Reckless Souls (Saints Academy, #1)(6)

run as far away as possible, because they’re not there for a casual good time. Even from a distance

you can sense their aura of danger. They’re either there for blood, money, or both, and it’s something I

never wanted to get caught up in. Not when I’ve seen so many of the girls from the orphanage caught

up in all of that trouble.

Just thinking about it sends a shudder down my spine.

But you could tell what they were the second they extended their fangs and their eyes glowed

blood red. Their leering, aggressive body language made it clear that they are the hunters and we are

the hunted.

Everything else I know about supernaturals, I’ve seen or heard on tv, but I’ve never seen a demon,

nor have I heard the murmurs of an incubus or succubus, luring you in with their desires and appeal.

They’ve been nothing short of a myth to me.

I’ve never knowingly seen a shifter of any kind, in their animal form at least, but I’ve seen the

people behind them on the television before.

Angels look almost like me, from the television too, but I can’t explain the difference. It’s almost

like they’re… lighter, freer, glowing.

Then there are the Gods. The biggest assholes ever to grace the world. Better than the rest of us

and quite happy to remind you of it.

Fucking… fuckers.

Taking the next right turn, I glance at my phone. I have five minutes to get there on time, so I

increase my pace as I brush the wispy hair back off my face.

It really is too fucking warm. I glare up at the sun, not a single cloud in the sky, hoping the

supernatural in charge of controlling the weather feels my pain and suffering.

Since the war, that’s all they’ve done; control every inch of our human lives, right down to the

damn weather. The mythical four seasons no longer exist. We have sun all day, and it rains in the

darkness of the night between one and four in the morning. Every. Fucking. Day.

I’ve seen snow in old movies, but it’s not something I’ll ever get to witness first hand, since they

deemed it an unnecessary weather condition. I appreciate the fact that there’s no more disasters

caused by Mother Nature, but this is just… boring. We may get the occasional gust of wind, or a

gentle breeze, but otherwise, the Hex seem to think they’re doing us a favor by keeping us in the hot

weather.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, pausing the music in my ears, but when I look at the screen, my

nostrils flare with irritation.

Dante.

He can fuck all the way off.

For the last five days he’s called me non-stop, swamping me with voicemails and texts. I haven’t

given in and answered a single time, not once, but he still continues, relentless in his approach. I

don’t need nor want his apology or bullshit. I don’t think we knew each other very well to begin with.

It was a heavy case of fucking that went on too long because we got comfortable. I can detach myself

from the reality of our relationship. He needs to as well.

Good dick won’t make me crawl back.

Ever.

Hitting the red button, I pocket my phone again as I turn right into the huge square where the Town

Hall stands tall and imposing.

Large stone steps lead up to a column-framed building, with a sloped roof and cream coloring. It

reminds me of the type of building they had in the old Greek movies about Gods, legends, and all of

the myths. Only here, there are armed guards standing in front of each pillar, in full black uniform,

with the haunting Hex symbol hanging on flags.

I come to a stop, considering whether I should turn and run back to the diner, but the reminder in

the letter of what would happen if I didn’t show, has me putting one foot in front of the other.

The Hex are… judge, jury, and executioner, in both the human and the supernatural worlds. I’ve

never researched them, apart from the few times Zeus himself has addressed us on television and

thankfully I’ve never had any other kind of interaction. The other members seem quite happy to let him

reap all the glory, be the face of Hex, while they stay hidden in the background running the show.

Short for Hexagon, the group is made up of six members, each representing their kind, to create a

united front for everyone after the devastating war.

A God. An angel. A vampire. A shifter. A demon. And a human.

They’re the politicians of the new world who have a much heavier footing in the supernatural city

than the human one. Likely because it’s prettier up there, more luxurious. No one wants to have to

make do down here. Not even the most affluent areas of Phoenix Valley compare to the images I’ve

seen of Paradise Heights.

As I near, the Hex symbol looms above me, its presence a reminder of who controls who. A black

background with what look like six white slashes mark the material. One for each member of the Hex.

Short, simple, and fearsome, with three words written among the image.

Veni, vidi, vici.

I have no idea what it means, but I’m more than happy to continue with my naivete rather than try

to find out. The less I know, the better off I am.