Soulless Mate

Thirteen: Infiltrate

The smoke in his lands were always infernally white. They swirled over the blue grass and the violet soul plants, dusting the black trees as if they were covered with ashen feather, and finally looming over the horizon until no sun could be seen. Today, however, the fog was so thick that he couldn't see past his own shadow.

His demonic form was large and hulking. The shadow bared the grotesque rigidity of his physique, made of black scales and deep brown fur along his torso. Blades protruded from his knuckles rather than his claws. He was wingless, but two curved horns jutted from the ends of his shoulders where his collarbone met the joint of his arm. He didn't know why he had them; they were useless, just added discomfort that pissed him off. He'd already had large black horns on his head, curling around the skull like a ram's, so why the fuck were there horns on his shoulders? His father would've said they were there for the fear factor. His demon form was to instill fear upon his prey. But, weren't they all his prey? Every single living organism out there with a soul was his prey.

It wasn't hard to know why his pack feared him. The obvious reason was that they didn't want to see his demon lurking around. Why? He didn't look remotely kind. He looked like he could devour anything his eyes set on. With his gaping jaw and razor teeth, it would be effortless. But what his pack didn't want to admit was that they feared him because he was not like the rest of them. Zeron was an anomaly, a manifestation of something that had never been seen by the living before. How was it possible that a man was living when he had no soul? Was he even alive? The fact that he was a true soul eater without a soul made the fear much worse. Now he really did have a reason to devour souls—because he didn't have one for himself. He preyed on others for the pleasure, and sometimes, he believed it. He believed his gnawing hunger was an excuse to murder more souls. He was filled with shit from the souls he ate. He was infested with corruption and poison. His thoughts scattered from goodness, veering into an ominous, haphazard territory that far exceeded even his own father's twisted mind.

Maybe that was what his mother meant when she'd called him his father's foe. She'd said he'd stolen his birthright. He was born to be resented by his father, the only being who raised him when she hadn't. Since his birth, he hadn't known his mother. He'd mostly seen the face of the so-called Alpha Wraythe, a face that looked alarmingly similar to his own. Dark skin, coarse black hair, hideous black eyes. From the start, everyone called him his father's son.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Zeron's demon rasped out, darting his eyes through the blinding fog to make out the shadow of the Beta of the Death Pack. This had been going on for far too long, and when he was left alone to himself, he usually pissed himself off when every single thought he tried to avoid came pounding back into his brain.

From the haze of the smoke, a soul whizzed by, singing along as it moved. It was like a wisp of a translucent cloud with a glowing blue orb of fire in the center. He could see the small blue fire growing smaller and smaller until it was a blinking dot in the distance. Then a soft hum, and it disappeared.

Another soft, willowy hum. Then two more.

Ahhhhm. Ahhhhm. Aaaahhhm.

They moved toward him.

The small, delicate bodies seemed to burn stronger at their core. The blue light within them expanded, and the sounds the souls made warped into something more sinister.

Aaaaaaaaaahhhm.

The scales on his back contracted together. He could hear his demon's abnormal breathing. Two breaths in, two breaths out. Two long pulls, then two slow sighs. As deviant as his breathing was, his gaze was focused on the largest soul of them all. The transparent body that encased the blue fire quaked, and tiny protrusions on it made it seem like hundreds of sharp blades were coming for him.