Reaver of Souls Read online

  “Gun!” Sable called out, racing towards a confused Torn.

  “Pistol?” Torn asked as the man backed further into the alley.

  “Robbie, no!” Garth screamed, racing forward.

  “Torn!” Jack bellowed. “Get away!”

  But confused, Torn took another step towards the man. “Pistol?” he asked, head cocked to the side.

  “Get away!” the man screamed. “I saw what you did to Garth! Get away from me!”

  Torn blinked twice, then there was a sound like concentrated thunder as the alley shook with echoing vibrations.

  Torn reached down, touched his hand to a sharp and burning pain in his chest, then raised it to his eyes.

  His breath began to catch and his eyes began to water, but there was too much pain for actual movement! He stood there and let it wash over his body.

  Blood, he thought, before the next searing wave of pain hit, almost bringing him to his knees.

  “Torn!” Sable shrieked, racing forward, ignoring the man with the gun, followed by Jill and Jack, who was trying their best to stop her.

  “Robbie!” Garth yelled. “What have you done, man?”

  But the pain cost Torn the last of his control. The torque around his neck began to glow and a low wind began to circle around the alley. His eyes began to radiate an eerie red as his hair began to float around his body.

  A low growl began to flow from his throat as the smell of sulfur filled the alley.

  No, Torn screamed inside as he felt his body began to shift and change. Please no! But it was too late.

  The creature inside him began to stir, awakened by its counterpart’s pain and need. It flexed its muscles and prepared to force the transformation, now that Torn was too weak to hold him back. Inside, it delighted! The Reaver was reborn, and it was breaking free!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mace gasped as he and his two men dropped out of thin air and into the midst of a battle.

  Men cursed in a strange language while soldiers dressed in gray uniforms blew whistles and wielded clubs. Blood ran in the street as fists collided with body parts, and body parts hit the ground with great regularity. Strange glasses of nut-brown brew were being drunk by some weary combatants as they observed the remaining fighters, while still others cheered for their favorite warrior.

  The men were basically coarse, rough, loud and arrogant.

  The only thing separating them from the warriors that they trained with was the fact that they were all so terribly short.

  “Bloody Hell!” one man stammered as he looked up and saw the three giants getting to their feet. “What beanstalk did you fall from? I think I’m in love!”

  Jase, fresh from the battle and making his exit before the coppers could catch him, bumped into three queen-size wet dreams! They were all dressed in tight leather pants and black, tight leather vests of the same shade. All carried three hefty packs on their backs.

  “Blooooddeee heel?” the one who looked to be in charge said, face scrunching up in confusion.

  “I take it you blokes aren’t from around here?” he asked, just as a shot rang out in the night from the direction of the alley running alongside the bar.

  “What now?” he asked as he turned and raced in that direction, the cops hot on his tail, and curiously enough, the three tall men.

  * * * * *

  “Torn!” Sable screamed again as the tall man fell to his knees among the dirt and filth of the alley. “Let me go!” she railed at Jack and Jill. “Let me go to him, damn it!”

  She struggled and fought like a madwoman as Robbie shrank back against a wall and Garth stared in shock at the situation before him.

  The glow from the torque lit up the alley as Torn folded over in pain. His eyes began to pulse, matching the torque’s glow, while a low groaning sound began to fill the air.

  “What is happening?” Garth stammered as he took a step backwards and almost ran into Jack and Jill who were doing their best to subdue Sable. “What in the name of all that’s holy is happening?”

  Torn bent low, fighting against all odds to keep this transformation from occurring, but it was impossible at this point. His corporeal body was too weak, draining fast, and his will to fight it seemed to be leaving with his blood.

  He slammed one hand down among the muck that surrounded him and braced himself for the change.

  No, his mind wailed as he felt his friends and his teacher, his beloved teacher, behind him, witnessing the abnormality that he was. There would be no more smiles or gestures of friendship from these people, these dear sweet people. From now on there would be looks of revulsion and disgust.

  He braced himself to let go of all that he had learned and had come to love.

  “We are one, brother,” the Reaver seemed to whisper, breaking into his thoughts. “There is no you or I. Here there is only we.”

  Then the transformation began, fast as lightning and as fierce as a magical rampage!

  Lights flashed around his body as his hair flowed freely on some unseen wind. His eyes flamed bright, purple fire, and a deep growl started in his throat. The force of his body changing thrust him backwards on his knees, arching his chest painfully as his arms flew out to his sides.

  Angel’s wings, black-as-sin angel’s wings, exploded from his back to spread out around his arms as his skin began to darken in color. His eyes, glowing a bright fierce purple melted into a glowing red as his claws exploded from his fingertips. His body began to grow until even on his knees, his growth was amazing and noticeable.

  There was a sound of rippling flesh as his thigh muscles expanded, tripling in size, sending murky water splattering around him, as they grew to monstrous proportions. His whole body became one large mass of intimidating muscle as laughter began to rumble up from his chest.

  Those glowing red orbs pinned Robbie to the wall, his fear at the sight overriding his flight-or-fight instincts. He could do nothing but whimper in shock as the gun trembled useless in his hands.

  “Betocit Reaver!” the Torn-beast rumbled, and Robbie opened his mouth to scream, but no sounds emerged from his body. Awaken, Reaver!

  “Holy Mother of God!” Jillian muttered as he stared wide-eyed at the beast standing in front of him.

  “Torn?” Sable asked, her voice shaking and cracking as so many emotions flooded her body. Strangely enough, fear wasn’t one of them.

  Jack remained speechless. There were no words for what he was feeling.

  “What is it?” Garth asked, eyes wide as he stared at the creature his friend had released.

  “Help me!” Robbie babbled as suddenly the creature turned eyes to him and rose in one seamless motion to his feet.

  He was over eight feet tall! The remnants of his leather pants lay around him like so many castoff peanut shells, only a few remaining scraps left to cover his masculinity.

  “Help me!” Robbie cried again as his bladder suddenly released itself, flooding the front of his pants with moisture.

  “Holstos Reaver!” the creature hissed and thrust out his hand.

  Robbie screamed as the light encased him. But instead of a comforting white glow, this light was as red as blood and felt like the hand of death.

  Suddenly, all the things that he had done in his past floated before his eyes.

  He saw the time he slapped his mother in a fit of rage because she wouldn’t leave his drunken abusive father, and in the doing became just like his old man. He saw the bar fights he had started, the innocents he had preyed upon, the money he had stolen. Then he saw the first person that he had shanked, and how powerful he felt to feel the life draining out of that man, how it felt to have his warm lifeblood flooding over his hand, the dying gurgles he had made. He saw how the killing had gotten easier, how he had no respect for life, his or anyone else’s. He saw that he had come to this bar with that idiot Garth with the intentions of killing some fags, that he would go home and wank off with the thought of the excitement, the god-like power that he felt, de
stroying people.

  He wasn’t homophobic or racist. He was an equal opportunity killer, and he saw the need to get his fill of blood that night. He had no remorse.

  But now, guilt and shame ate at him, tugged at his very core. He saw what he had become, and not the glorified image that he managed to maintain to cover the ugliness that had dwelled beneath his very shallow surface. Now he saw himself for what he really was, a predator—no, a scavenger. A predator killed for a reason, he just preyed on the weaker for the sport of it, for the artificial rush of power, and he knew he wouldn’t stop. And now, he faced a creature that was far greater than himself.

  In this creature, this creature whose skin was as dark as all of the evil that it absorbed, he saw a reflection of himself, and he trembled.

  The red light began to fade as an eerie silence filled the alley. Everyone remained mute, staring in horror at Robbie, who whimpered and fell to his knees.

  No one dared to move, dared to blink, dared to breathe. The creature had dominated this alley and all waited to see what he would do next.

  Large wings snapped, the sound of flowing silk, as he thrust them outwards before extending them to their highest span. He raised one hand, lifted one finger, and pointed at Robbie.

  “Tock laif et Reeve-ah!” Your soul is reaved.

  “What the fuck!”

  Everyone turned as Jase, followed by the three men, rounded the corner, the police not too far behind.

  “Torn!” Mace called out, eyes wide in amazement as he saw again the Reaver of Souls up close.

  “Za volt!” the Reaver called as a single feather, black as death, snapped at Robbie, striking him in the chest, before the Reaver took to the skies.

  The mark.

  Bending his knees slightly, Torn launched himself into the black night, quickly blending into the darkness, leaving nine very stunned people behind.

  But before he lost himself into the cloaking darkness, he looked back and glimpsed Sable’s face.

  It was pale and shocked, her eyes wide in disbelief as she watched the creature that he had become, saw the beast that resided within him.

  In that instant, he knew that he could never return to her, to subject her life to the darkness that lay beneath the surface of his skin.

  What his father’s warriors were doing here, he hadn’t a clue, but if they could help him get back home, he would welcome even their intervention.

  It was easy to trace those of the magic realm, he thought to himself as he flung himself ever higher towards the velvet, midnight-blue sky. The stars shone brightly around him as he flew towards the face of the moon, trying to forget the pale, haunted face that his teacher now possessed because of him.

  He looked upward at the diamond bright stars, the twinkling heavenly bodies, and never once noticed that his tears added to the shining brightness dotting the heavens.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Who are you people?” Sable said, voice hollow with shock, eyes wide, as she turned to face Jase and the three newcomers. “You called out his name.”

  “What the fuck was that?” Garth half-laughed half-cried as he looked at the feather sticking out of Robbie’s chest. “Ah, Robbie, what have you unleashed, man?”

  “What was that thing?” Jase asked, still breathing hard from his running and from what he had just witnessed.

  “Who are you?” Sable said again, turning to Mace and the two warriors who accompanied him. “Where are you from? Answer me!”

  She was screaming as she turned on the silent giants, noting that they stood at least seven feet tall, towering over Jack and Torn.

  “I don’t think they can understand you,” Jack said quietly, touching her stiff shoulder, drawing her wild gaze.

  “Somebody had better understand something!” she screamed, jerking free of his touch.

  “Now, love…” Jillian began, but she whirled on him.

  “A night of hanging with the boys, Jillian? Let the man breathe, Jillian? I let the man breathe and look what the fuck happened! Shit!” she screamed. “What is he? What is the man I love?”

  She began to shake, to pace, unable to deal with what she had just seen, oblivious to the men that were standing around her.

  “Ib got Torn,” Mace said quietly, eyeing the woman who had screamed the name of their leader’s son. It was Torn.

  “What caused this change?” Del asked. He was first behind Mace in command, and with his bright red hair and black eyes, he looked fierce and in control.

  “It’s this place,” Joz said quietly. “Remember what he entered into?” The third warrior added.

  Joz was the youngest of the three, but was almost taller than Mace and outweighed him by a good fifty pounds of muscle. His hair was a sable mix of curls that sometimes appeared red, then gold, then deepest brown. He was by far the largest of this large group, but his eyes still held a youthful exuberance and a lust for life that told of his young years.

  “But what would force the change?” Mace asked again, this time carefully scanning the group of primitive people that stood in this darkened street. Then his eyes fell on Robbie, who still stared down at the quill in his chest, eyes filled with tears of self-incrimination. “Maybe I just answered my own question.”

  Taking three large steps, Mace reached out and plucked Robbie off of the ground as easily as one would lift a leaf or a feather.

  “Vold cad tu?” What did you do?

  “Please,” Robbie babbled as his feet left the ground and his head lolled to the side. “Please kill me before I kill again!” he sobbed.

  “Put him down, ya bloody wankers!” Garth tried for a roar, but his voice sounded more shaken than intimidating.

  Mace turned to face the other man and watched as he shrank back. All bluster with no bite, he decided.

  “Calm down, Sable.” Jack said as he looked over at a stricken Jillian. “Jillian didn’t do this.”

  “I know! I’m sorry,” she said as she stopped pacing and stood still as she looked at Jill. “None of this is your fault. It’s all mine! Me! I’m the one who brought him home, the one who gave him a place to stay and let him into my heart. This is all my fault.”

  “Well, he is your Faeroe, love,” Jill said quietly as he stepped close to Sable, close enough to wrap her in his arms.

  “He is not my anything,” Sable said on a shuddering breath. “Did you see what he turned into? What he did to that bastard with the gun?”

  “I saw,” Jillian said as he placed his hand on her head and urged her to rest on his sturdy shoulder. “But I still believe that he is good. He only defended himself, love. Maybe that’s how they do it, turning into walking griffins with black feathers and red eyes.” He smiled a bit as he hugged her harder. “There is no evil in him.”

  “I guess you were right, Jack,” Sable said, not answering Jill, but allowed him to take more of her weight. “I guess he’s not a Faeroe after all. In fact, I don’t know what he is!”

  “He is yours,” Jack said with a finality that brought her head up.

  “Mine?”

  “As Jillian is mine, and I am his.”

  But then two things interrupted them.

  The very tall foreign-speaking man was holding onto a sobbing Robbie, and the cops rounded the corner.

  “What is going on here?” one of the three officers asked as he slapped his truncheon across his palm.

  Thinking that the newcomers were not a threat, Mace dropped the marked man and turned to face the woman who called Torn’s name.

  “Johd tock?” Where is he?

  When no one answered, Jase began to make his explanations to the nervous police.

  “Well, um, you see, uh, I heard a noise and um, these foreign visitors came to investigate…with me.”

  He wasn’t sure what was going on, but neither Jack nor Jill seemed to be afraid of the three men, so he decided to wing it.

  “Visitors?’’ the cop said, motioning to his partner to get a better look at the big men that seem
ed to overflow the alley.

  Before another comment could be made, Robbie rushed the cops, dropping to his knees before them, and the second strange thing happened.

  “Please take me away!” he sobbed. “I deserve to die, I deserve to pay!”

  The cops looked at the man and then started to turn away.

  “Keep it out of the alley,” he growled, before turning to make his way back to the street. The brawl in the bar had been quelled and there was no reason to make more paperwork for themselves.

  “But I shot him!” Robbie sobbed as he looked up plaintively at the officers.

  That froze them in their place as they turned again to look at the broken man.

  “Robbie, no!” Garth sighed as Robbie began to spill his story.

  “I came here to start trouble, and I brought my gun. But he ain’t human, man, and he is after me!”

  “Who?” the cop asked, beginning to think that this was just another drunken fantasy spewed forth by another depressed and frustrated citizen on the dole. But he continued to listen anyway. This story would be good for a few laughs back at the station.

  “I shot him! Don’t you understand? I shot him with that gun, man!” He pointed to the weapon still lying on the damp cobblestone. “I shot him and he turned into this…thing! He’s going to come and get me for what I done!” he added tearfully. “And I deserve to die.”

  Ignoring talk of transforming men, the first officer bent to get a good look at the gun.

  “It’s real,” he said to his partner. “And I think it’s been fired.”

  * * * * *

  Three hours later, they were all in lockup, getting their stories straight.

  But the three foreign men were held until an interpreter could be found. It had been quite a trick getting them into the wagon, but twenty officers later and a lot of commotion, they only got into the transport because the tall dark-haired one gave them a command, and they were on their way.

  What command that was, no one knew, but they were glad that they did not have to shoot them to get them into custody. Because of the language barrier, communication was impossible and they didn’t want some foreign diplomat coming down on them for abuse of their citizens.