Page 90 of Tainted Souls
Without warning, Saul’s hand darts out. His fingers find the guard’s throat, tightening with uncanny rigor. In a fluid movement, he spins the man into the wall, his head snapping to the side with a sickening crack. The other guard doesn’t even have time to react, already falling before he realizes what’s happening; Imposter Egon’s hands move like lightning as the guard’s arm is grabbed and twisted behind his back. A quick flick of the wrist, and his neck gives way with a sharp snap, his body crumpling to the ground.
The third guard’s eyes widen in shock. He turns to speed off, but by the time he tries, his neck is already broken in a single, seamless movement, his body hitting the stone with a dull thud. All three guards are down, their bodies sprawled in unnatural positions. The silence is deafening, thick with the weight of what just transpired. They’re not dead, but it must still hurt like hell to have your limbs abused like that. At least I would’ve made sure they didn’t have to get back up.
Finally, we reach a heavy wooden door set into the rock, its surface scarred by time and weather. It groans as it swings open, the sound loud in the stillness.
Beyond lies a moonlit forest, bathed in silvery light that filters softly through swaying branches. I inhale deeply, savoring the scent of pine and damp earth, a fragrant reminder of life after days spent suffocating in dark underground chambers.
But the open sky feels less like freedom, knowing a new danger has found its way to me.
Without a word, we surge forward, the woodland blurring around us as we run faster than humanly possible. The trees seem to part for us, the ground barely registering beneath ourfeet. No one speaks until we’re well away from where I was held captive. Even then, it’s only in whispers, as if the forest itself might betray us.
After what feels like hours, though I know it’s been mere minutes, we slow down. Our pace eases into something more human, our feet touching the ground again with the familiar weight of normalcy.
We come to a stop near a clearing.
One of them checks our surroundings, scanning the trees. It’s eerily quiet, and I feel the shift in the air before she speaks.
“Clear,” she announces, and we begin to walk again.
The forest stretches endlessly in every direction as we move deeper into it, the night feeling heavier as the trees close in around us.
There’s no transport to board, no sleek machine to take us farther, just the pull of the soil beneath our feet and the breeze of the wind through the leaves—a reminder that we’re alone in this silent expanse.
I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being led somewhere we’re not meant to go. But maybe that’s the intent. To lead us beyond the reach of anyone foolish enough to follow, to a place where no normal person would dare trespass.
What if this is all a fabrication, too? A painted forest meant to keep outsiders walking in circles until they forget where they were going. For a moment, the ground seems to shift beneath me, the trees breathing in and out like something alive.
My pulse slows. I’m imagining things—paranoia creeping in where exhaustion should be. Even so, a thought takes root. Maybe this is how they did it back then: illusioned to look like Redmoore guards, slipping past every real one of them, every locked door during the massacre. Not invisible. Just unseen. Disguised. I recall the confusion as supposedly dead guards rose and began attacking my father. They weren’t zombies orpossessed. It was much simpler than that, and more brilliant. They were neverhumanguards in the first place. They were Raven members.
“What were you thinking, going that far from home?” Saul turns to me, his disguised face unable to hide the familiar furrow of his brow.
“It was for a mission,” I say defensively, though exhaustion makes it hard to summon real indignation. “We were trying to capture Wraith to learn about sire bonds.”
They all stare at me blankly.
“Wraith?” the woman asks, her voice carrying the clear confusion of hearing a name that exists only in Redmoore’s files.
“The female Whiteshade that attacked Penn City the other day,” I clarify. “Clementine.”
“Whiteshade,” Imposter Egon snorts. “And what do they call you? Grayshade?”
A few snickers ripple through the group. Even Saul lets out a quiet huff of amusement before quickly masking it. The tension thins for a moment, stretched but not yet snapping.
It wasn’t that funny.
I feel the flicker of something sharp rise in my chest. An urge to snap back. But I swallow it down. In this moment, they are the lesser evil.
They helped me escape Cain.
“Dhampir,” I simply say, but the clipped tone in my voice gives me away.
“And how did that work out for you?” Saul asks, blatantly sarcastic. “Capturing aNobleon their own territory?”
I glare at him. “About as well as your disguise. You’re still an ass, even when you don’t look like yourself.”
Saul’s mouth twists into a wry smirk. “Only the best for my sister.”
The forest around us shifts, paths appearing and disappearing as we walk. My boots pad softly against the moss-covered earth as branches creak overhead, whispering in a language only the wild seems to know.
