The Soul Reaver (Myre Series Book One)

2. A Truly Dark Mind

He was tall with broad shoulders. She sniffed again—early thirties, clean, masculine, and strange. He smelled like rain on the wind. Like clean, fresh water beating down on heated ground. His fury pressed against her temples. He was angry. Extremely angry.

There was something off about his memories too. They were like shadows, shifty and distorted as if thrown against a wall by the flickering light of a fire. Coming and going, not really tangible. His feelings, however, were crystal clear, sharp cornered, and had an almost biting scent to them.

Daphne concentrated and breathed in deeply, searching for good. The smell—there was something about it. Copper and salt. Kind of a weird combination, but every soul smelled different. What she sensed made her want to leave immediately, but she forced herself to continue analyzing. His soul was an endless pit of darkness, anger, and pain—many decades' worth.

The soul felt much older than the man's scent suggested, and the cold prominence of his anger made her shiver. Daphne tried to probe for more; memories, lighter feelings, anything really, but she couldn't see past his current state. The pain was old, as was the anger, based on their icy, sour nature. But at the forefront was another rush of new rage, hot and tangy in Daphne's mouth.

The man stopped abruptly and cocked his head to the side as if he'd heard something. Daphne hung back, keeping to the shadows as the man vanished into an alley.

Seconds later, another man followed him. She sniffed and balked—strange. No feelings at all? The new man was oddly clean, and she huffed as he followed her soul for the night.

Daphne pursued them both, tasting that the evil man was on the brink of murder.

If she hurried, she might just save a life. She ground her teeth; that would be a change.

Daphne hastened across the street, dodging a honking taxi and entering the shadows once more only to hear a revolting snap close by.

No. The clean man slid to the asphalt, his neck snapped by the killer in one twist. Daphne sucked in a gasp, but it was too late—he'd heard her. The murderer turned, focusing on her as she shrank back. The open hostility he felt blasted into her, along with his sick joy at the clean man's death.

She stumbled back but was too far away from the main street to make it all the way out. The murderer moved so fast she had no chance of inhaling his soul in time, no chance to steal anything that might weaken him. He came at her in two quick strides, wrapping one huge hand around her windpipe and throwing her into the closest wall. Her feet dangled in the air, and she dug her nails into the man's arm, leaving slashes of red that he didn't blink an eye at.

She couldn't fight him off like this; she needed a different strategy. Daphne forced herself to still, closing her eyes and dropping her hands to her sides.

"There you go. Nice and easy." His voice was as icy as his anger.

Come on, she thought, her lungs screaming for oxygen. When his hand began to relax, she gulped in a stream of air and with it his desire to kill her.

He let go immediately, and Daphne crashed to the ground, hacking and rubbing at her aching neck. With each mouthful she took more from him, effectively rendering the massive killer motionless.

"What... the... hell?" He groaned, grabbing at his chest in confusion.

Daphne concentrated even harder, her throat aflame as she worked to keep him locked in place.

Suddenly he spread his arms wide as a breeze wafted through the alley. It grew into a howling wind, stinging her face and seeming to encircle the murderer. The connection she had to him was lost, ripped away by the wind.

It wailed through the alley and tore at her worn clothes. The body of the clean man was flung away, hitting a wall on the far side with a dull thud. The wind grew stronger, surrounding the killer like a maelstrom until he was picked up by it.

Daphne looked up to the man she'd meant to kill, her mouth falling open in shock. His irises glowed blue, and she could see the silhouette of black wings behind his back. The streetlamp's yellow light highlighted their enormous shape, and with his wings and neon-blue eyes, he looked otherworldly. The wind cocooned him, tearing her hood back so that her long, wavy strands of white hair twirled around.

"Are you fucking kidding me? A soul reaver?" The murderous angel's voice was distorted and blurred, but Daphne's sensitive ears picked it up just fine.

He knows what I am? How?

His eyes were hot with anger, but there was also a glint of something she couldn't quite define.

A dark, cold chuckle reached her. "Tell me, creature, what in god's name has driven you to try and pull that shit with one such as me?" He lowered his arms, and the wind around her pulled back until it only shielded him, so Daphne struggled to her feet.

She stood to her full height on shaky legs and jutted out her chin. "And who exactly are you?"

The man stared at her without answering, so she balled up her trembling fists and planted them on her hips while staring back.

"I am Mistrael," he finally conceded.

As if that told her anything. She was more interested in what he was then who, but he didn't need to know that. If she'd finally found someone who was like her, someone who was—she had to swallow at the thought—supernatural, then perhaps she'd happened upon the thing she'd so badly craved for years: the knowledge she wasn't alone. That she belonged somewhere.

But she'd seen this being's soul, and it was dark. If she wanted to live, she had to put some distance between herself and good ol' Mistrael until she could get her bearings.

"Oh, you're Mistrael." She frowned, then shook her head. "Nope, sorry, doesn't ring a bell." Daphne tapped her finger to her chin, watching him grow more agitated by the second.

"But did you know that 'mist' means 'shit' in German? Kind of fitting, if you ask me." She grinned at him broadly while her frightened heart skipped a beat at his expression. God, please let this work.

"Why you little—"

"Aw, is little Misty gonna call me names now?"

With a roar, the winged wind creature launched a gush of air toward her.

Daphne dove to the side and rolled out of the darkness into the street, springing up with catlike agility and running away. A holler told her that Mist was close on her tail, but she was fast. She chanced a peek over her shoulder and saw him chasing her, his shadow wings and windshield missing. It hit her then; he wouldn't do anything strange while out in public.

So she ran headlong for the most crowded place she could think of.