Sins of the Soul

Sins of the Soul by Eve Silver



“Oh, how I have missed books like this!”

—New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller “Silver thrusts the classic gothic romance into the next century with the ideal merging of chilling and dark mystery elements and heated sexual tension.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Hot romance and truly cool paranormal world building make Silver a welcome addition to the genre.”

—New York Times bestselling author Kelley Armstrong “[Silver] is going to be a force to reckon with in the future and look forward to reading her books as she heads up the bestseller chart.”

—ParanormalRomanceWriters.com

“Silver’s climb to the top is proving to be a rapid one!”

—RT Book Reviews

“Eve Silver makes magic!”

—New York Times bestselling author Cheyenne McCray “This author is on a hot streak, providing a new gothic voice that infuses the traditions of the genre with updated twists and sizzling sensuality.”

—RT Book Reviews





Don’t miss the rest of the chillingly sexy Otherkin series from

EVE SILVER

and HQN Books!



Sins of the Heart—

in stores now!

Sins of the Flesh—

available October 2010





EVE SILVER



SINS OF THE SOUL





For my boys

Sheridan and Dylan





Acknowledgments



Thank you to my editor, Tara Parsons, for seeing the magic and loving my books, and for having a wonderfully skillful and clever editorial hand. To my agent, Karen Solem, for her sage advice and solid support.

To everyone at Harlequin who had a hand in helping this book (and the other two in the trilogy) along the way.

Writing is solitary work. Sometimes lonely. Sometimes not. Because, after all, there are so many imaginary people populating a writer’s mind. Thank you to my non-imaginary writing pals who make this wild ride so much more fun: Nancy Frost, Michelle Rowen, Ann Christopher, Caroline Linden, Kristi Cook/Astor, Laura Drewry, Lori Devoti, and Sally MacKenzie.

Thank you to my family. To Dylan, my light; Sheridan, my joy; and Henning, my forever love. They fill my heart and replenish my well.

And a special thank-you to my readers.





SINS OF THE SOUL





I stand and watch the clouds come. Angry. Rolling. Pewter and charcoal, they ooze one into the next, until there are not many clouds, but one. A single cold mass that chokes the stretch of beach and the water that churns at the shore. I am alone, sucked in by the coming storm. Drowning. Both repelled by it and magnetically drawn.

Control is my liberator. My nemesis.

My father taught me to free my private demons when I must.

So I never do. Not anymore.

I have learned that his is not the only way.



—Alastor Krayl





CONTENTS





CHAPTER ONE



CHAPTER TWO



CHAPTER THREE



CHAPTER FOUR



CHAPTER FIVE



CHAPTER SIX



CHAPTER SEVEN



CHAPTER EIGHT



CHAPTER NINE



CHAPTER TEN



CHAPTER ELEVEN



CHAPTER TWELVE



CHAPTER THIRTEEN



CHAPTER FOURTEEN



CHAPTER FIFTEEN



CHAPTER SIXTEEN



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN



CHAPTER NINETEEN



CHAPTER TWENTY



CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





CHAPTER ONE



The Underworld, the Territory of Sutekh

ALASTOR KRAYL LIFTED one impeccably shod foot, tipped up the toes of his Italian loafers and stopped the severed head as it rolled past him across the sandstone floor. Like trapping a soccer ball. Except the head wasn’t quite round, what with the stump of the neck hanging off one side.

The free edge of the neck was messy and jagged, as though someone had twisted the head off like a screw cap. There was little blood, and what was there was dry, some of it flaking off, which meant the decapitation was not particularly recent. A day. Perhaps two. From this angle, Alastor saw only a ring of closely cropped steel gray hair and the naked skin of the crown. He toed the thing over, stared down at the features—the broad forehead, the hawk-like nose—and masked his surprise as recognition dawned. Bloody hell.

His older brother, Dagan, spat the name, “Gahiji,” at the same time as his younger brother, Malthus, leaned in and observed, “He’s dead.”

“You think?” Despite the situation, Alastor almost laughed.

Gahiji had died once before, some two thousand years ago. Then he had been offered—and accepted—a second life as a soul reaper.

There would be no such reprieve this time.

This time, dead was dead.

“Which one of you killed him?” Alastor asked, reaching down to thread his fingers through Gahiji’s hair and heft the head like a handbag.