Revenge| Book 6| A novel in the Blue Moon series| An Avengers fan fiction series |

1- Soulless

Hi friends! :) 

Here's the first chapter! I'm hurrying and trying to post it because I'm typing during Spanish and my teacher is looking at me rather suspiciously. 

No, there are no spoilers for season 3 of Agents of SHIELD. It takes place between seasons 2 and 3, and although I know that takes place in 2015 and Revenge starts in 2016, just go with it for my sake... :) 

Please VOTE and COMMENT!

Chapter 1

I'm in the car on the way to talk with Grant Ward.

I'm on my own–I got my license two months ago on my sixteenth birthday– and am driving Kyle's pickup truck down the curvy backcountry roads two hours outside of Helena, Montana. The road conditions aren't great, seeing as we'd had a snowstorm recently. Kyle hadn't been thrilled at the idea of my driving alone, but we hadn't really had a choice. One of Ward's conditions was that I was to be alone.

Ward, who has lately been keeping a low profile in the underground, weakened Hydra, had randomly contacted Coulson last week. He'd said he'd heard about the struggle with Neidra, and seeing as Neidra took control of and killed a few of his men, he's not her biggest fan. He'd said he doesn't want trouble with SHIELD, and that we have a common enemy we need to eliminate before we go about killing each other. And also that he wants to talk to me.

Actually, who Ward really wants to talk to was Loki.

But Loki has been in Asgard since the day after my birthday, and a wannabe Nazi leader wanting to meet with him doesn't exactly make the list of emergencies for coming to Earth. So I'd volunteered to go instead. Not that Ward knows he's meeting with me instead of Loki.

Going to meet with Adolf Hitler in-training had taken a while to persuade the others. Basically everyone thought it was a stupid, not to mention risky, idea. Ward represents and is the leader of the last section of Hydra, and he's dangerous. Very dangerous. Just because he wanted Loki to come alone doesn't mean he'll be going Lone Ranger too.

Well technically, I'm not alone.

Klaka is sprawled in the passenger seat. His giant white head is out the window and his tongue is sticking out of his mouth. And thirty minutes from here, a white owl is perched, ready at any second to signal a certain curly-haired, amber-eyed Velah prince who thinks he's God's gift to everything.

Half an hour later, I've pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned post office. The place clearly has been left to fall apart– some of the roofing is falling in, and the American flag has long since faded. I look up into the rearview mirror. I'd straightened my long hair so much, it falls like a black sheet over my back. My makeup is heavy, complete with black eyeshadow, probably too much ebony, and dark lipstick. Hanging from my each of my earlobes and cartilage is a silver chain. A lace choker is around my neck, but underneath it dangles a wooden cross hanging from a leather necklace. My face looks paler than ever, and I look sufficiently gothic, a style I sometimes adopt, especially when I'm trying to look older. I'm wearing ripped-up black tights under worn jean shorts, and a plaid flannel that doesn't completely cover my low-cut black tank top. It's not that I have a lot of cleavage– I'd taken after Loki's in-all-cases wiry, no-more-skin-than-necessary frame more than my curvy mother– but as I look in the mirror, I estimate that I look at least twenty years old.

I step out onto the gravel in my high-topped leather black pumps, and while Klaka bounds over the console to follow, I text Kyle that I'm here. While I do that, Klaka's voice drifts into my head. Wairua is here. Someone else is here also.