants to clean up vomit. I’ll pull Haxton from the lounge to take your place.”

“Thank you,” she said with a weak smile and returned to her friends at the bar. “I’m heading home early. I don’t feel great.”

Dume squinted his eyes. “You don’t look sick.”

Keith scooted away from her as Kordie leaned over the bar to feel her head. Her soul was the perfect mixture of pink and purple, and it throbbed until she removed her hand. “She’s clammy,” Kordie announced.

“I think it was something I ate,” Rory lied. “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow night. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then.”

She turned and left without giving them time to argue, praying she would get back in time.

She made the three-block trek to the warehouse district where her storage unit was located. It was a sketchy area where most of the essence lights were burned out and surveillance cameras were nonexistent.

After raising the garage-like door just enough to slip inside, she flipped the light on the wall. When the bulb flickered on, a faint buzzing filled the space.

The inside was set up with a dresser and a locked safe the size of a closet against the far wall. Quickly, she changed into her signature black leggings, black hoodie, and black enforcer boots. She kept extras here for nights like this.

After unlocking the safe, she stuffed an enforcer-grade backpack with a set of chains, a meat hook, a bottle of intoxicant, a large kitchen knife sheathed in leather, and her sewing kit.

Most of the things she used came from the underground market, a place crawling with grey souls of various shades and merchants selling things you couldn’t legally find in Erdikoa.

She double checked her bag, made sure her long hair was secured in a tight bun, and left. On her way back to the bar, she cursed herself for not looking at what type of mystic Jessie was. She was too focused on memorizing the address.

She was an idiot.

Her black attire helped her disappear into the shadows as she slunk through the back alleys around Whiplash. The bar closed in an hour, and she hoped she wasn’t too late. Earlier, she typed Jessie’s address into her city guide app, saving it in the event she’d need it. If the man was already gone, she would stake out his house instead.

After what felt like forever, Jessie and the younger woman exited the bar, and Rory sent a silent thanks to the Seraphim. She waited for the two to get to the next crosswalk before creeping out of the alley to follow. She stayed close to the buildings with her hood up, ready to hide if either of them turned around, and even though she was a safe distance behind them, she could never be too careful.

Jessie turned down a side street in the general direction of the address on his mystic card. Rory stepped out of the shadows to skirt around a stoop when a voice stopped her.

“Is everything alright?”

Her head swiveled to see an older Aatxe standing at the top of the stoop with his keys stuck in the door.

“If someone is chasing you, I can call the enforcers straight away,” he offered. She could tell by the way he carried himself he had been on the force in his youth.

“That won’t be necessary,” she assured him. “I—“ She couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

The Aatxe took a step down, concern etched on his face. If only he knew she was what went bump in the night.

“I watched the new supermystic movie,” she blurted, making him halt. “Fey aren’t allowed to be enforcers, and it’s fun to pretend.”

Her face heated with embarrassment because it was half true, though she was too old to be playing pretend. Please buy it.

The old man chuckled. “Carry on, then. Wouldn’t want to stop you from saving the city.”

He turned back to his door, cranked the key to open the knob, and disappeared. Rory released a long sigh of relief.

She swore as she hurried down the sidewalk. If she ran, it would draw attention, something she did not need more of.

When she rounded the corner, Jessie and the woman were nowhere to be seen, and panic clawed at her chest.

Forget being seen; she couldn’t let anything happen to that woman. Rory took off down the sidewalk, and once at the end, she stopped to catch her breath as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Just because she had extraordinary strength and speed did not mean she had endurance.

Righting herself, she looked at her navigation app and turned down an alley as a shortcut to Jessie’s apartment building. A red high heel in the middle of the side street had her skidding to a halt.

Her vision tunneled as she stared at the shiny shoe, knowing it hadn’t been there long. No, no, no, no, no, she chanted as she spun around and scanned her surroundings. Her eyes caught on a large dumpster not far away, and it was then she noticed drag marks from the lone shoe to the side of the black metal bin.

She dropped her bag to follow the drag line as dread collected in her chest, knowing what she would find. Using the rungs on the side of the dumpster, she hauled herself up and peeked over the side as the putrid smell of garbage assaulted her nose.

A sob escaped her when she saw the young woman’s lifeless body crumpled on top of the waste. Bruises marred her neck and mascara streaked her cheeks. Rory jumped down, no longer able to stand the sight of her failure, and after sending in an anonymous tip on a dead body to the local enforcer unit, she grabbed her backpack and ran to the address on Jessie’s mystic card.

That asshole would pay.

When she approached the address from the card, her stomach dropped. The apartment building was nice. Extremely nice. The area wasn’t upscale per se, but this building was.

Normally, Rory would give her victims a potion and lead them to the warehouse district, where no one would hear them scream. The potion she frequently bought from Fiona, an Alchemist in the underground market, made whoever breathed it in inebriated to the point of pliancy. They did whatever they were told and presented with a drunken demeanor.

There were cameras in buildings like this, and if she tried to drag an intoxicated man twice her size through the building, it would catch someone’s attention, especially since sometimes it made them loud drunkards.

She pulled her hood up and took out the bottle, held her breath as she wet a rag, and stuffed it in her pocket. Opening the door as quietly as possible, she read the list of apartments on the guide.

When she found what she was looking for, she took the stairs to the third floor. Once finding the correct door, she rang the bell and took a calming breath.

The door swung open, and Jessie stood on the other side with a look of surprise. The blackness of his soul almost knocked Rory to the ground, but she forced herself to ignore it.

She pushed her hood back and smiled widely. “I hope this isn’t too forward, but I memorized your address when I checked your mystic card.”

Jessie’s eyes tracked down Rory’s body, and his brows rose as he leaned on the door frame. “Why?”

She put on a show of shyness and bit her lip. “I wanted to ask you out, but that other woman interrupted.”

Jessie stared at her, and Rory held her breath. She would mow him over if she had to, but it would be easier if he willingly let her in. “I’m Rory, by the way.”

His mouth curved into a smile. “I’m Jessie. What a pleasant surprise. Come in.”

“Thanks,” Rory said, flashing her sexiest smile.

“Have a seat while I pour us a glass of wine,” he said as he pushed through a door across the room.

Rory perched on the side of a leather wing-backed chair and inspected her surroundings. The apartment was pristine, but where she expected it to be laid back like his appearance and demeanor, it was elegant. Strange.

Jessie appeared with two wine glasses and held one out. When he turned to take a seat, Rory noticed there was no mark behind his ear, and alarm bells blared in her mind.

That was never a good sign. Either he had it covered with makeup, which was illegal, or he’d procured a spell to keep it hidden. Also illegal.

He looked at her hungrily. “Tell me about yourself.” His eyes flitted to her wine glass, and Rory fought the instinct to dump it out. It was either poisoned or she was being paranoid.

She lifted the glass to her lips and let the liquid slosh against her mouth without allowing any to slip inside. Pretending to swallow, she lowered the glass and wiped away the remnants of the liquid with her fingers. “This is outstanding. Where did you get it?”

Jessie’s smug smile as he took a sip of his own wine did nothing to temper Rory’s suspicions. “A friend. If you will excuse me for a moment, I need to relieve myself.” He set down his glass and stood on long legs before exiting through another door.

Rory quickly switched their glasses and sat back, trying to stop her hands from shaking. When he returned, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Rory. It was obvious he thought whatever was in the wine would have kicked in by now.

Jessie sat down, picked up his wine, and motioned for Rory to take another drink as he took a long swig of his own. “Drink up. We need to loosen up the tension in those shoulders.”

Rory smiled and took a small sip of her untainted glass as she scrutinized the man.

Within a minute or two, Jessie slumped forward, falling out of his seat, and Rory took another drink of her wine before smacking her lips. “Damn, I’m smart.”

As she stood, Jessie transformed into a small, mouse of a man, and Rory jumped back. “What the hell?”

There were no Shifters that changed mystic forms; they were all animals. She nudged the man with her toe. He felt like a potato.

When she rolled the man over, her blood ran cold, and she stumbled back, tripping over the chair. She hit the ground with a loud thud and her hand flew to her mouth to muffle a scream.

With shaking hands, she crawled forward, pushed the man onto his right side, and looked at the mark behind his left ear to confirm what she already knew.

Jerking to a standing position, she stepped back. “It’s him.” On the floor at her feet was the Merrow who stole Cora’s soul. Rory’s mouth hung open as her breaths came in quick pants, and she had to stave off the dread clawing its way into her chest.

She’d been waiting for this moment since she was fifteen years old, but to have it sprung on her completely unaware had shaken her. The creators of the realms, known as the Seraphim, were not something she put much stock into, but in that moment, she felt blessed. The odds of this happening were slim to none.

“Shit,” she hissed as she bent back down to feel for a pulse. “Please, don’t be dead.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief when she felt a light thump against her fingers. His black soul was sickening, and she jerked her hand back. The Merrow would die tonight, but not until she had her sister’s soul and he told her where Bane was.

Deciding to proceed as usual, she looked around the ostentatious apartment for a place to hang her hook. The ceilings were high, and fortunately, so were the doorways. She pushed the coffee table to the door between the kitchen and the sitting room, propped the door open, and stood on the table to reach the top of the frame.

She only chose warehouses with catwalks or structures she could hang her chains from, but she always kept a small drill and industrial grade screws in her bag in the event something like this were to happen. She’d had a few years to hone her craft and, by now, she was prepared for anything.

After hanging the hook, she chained the Merrow’s feet together and slid the chain through the meat hook and pulled. The make-shift pulley lifted his body, and she thanked the Seraphim he was small in stature. Otherwise, she didn’t know if the frame would hold.

Stepping back, she surveyed the man. This was where she’d normally slit his throat and watch him bleed out before sewing his hands to his arms, but she needed him alive. 

Digging through her bag, she grabbed a rope and tied his hands behind his back, and as she was finishing the knot, she heard a sharp intake of breath.

He struggled, and as he did, he swung back and forth, making the door frame creak. Rory moved around him so she was face to face with the monster and bent her head upside down.

“Hello, fuckface.” Her smile was malicious as she righted herself, positioned a chair in front of him, and sat down.

“What is this?” he demanded, but his voice held no authority, only fear.

Her smile widened. “This is your lucky day.” She reached into her backpack and grabbed the knife. “If you tell me what I want to know, that is.” She removed the sheath and inspected the blade.

He balked at the cold steel in her hands and struggled again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you crazy bitch.”

Rory laughed as she stood and crouched down in front of him. “Wrong answer.” She slashed his cheek open, and blood splattered on the front of her hoodie. “That was a clever disguise,” she admitted. “A shapeshifting potion, I assume?” It was the only explanation.

He glared at her and said nothing. She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the woman you killed tonight.“ She slashed his other cheek. “And where my sister’s soul is.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he insisted. “And I didn’t know the girl from the bar was your sister.”

Rage burned through Rory’s body, and she kicked him in the ribs. “Not her.” She made a mental note to scour the apartment for the girl’s soul. It was obvious he’d taken it. “My sister was the lamb Shifter Bane murdered before you put her soul in a jar ten years ago. And before you deny it, I saw you.“ She grabbed his cheeks and yanked his face to look at hers. Blood coated her hands from the cuts in his cheeks, but she didn’t care. “If you don’t return my sister’s soul, I will cut every limb from your body while you are still alive.” And she would enjoy it.

She could practically taste the fear on him as he trembled, and his brow furrowed before his eyes widened with understanding. “Lady, that was a long time ago. Her soul is gone.”

“You absorbed my sister’s soul?” She tried to hide her agony, praying it wasn’t true.

“No, I didn’t.” He struggled harder. “I swear I didn’t, but I can’t tell you where it is,” he stammered.

She stood with a tight-lipped smile, walked around his hanging form, and cut the tendon in the back of his right ankle. He screamed, and she clamped her bloody hand over his mouth. “Where is her soul?”

Tears fell to the ground below the man as he sobbed against her hand. Pulling her hand back, she walked around him again and stared silently until he spoke. “He took it. The man you mentioned, he took it.”

“Why would he want my sister’s soul?”

The Merrow‘s body shook with cries. “He didn’t say. He approached me and said he would strip my name from the Crown’s archives and give me a new identity so I could skip my monthly binding elixirs. He set me up a new bank account filled with more moedas than I could spend in my lifetime. H-he gave me an elixir to reverse the effects of the suppressant.” The man sobbed again. “He said all I had to do was capture her soul for him. That’s all I know.”

She sat in the chair, perplexed. “That doesn’t make sense. My sister wouldn’t hurt a chipmunk.”

Instead of answering her, the man wept as he swayed back and forth. Mulling over the new information, she stood and bent down in front of him again. “I want to look into your eyes when I say this, so stop crying and listen.” He sucked in a few quick breaths and looked at her. “This is for watching as my sister died and then stealing her soul.”

With that, she slid her knife across his throat and watched as he bled out. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, staring at the man she had dreamt of killing a million times, but when she moved again, it was with purpose.

In her fantasies, when she found him, she drew his death out and relished in his screams, but she couldn’t do that in an expensive apartment building filled with people. Damnit.

Wandering through the apartment, she opened every door until she found what she was looking for. Her hand flew to her mouth as she held in a cry at the sight of floor to ceiling shelves filled with jars of different colored souls. How long had he been murdering innocents?

Pulling herself together, she made quick work as she opened each jar and set them free.

When she was done, she methodically sewed the Merrow‘s hands to his shoulders as her mind ran wild. She had to find Bane, whoever he was, get her sister’s soul back, and send him to hell.