Page 5 of Tainted Souls
Hunters have long debated the tools best suited against vampires. Wood is light to carry, quick to craft, and comes in ample amounts, but it rarely does more than slow a vampire down. Tungsten packs a punch, but it’s difficult to obtain and demands expert craftsmanship, making it nearly impossible to stockpile.
None of them come even close to lumenite—teal crystals humming with a resonance that interferes with the vitality of vampires. A single strike to the heart can end them outright.
Unfortunately, lumenite is found only beneath the hidden springs and grottos of Mythcrest forests, entwining itself around the roots of trees that draw from its groundwater, keeping Northcross locked in a relentless fight for the land.
If tungsten is rare, lumenite might as well be holy.
Fragments are honed into bullets, bolts, arrowheads, and daggers using machinery Redmoore calls Lumintech, their exclusive domain. As a former slayer, I’m the only venator trained in their use and thus licensed to purchase them, though each piece comes at an exorbitant price.
I lock my longbow into place across my spine, snug against the worn leather harness that catches it with a familiar click. Faye emerges from behind dense undergrowth, her tungsten-tipped crossbow still loaded and ready.
She’s a lean woman with fawn hair and brown eyes—one of the few other venators who actually gets the grind, the risks, and the solitude that comes with bounty hunting vampires.
Someone who doesn’t just do it for the credits and accolades, but because she understands the weight of the work, and what happens if no one else is willing to carry it.
She whistles low. “You’re on fire, Seraph. Can’t say the same for me. Almost all the caves I checked were clear.”
I shrug, hoisting the vampire to his feet and putting him in cuffs. “Seen better days myself.”
“The night’s just started. We could push deeper if you want.” Faye checks her wristband, the holographic display illuminating her face in blue light. “My contact says there are signs of a nest about three miles south.”
After I’ve secured the vampire to our transport vehicle where six others already wait, bound and bruised, I glance at my own timepiece. 9:14 PM.
“Not tonight, got plans with Max.”
She quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, securing her crossbow to her back while climbing into the driver’s seat of our modified rover. “Date or just casual?”
“Depends.” I slam the back doors shut and wait for the automatic locks to engage before swinging into the passenger side. “If it’s casual, I’m doing it wrong.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, you’re lucky then. Lawyers love to make a statement, even when they’re just grabbing dinner.”
I smirk, leaning back in my seat. “I did tell you that, didn’t I?”
The drive back to Penn City is serenely quiet, the darkness of the forest gradually giving way to the neon glow of civilization.
The checkpoint is more heavily guarded than usual—four officers instead of the standard two, all armed with automatic rifles.
“Identification,” the senior officer demands, scanner ready in hand.
“Seraph Rosen and Faye Lin.” I stretch over, letting the device read my facial features in a jiffy. “Licensed venators returning with cargo for Redmoore.”
After the scanner beeps in confirmation, the officer peers into the back of our vehicle, counting the vampires in one fell swoop.“Seven captures,” he notes, sounding somewhat impressed. “Nice work. Carry on.”
A few minutes later, we arrive at the processing center. The brutalist concrete structure at the edge of the city, purposefully intimidating with its harsh angles and minimal windows, offers no hint of the activity within. After all, it’s where our catch of the day will meet whatever fate the authorities deem fit.
Inside, the fluorescent lights are so bright they make my eyes ache after hours in the darkness. A bored-looking clerk takes our paperwork, barely glancing up from her terminal. “Who gets what?”
“One is mine, six are hers,” Faye answers. “Impressive, right?”
“Four hers, three mine,” I correct, not particularly caring about the credit distribution. It all spends the same.
The clerk’s fingers hover impatiently over the keys. “Which is it?”
“Split it four and three,” I tell her. “Doesn’t really matter.”
Faye bites her lower lip, her eyes sparkling, trying to hide a grin.
The clerk nods and enters the information. “Standard rate applies. Five thousand credits per capture, transferred upon confirmation of delivery. Expected payment within forty-eight hours.”
