own protection from him, she also gave him the power to ride while in his skin. It’s a disgrace. Of course, Kára was a disgrace long before this latest stunt.”
“Kára? She’s your sister?”
Brünnhilde nodded tersely. “She calls herself Faye these days. She was once a great warrior, but she defied the Norns to coddle this man, fallen in battle. Instead of taking him to his reward in Valhalla, she kept him as a pet. In exchange, he was cursed to lead Odin’s Hunt.”
“This man, the chieftain—you say he was fallen. You mean he died?”
“Precisely. Died in battle, but Kára broke the laws of the Valkyries, the laws of Odin himself.”
“So he shouldn’t be here. His life is unnatural.”
Brünnhilde shrugged. “Well. None of the wraiths of the Hunt should be here. And yet they are. They are all unnatural. That’s what makes them wraiths, does it not? How else would we have the Hunt?”
The music ended, and Lucien thanked her for the dance.
Brünnhilde glanced back at the table where her inexplicably dull companion was waiting for her. “I suppose I’ll have to take him now. Warriors aren’t what they used to be. She sighed and headed back to her table.
Lucien had the answer he needed. Leo Ström was as unnatural as a man could get. His soul might once have been destined for Valhalla, but now it belonged in hell.
* * *
He donned his hunting attire and made sure the arrows in his quiver were all equipped with his specially designed arrowheads. Having Smok labs at his disposal had come in handy in his quest to rid the world of revenants and demons. The exploding tips were filled with a serum known at the lab as the Soul Reaper. Developed for those dangerous and recalcitrant creatures they occasionally came across on their consults, it was deadly to the inhuman. And if the inhuman creature it struck happened to have a human soul remaining in it, the remnant was dissolved and relegated, presumably, to hell.
In all honesty, Lucien wasn’t sure he believed in an afterlife of reward or punishment, but he’d seen plenty of evidence of an underworld—or perhaps underworlds—a plane where the supernatural elements of living things, whether spirit or soul or something else, could travel. Virtually every religious tradition had its own version of this soul realm—and a ruler of it.
He took a more discreet car this time and drove to the home where Rhea Carlisle and Leo Ström were staying. No point waiting to see if the Hunt would ride tonight. He knew what Leo was. And if the revenant was already out for the evening, Lucien would wait. He’d brought a ski mask to avoid revealing his identity to Theia’s twin.
A little twinge of conscience tugged at him, reminding him that an insult or injury to one twin was likely to be felt by the other. Not physically, necessarily, but in terms of emotional harm, regardless of how close they were. And these two had seemed particularly close when he’d seen them together. He and his sister Lucy didn’t see eye to eye—after years of sibling rivalry fueled by their father’s vagaries, sometimes they downright hated each other—but he knew that if anything happened to Lucy, if anyone dared to hurt her, he’d be furious. He’d want retribution.
But he couldn’t allow his feelings to get in the way of his mission. This wasn’t about him, in any event. It was about the kind of people the Smoks had cozied up to for hundreds of years. No, not people, but things. Lucien felt it was his duty to make up for the evil his family enabled.
Helping a foolish family that had invited a demon into their home was one thing, and the routine cleansing of unwanted spiritual activity was a necessary service, but Smok Consulting had covered up depravities—cleaning up blood-spattered rooms after a nest of bloodsuckers had engaged in a Caligula-style orgy and fed on their half-dead victims for days; disposing of bodies when a shape-shifter lost control and slaughtered its own family, and then allowing that shape-shifting abomination to start a new life somewhere else with no consequences. The thought of how many lives his own family had allowed to be destroyed, looking the other way in the name of professional reputation and profit, sickened him.
One of the key sources of tension between Lucy and him was her blasé attitude toward all of it, her seeming acceptance of the status quo. She was ambitious and had made it her life’s goal to show Lucien up and prove to their father that he’d made a mistake in choosing his heir. It was never going to do any good. Edgar was immovable, but Lucien was happy to let Lucy take the lead and the credit, to let himself seem lazy and spoiled. The longer his father was motivated to keep putting off retirement, the better. And Lucy was just better at business, which didn’t interest Lucien in the least.
Rhea and Leo were staying at one of Rafe Diamante’s properties in his absence—Lucien had been tracking them since the reception—a gated community in northeast Sedona. Luckily, the Smok family connections gave him access to any of a number of exclusive communities here and around he world. He had no problem getting in. Rhea’s car, a red Mini, wasn’t parked in the drive at Diamante’s house, which could mean they were both out. But the lights were on inside.
He pulled his ski mask over his face as he got out of the car, loaded an arrow in the crossbow and lined up the sight on the scope.
Luck was on his side tonight. The revenant walked in front of the large picture window, looking down at something on the coffee table in the great room. Sheer curtains were drawn across the window, giving Lucien the advantage. He could see Leo perfectly through them but wouldn’t be visible from within.
The image of Theia’s face popped into his head, making him hesitate just for a moment. But Lucien wasn’t responsible for the fact that the Valkyrie had created an abomination Theia’s sister happened to be dating. This creature had stalked the earth long enough. It needed to be put down. Forget about Theia. Easier said than done, but anger at himself propelled Lucien forward, and he took his shot straight through the glass, not wanting to waste the opportunity.
The split second between the penetration of the glass and the arrow’s impact in his target wasn’t long enough for a normal person to react, but the revenant turned, causing the arrow to hit him in the shoulder. It had missed bone and gone straight through. Lucien grabbed another arrow, but Leo moved faster, charging through the broken window, and the arrow wasn’t fully loaded as he came at Lucien.
Lucien dropped the bow, ready to defend himself in hand-to-hand combat. He only had to hold the revenant off for a little while. Despite the miss, the arrow tip would have delivered its poison, and it should be taking effect any minute.
But Leo didn’t even seem impaired. Lucien bobbed and wove as Leo grabbed for him, throwing a right hook. Leo was faster, his fist catching Lucien on the jaw. The revenant barreled into him as he tried to take another swing, flattening him on the ground. Gravel and cactus tines from a decorative cholla ground into Lucien’s shoulder as the revenant pummeled him. The Soul Reaper wasn’t slowing this guy down a bit.
A knee to Lucien’s groin ended any chance of regaining the upper hand.
Leo climbed on top of him, hands around Lucien’s throat, the shaft of the damn arrow still skewering his left shoulder. “Who are you? Who sent you? Was it that necrophiliac?”
The lack of oxygen to his brain as the large hands constricted his airway must be impairing his understanding. That couldn’t have been what the revenant said.
Lucien’s vision was going gray.
“Leo! What the hell are you doing?”
