Page 150 of Body and Soul

A familiar darkness stirred in the back of my mind. Keres prowled the edges of my consciousness, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

“Go to hell,” I spat, my voice low and gravelly.

The woman's lips twisted in a snarl. She raised her hand as if to strike me, but before she could connect, I let Keres off his leash.

I watched from a distance inside my body as Keres lunged, a snarl ripping from his throat as he snapped at the woman's face with lightning speed. She reeled back, eyes wide with shock, but it was too late. Keres's teeth clamped down, biting deep into the flesh of her cheek. With a savage twist of his head, he tore free a ragged chunk, blood spraying in a crimson arc.

Despite not being in control, the coppery taste of blood splashed over my tongue. The woman screamed, a shrill sound of agony and disbelief as she clutched at her ruined face. Blood poured between her fingers, pattering on the concrete floor in a macabre rain. She staggered back, nearly crashing into the table in her haste to escape.

Her partner pulled out a strange-looking gun and fired a single round, the sound a dull thunk. Pain bit into my shoulder, followed by a burning numbness.

The world tilted and spun as whatever they had shot me with flooded my system. Keres snarled in fury, fighting against the encroaching darkness with every ounce of his feral strength. Butit was like trying to hold back the tide, the numbness spreading through my limbs with each sluggish beat of my heart.

Through the haze, I watched the woman's partner approach, his movements precise and measured, the strange gun still trained on my chest. His face swam in and out of focus, a blur of hard lines and cold eyes. He said something, his lips moving, but the words were lost in the rushing static filling my ears.

Keres lunged again, but didn’t get far before he collapsed. Our muscles trembled and twitched, no longer obeying our commands as the paralysis crept higher.

The room seemed to pulse and warp, the edges of my vision darkening like a vignette. Sounds echoed strangely, distorted as if I were underwater. The woman's pained whimpers, the steady drip of her blood on concrete, the rasp of my own labored breathing—all blended into a discordant symphony that scraped against my raw nerves.

Keres fought like a wild thing caught in a trap, all snapping teeth and desperation as the blackness slowly closed in.

The black hood scratchedagainst my face as I was dragged from the SUV, disoriented and off-balance. Hands gripped my arms tightly, guiding me with ruthless efficiency over what felt like gravel, then concrete. The crunch of boots and the rustle of clothing were my only clues to our surroundings, the sound strangely muffled by the thick fabric over my head.

A heavy metal door clanged shut behind us, the echo ringing in my ears. The air turned cold and damp, chilling the sweat on my skin as we descended deeper into whatever forsaken hole they'd brought us to. I tried to keep track of the turns, but it was impossible in the dark with my senses so dulled.

The hands on my arms tightened, bringing me to an abrupt halt. Keys jangled, and a bolt scraped back. I tensed, bracing myself as I was shoved forward into a space that felt cavernous after the claustrophobic hood.

The heavy fabric was yanked away without warning. Light speared my eyes, sharp and blinding after so long in darkness. Isquinted against the assault, blinking rapidly as the room slowly swam into focus.

It was a far cry from the bare concrete box I'd been expecting. Thick carpet cushioned my feet, a rich burgundy that complemented the mahogany paneled walls. The room was lavishly appointed, more akin to a high-end executive office than an interrogation chamber. A massive desk of polished mahogany dominated the space, its surface bare save for a sleek laptop and a cut crystal decanter filled with amber liquid. Behind it, a high-backed leather chair sat like a throne, exuding an aura of power and authority.

I tore my gaze from the imposing furniture, taking in the rest of the room with a growing sense of unease. The walls were lined with bookcases, their shelves heavy with leather-bound tomes that looked old enough to crumble at a touch. Interspersed among the books were strange, esoteric artifacts—a bronze sculpture of entwined serpents, a preserved scorpion suspended in a glass sphere, an ancient-looking scroll encased in a climate-controlled display. Each piece seemed to watch me with a dark, knowing intelligence, as if privy to secrets I could scarcely imagine.

My eyes drifted to the far wall, where a large painting hung in an ornate gilded frame, and I froze. I knew that artwork, had studied it while flipping through art history books. One of Raphael’s great masterpieces lost to the world since the Nazis plundered it during their reign of terror.

And yet here it was, hanging mere feet from me in all its enigmatic glory. The young man's eyes, dark and enigmatic, seemed to pierce through the centuries to meet my gaze.

I drank in every brushstroke, marveling at the subtlety of shading that brought his features to life. The rich earth tones of his doublet, the delicate gold chain resting against his chest, the way the light played across the planes of his face… Each detailwas rendered with a skill that bordered on the divine. This was the hand of a master, a genius who could capture the essence of a soul on canvas.

How had this priceless artwork found its way here, to this strange, opulent room in the middle of nowhere? What sort of person would have the resources, the connections, to acquire a painting that had been lost for the better part of a century? No one good, that was for certain.

The door swung open, and I flinched, immediately backing toward the nearest wall as Algerone entered the room, followed by the man with the tablet we’d met that night at the mansion sex party. Maximillion or Maxene…Max something.

Algerone looked like he had just stepped out of a boardroom, his tailored suit impeccable, not a hair out of place. “Elias Baker,” Algerone said smoothly. “I apologize for the rough treatment. My men can be a bit... overzealous at times.”

I stared at him, skeptical. Was he seriously trying to play nice after having me black-bagged and dragged here against my will? I wasn’t stupid. I knew his game, had seen him play his hand already. The pleasant facade, the false warmth - it was all a mask, a tool to lull his victims into a false sense of security before he struck.

“Cut the crap, Algerone,” I snapped, pushing away from the wall. “Where are Shepherd and the other Laskins?”

Algerone's dark eyes glittered, his lips curving into a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “They are being well cared for, I assure you. They're honored guests.”

“Guests?” I scoffed. “Is that what you call this? Some goddamn hospitality.”

Algerone spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture, the picture of wounded sincerity. “A regrettable necessity, I'm afraid. We have much to discuss, and I couldn't risk any... misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings,” I repeated flatly, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “What possible misunderstanding can there be?”

Algerone clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if scolding a child. “Shepherd is a brilliant man, but he can be shortsighted. Ruled by emotion. He doesn't see the bigger picture.”

---