Page 38 of Soulmarked

Juno nodded, recognizing my understanding. “And there's one more thing. Your fed friend? The vamps called him 'marked one.' That mean anything to you?”

I hesitated, weighing options. Juno might be a vampire now, but she still had hunter's instincts. And more importantly, she had connections I couldn't access anymore. “You heard about that, huh?”

“I hear everything.” She tapped a crimson nail against her glass. “There are stories, you know. Old ones, about humans who carry special marks. Powers beyond the natural order.”

“And?”

“And those stories never end with everyone singing kumbaya around a campfire.” She stood in one fluid motion, gathering her coat. “Whatever your fed is, whatever he's marked for—it's connected to all this. Has to be.”

I watched her move toward the stairs, her grace just slightly too perfect to be human. “Juno,” I called after her. “Why help? Why tell me any of this?”

She paused, looking back with a hint of her old smile—the one from before fangs and blood hunger had changed everything between us. “Because the world ending is bad for business.And...” She hesitated. “Not all monsters deserve hunting, Sean. Remember that when the lines start blurring.”

The words followed me out of the club like a shadow, settling into that space between my shoulders where conscience lived. The night air hit me like a slap, carrying the familiar cocktail of city pollution and underlying rot that marked Manhattan's supernatural districts.

What did she mean? That Cade might be something other than human? That I might have to choose between the hunt and...

“Fecking hell,” I muttered, pulling out my phone. Three missed calls from Skye, which meant either they'd found something important or they'd run out of coffee. With them, both were equally likely emergencies.

I pushed openthe heavy metal door to my warehouse, the familiar scent of gun oil, old brick, and leather greeting me like an old friend. My converted industrial space wasn't just a home—it was my fortress, my armory, and the one place in the city where I could truly let my guard down. Three stories of brick and steel, protected by wards carved into the foundation and enough security tech to make military contractors envious.

The main floor's open layout stretched before me, exposed beams crossing the high ceiling above mismatched furniture that prioritized function over style. One corner served as my command center, humming with the sound of servers and equipment I'd acquired through channels best not mentioned in polite company. And there was Skye, exactly as expected, half-buried under a pile of screens and wires, their combat bootspropped on my desk. A forgotten cup of coffee sat beside them, likely gone cold hours ago.

“You look like shit,” they greeted without looking up from their screens, fingers never stopping their dance across multiple keyboards.

“Yeah, well, you're not exactly America's Next Top Model yourself,” I shot back, dropping into the chair beside them. “What've you got for me?”

Skye huffed out a breath, the sound half exhaustion and half excitement. “You want the good news or the bad news?” Their eyes finally flicked to me, taking in what must have been a lovely picture of post-vampire-negotiation dishevelment.

“Bad. Always start with bad.”

“Phoenix is cleaning house.” They pulled up multiple windows, each one showing a different kind of nightmare. “Anyone who worked on Project Ascension and got cold feet? They're dead. And I mean dead-dead, not just fired-dead.”

Crime scene photos flashed past, bodies arranged in ways that spoke of message-sending rather than simple murder, medical reports that made no sense, places wiped so clean they practically glowed.

“And that's just what we know about,” they continued, typing rapid-fire commands that made more windows appear. “I'm finding gaps in their personnel records that suggest we're missing a lot more bodies.”

I frowned, studying the patterns of death and corporate cover-up. “And the good news?”

“I might have a lead.” Their grin turned predatory as they pulled up what looked like a wall of encrypted code. “Someone inside Phoenix left a backdoor in their system. Someone who wants to be found, but only by the right people.”

I watched strings of numbers and letters cascade across the screen, not understanding a bit of it but trusting Skye's excitement. “Who is it?”

They snorted, spinning in their chair to face me properly. “Oh, wouldn't you like to know? But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?” They stretched, joints popping in ways that suggested they'd been at this for hours. “I don't have a name yet, but I've got something better: a location. Midtown, old church. They're moving something big there tomorrow night.”

A familiar weight settled in my chest, the kind that usually preceded violence and property damage. “Another old church it is. Then that's where we go.”

Skye's smirk was pure mischief as they tapped their earpiece. “Already setting up surveillance. Got eyes on all approaches, and I'm working on their security systems. You gonna thank me?”

I rolled my eyes, already heading for the weapons cache. “Thanks. You're a regular hero. Want a medal?”

“Then get me another coffee,” they shot back, grin widening. “And none of that instant crap you tried to pass off last time. I want the good stuff from that place on 9th.”

“Anything else, your majesty? Diamond-encrusted keyboard, perhaps?”

“Now you're talking. But coffee first.” They turned back to their screens, fingers dancing across three keyboards simultaneously. A moment later, their expression sobered. “Sean? Whatever they're moving tomorrow... it's bad. We need to be ready.”

I moved closer to look over their shoulder at a chaotic display of data points and energy signatures that only Skye could fully interpret. Clusters of red markers pulsed across a map of the city, concentrating around Phoenix's main facility.

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