Souljacker
Authors: Kodilynn Calhoun
Tags: #unseelie, #magic, #cyborg, #robot, #shape shifter, #romance, #science fiction, #faerie, #war
By Kodilynn Calhoun
Only one more year until she’s 18, then Lucifer Swift
can start a new life, one not filled with loveless foster homes and
whispered rumors—painful reminders of her past. She knows she’ll
never outrun her Need, the monster inside of her that can suck the
life force out of someone with just a touch, but she can sure as
hell try. Nothing holds her here. She has no family, no friends,
nothing.
Until she meets him.
Iofiel is a Cyberhound—a dark Faerie creation who can
shift from man to canine and back again in the blink of an eye.
Pack law denies him the right to love, but Iofiel can’t suppress
his want. And he wants what he can’t have: A certain girl with
haunted blue eyes, a girl with secrets darker than his…
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Kodilynn Calhoun
Cover Art Designed by Kodilynn Calhoun
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given
away. If you would like to share this book with someone else,
please purchase an additional copy. If you’re reading this book and
you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only,
then please return to Smashwords.com and buy your own copy. Thank
you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. The names,
places, characters, and incidents are products of the writer’s
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely
coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
By Kodilynn Calhoun
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:
Lucy
One more year till I’m out of this
slaghole.
The day I turn eighteen, I’m packing up what
little stuff I own and getting the hell out of here. No more people
playing pretend-to-be-Lucy’s-parents, no more stares and whispers
from the kids at school: “Hey, look at the Freak; I heard she
killed her own mother.” I’ll just be gone.
The heels of my boots click against the
pavement as I head towards Maelstrom High. Yet another day of
droning lectures, homework assignments that I’ll never turn in, and
the Need building up inside of me, burning hot and calling to me in
a siren’s song.
I feel a ripple in the air—it goes from
late-June summer breeze to an icy draft, making the fine hair at
the nape of my neck stand up and salute. I take a short breath in
through my nose. Nothing. I turn, tipping my head towards the edge
of the alley. And again, nothing’s there. Nothing visible
anyway.
I wrinkle my nose and duck my head, pulling
my bag higher up on my shoulder. It flaps against my side as I pick
up speed and I hear a muffled “oof” from inside. I pat it tenderly.
My gaze flicks behind me, quickly scanning the mouths of the open
alleyways I’ve passed in my haste.
The familiar prickle of unease washes over
me, my arms lined with gooseflesh. I would welcome the clicking of
toenails scraping cement over the dead silence, but I can’t even
dare to hope for one of the beasts—half hound, half machine with a
red eye glowing like a beast straight out of Hell. At least then
I’d feel some sort of peace. Cyberhounds rarely attack a human
unless provoked, and I’m minding my own business.
Instead, the air shimmers like heat on a hot
summer day, but with a darker cast to it. Like ripples of murky
water, floating in mid air. Forming. Crap. My heart ratchets into
my throat and the fear is like a slimy ball of nerves I can barely
choke back down. I spin away, breaking into a jog. Damnit, I really
should’ve used the Portal.
Icy tendrils slide across the ground like
fog, snaking around my boots and I trip. My palms slam into the
pavement to catch my fall, but I barely feel the burn as fingers
tighten around my ankle and jerk me across the ground with inhuman
force.
I shriek, kicking my foot upwards, the pointy
tip of my boot slicing through the Wraith’s half-formed face. It
snarls, but without any teeth, its mouth wide and stretching. I
kick and twist, freeing my foot. I scramble to my knees and hear a
rip of fabric.
It makes a sharp hissing noise, but I’m not
stopping to see if it’s okay. I’m out of there, my legs pumping,
hands clenched into fists. I’m so close.
I bolt around the corner, but the Wraith’s
fast on my heels. My lungs burn even though I’m gasping down
breath. Cars bullet past me, riding on pockets of air—one of the
perks of year 2027. Someone lays on the horn as I jolt out in front
of them. They swerve, the red-headed driver giving me the finger
through the window with a snarl on her face.
I feel the touch of the Wraith on my skin,
trying to get a grip. Its fingers encircle my wrist and it jerks me
back towards it, like a bad dance move, and I fall into the
frigid—now solid—arms of the dark Fae’s twisted creature.
I hear someone on the streets shriek. The
Wraith looks down at me as I struggle and twist, hunger gleaming in
its pale, pale eyes. I open my mouth to scream, taking in a lungful
of air, then suddenly, I can’t breathe. The Wraith is sliding down
my throat, burning like dry ice in my lungs, tendrils twisting and
driving hooks into my soul. I shudder and let loose a cry, but no
sound comes out.
I scrabble, my fists slamming like a drumbeat
against its hard chest, but my arms are so tired. They drop like
lead weights and I’m sinking, shivering, splintering…
A shriek rips through the air. I’m thrown to
the ground. Humid city air rushes into my lungs, thawing me out. I
choke, my throat tight with cold, and drag myself away on my hands
and knees. The Wraith is screaming, mouth gaping as a static howl
rises from its chest. A massive cyberhound is latched onto its
neck, bone-white fangs gleaming as it rips into it, jerking its
head from side to side.
My savior is a huge, Mastiff-like beast with
sleek ebony fur, brindled by shadows. It growls, a menacing sound,
and I see the gleam of a metal plate running down its skull. I’m on
my feet, stumbling, but alive.
I don’t risk a glance behind me—I just run.
My foot catches on the step leading up to the massive steel
building that is Mael High, but I right myself. My hand presses
into the keypad and I lurch into the school, aching and panting. I
collapse, safe, against the tile floor and realize that people are
staring at me with bemused expressions on their faces.
I pull my bag closer to me, pressing it
against my stomach. I just sit there, my too-skinny legs stretched
out, my back against the wall, probably looking like some sort of
sideshow freak.
I hear the whispers, but I try not to listen.
They slither around me, gossip even though I’m sitting
right-freaking-here, but they don’t care about my feelings. All
they know is what they’ve been told by their parents: “Lucifer
Swift is Satan’s child. She killed her own mother. Even her foster
family is afraid of her.”
I lift my lip in a snarl, shooting a boy with
lime green hair a death glare. He merely laughs and bumps shoulders
with his buddies as they saunter off. Jocks.
I huff and shove myself to my feet, wavering
there for a moment as a spell of dizziness washes over me. I feel a
hand on my arm and twist away, only to look into the face of a
younger girl with frizzy blonde hair and dark eyes, curiosity
nipping around their irises like wildfire set to a forest.
“You okay?”
“Never better.”
“Seriously?” An eyebrow arches up. “You look
like you just ran a marathon while being chased by zombies.”
I’d take zombies over Wraiths any day. I look
at her, crossing both arms over my chest, trying to calm down. I’m
still trembling, but whether it’s from leftover fear or exhaustion,
I’m not sure. “I’m fine.”
I turn away, running both hands through my
dark hair, untangling the blue metal and rubber cord extensions
that are braided in at the roots. My palms burn and I find that
they’re scraped pretty badly, tiny rocks embedded in the deepest
area of the cut. I make a beeline for the bathroom.
It isn’t until I shoulder through the door
and set my bag down on the counter that I realize that the girl has
followed me. She’s leaning against the wall, head tilted to one
side, regarding me with a quiet sort of interest.
I shrug and unzip my bag, the darkness inside
illuminated by a pale blue light. A small, shiny cylindrical robot
floats up, the tip of her antennae glowing brightly. On the front
of her body is a wide black plate with a glowing LCD screen—giving
her expressions, even though she’s just an old robot.
Sync makes a few clicking sounds, buzzing
above my head. She was given to me by one of my foster moms—the one
I thought I’d have for the rest of my life—and ever since the
accident that nearly killed my best friend, Sophia, she’s been my
best friend since, even if she’s slightly out of date.
The girl doesn’t say anything as I carefully
wash my hands with soap, gritting my teeth against the burn, then
dry them under the automatic airflow. I hold up one of my hands to
Sync, whose digital cat-face turns down into a frown.
“What did you get yourself into, Luce?” Her
accent is more British than robot. The bottom of her base pops out
and two long, slender robotic arms with pincers slide out. She
begins to feel around, digging the rocks out of the wound,
apologizing every time I whimper.
The bell rings, sharp and shrill. The blonde
girl looks at me. “Want me to tell the nurse that you need a sick
pass?” Her voice is soft; she’s not afraid of me. I offer a smile,
but in the mirror it looks more like a sick grimace with my pale,
almost translucent, skin and dark hair. The bags under my eyes
don’t help anything. I nod and she bows, slipping back out the
door.
“New friend?” Sync chirps.
“Nothing like that. She just feels bad that I
almost got eaten.”
“Maybe you should take the Portal next
time.”
“Yes, mother.”
***
Sync rests on my desk and if she hadn’t been
a robot, I’d say she was snoozing as I slave over my English
assignment. My stylus scratches softly against the tablet on my
desk as I write the essay. My arms are heavy, like someone’s
attached twenty pound weights to my both wrists. My tablet screen
blurs and I blink rapidly, looking up at the ceiling to focus my
eyes.
My gaze flits across to Jale Halvers, a tall
and skinny jock who always sleeps through third period. And there
he is—head down on his arms, drool seeping from the corner of his
mouth. His parents pretty much own the school, so he doesn’t need
to study; the teachers give him good grades either way.
My hands itch, a slow tingle that starts in
my fingertips and works its way down my knuckles to my palms. A low
ache roils in my gut, the Need flaring up. I shake my head and
squeeze the stylus between my fingers, staring down at my
essay.
My heart hitches, picking up speed. How easy
it would be to just…reach out, brush against the guy, and take
some. It wouldn’t be enough to harm him. He’d never know anything
was missing… Just a taste, enough to get me through school.
