Sins of the Soul

“We do exactly what we have been doing since Lokan was killed,” Dagan said.

Alastor tamped down the surge of pain and rage that came at him as he thought of Lokan and what had been done to him. He wanted—needed—to find the rest of the sodding bastards who’d killed him. And he needed to return the favor. He owed all his brothers his life, but Lokan most of all, for all the times he’d scraped Alastor off the floor when things had been at their darkest.

“We bloody well need to step it up,” he said, his tone hard. “Every whisper of information, no matter how far-fetched, gets assiduous attention.”

“Assiduous?” Dagan and Mal chorused, then Dagan asked, “Word of the day?”

Mal snorted.

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “Sod off.”

He lifted his head and found Sutekh staring at them. He gave nothing away, but Alastor sensed his bemusement.

“You bicker,” Sutekh observed.

“Often and well.”

“Yet you smile.”

“That’s the point.”

It was unusual for them to come to Sutekh’s realm en masse, so he rarely had the opportunity to view his offspring’s group interactions. Alastor suspected he preferred it that way, that their human tendencies confused him. If he was even capable of confusion. Hard to tell.

“Would you like this back?” Alastor asked as he hefted Gahiji’s head and tossed it. His father’s hand whipped up so fast it was no more than a blur, and he caught the head as it spun through the air. “What did you find out before you killed him?”

That had to be the reason for this summons: urgent information that Sutekh had obtained before he tore Gahiji’s head from his body.

“I did not kill him.” Sutekh’s clipped words echoed off the walls.

Alastor felt his brothers’ attention sharpen, as did his own. If they hadn’t killed the bugger, and Sutekh hadn’t killed him—

“Gahiji’s head was delivered anonymously,” Sutekh continued. “I had no part in his demise, and no opportunity to question him. He was dead, his darksoul taken, and this—” with a flourish, he held the head aloft so the filmy eyes stared out at them “—delivered without even a note.”

“No gift wrap?” Mal quipped, but his tone was hard, devoid of levity.

“Who delivered it?” Alastor asked. That was the only important question.

“That, I do not know.”

Taken aback, all three brothers fell silent. Sutekh knew everything that went on in his realm. It was impossible for someone to sneak in undetected. Which meant that an anonymous delivery was impossible.

Yet more proof that Gahiji hadn’t been the only traitor in their midst.

Gahiji had revealed his duplicity when he’d attempted to kill Dagan’s mate. They’d quickly learned that he had betrayed them, that he’d been part of the plot to kill Lokan.

But they hadn’t known if he’d acted as leader or peon.

The delivery of his severed head answered that question, but raised another. Someone with enough power to kill a soul reaper had robbed both Lokan—and now Gahiji—of life.

Which meant Gahiji wasn’t the mastermind.

So who was?





CHAPTER TWO



Burlington City, New Jersey

NAPHRé KURATA SHOVED open the door of the Playhouse Lounge and almost hit some guy in the face.

And what a face. His features were all angles and edges and hard, honed elegance. Clean-shaven. Honey-blond hair. Dark suit, perfectly tailored. Polished loafers. She noticed the details. In her business, it could mean the difference between life and a bullet in the head.

In this particular case she noticed for another reason. Something about him drew her gaze, demanded she look, made her feel like she never wanted to look away.

Great. She needed to remember to pick up batteries for her vibrator.

He didn’t give her more than a cursory glance, just shifted a bit to the side and held the door as she passed. Interesting. This wasn’t the sort of place where a guy held the door for a girl. But then, the action seemed almost automatic for him.

Tucking her chin, she walked on. She didn’t want him to get a good look at her, just in case. Another trick in this biz. Notice the details, but don’t let anyone notice a damned thing about you.

There was another man behind him, this one dark-haired with platinum hoops in his ears. She had the fleeting thought that guys who looked like them didn’t need to come to places like this. Then she had to bite back a laugh. All sorts of guys came to strip clubs, for all sorts of reasons.

All sorts of girls did, too…maybe even one who needed to pick up the locale and front money for her next hit.

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. The first guy held the door for the second, let him go through ahead. Again, interesting. Such neat and tidy manners.