The Pretender (The Soren Chase Series Book 2) by Rob Blackwell Page A

into a trap, then he was going to spring it and see what happened next. He’d done that before and always managed to come out on top.
    Soren stopped, hearing the rustling around him once more. He aimed the flashlight in the direction he’d last heard movement. The beam illuminated only the wall of the warehouse. He quickly scanned the edge of the room. For one second, he caught sight of two gleaming eyes looking back at him, but as soon as he spotted them, they vanished back into the darkness.
    He heard a noise behind him and turned around, shining the flashlight. The beam caught another pair of eyes and it, too, disappeared back into the darkness.
    Soren’s heart was pounding in his chest. He felt a spark of fear as he sensed that it wasn’t just one or two things in there with him—it was many.
    There was a snarling noise behind him and something hit Soren in the back, pushing him forward. Soren kept his balance and jerked his elbow back, hitting something fleshy. His elbow almost seemed to sink inside of it for a moment before he yanked it back out. He pushed away, turning around to face the creature, and shined his light directly at it.
    It stood in the beam of light, looking back at him. The creature was humanoid, roughly Soren’s size, but its skin was the color of sandpaper and its amorphous flesh rippled like there were insects crawling underneath it. Its head looked like a burlap sack, with two beady, black eyes that glared at him. Its skin shifted continuously, making it seem like the thing was moving even though it just stood there.
    It opened its mouth. There were no teeth, only long, stringy bits of flesh that stretched from the gaping hole it made. It let out a sound between a scream and a snarl.
    “A shirken ,” Soren said. “Goddamn it.”
    According to the Japanese, shirkens were the ghosts of people who’d been too greedy in life. In death, their avarice had only grown, and they’d returned to Earth to steal treasure, happiness, and lives. He’d fought one of these things before, and it had very nearly killed him. But the last time he faced such a thing, he hadn’t been holding an assault rifle.
    The shirken darted to the left, but Soren anticipated the move, opening fire. The bullets ripped into its torso, punching holes in its chest. That didn’t appear to slow it down and the thing came rushing at him. As it did, Soren remembered the shirken’s weakness. He jerked the rifle up and shot at the thing’s face, aiming for its eyes. His shots caught it in its left eye, spinning the monster around and dropping it to the ground. Soren pointed the flashlight in its direction, watching as black, oozing liquid seeped onto the floor. It was almost too easy.
    From all around him, there was the sound of more screaming and snarling. Soren jammed the flashlight back onto his belt, and yanked a flare out from his vest. He took his hand off the rifle briefly so he could twist it, igniting a red flame, and let the flare fall to the ground near his feet.
    The red light didn’t extend very far, but it was enough to reveal dozens of shirkens surrounding him. Many had their mouths open, the fleshy strings vibrating as the warehouse echoed with angry sounds.
    But they weren’t the only things in the crowd. Scattered among the shirkens, Soren also saw men with ashen skin and absent expressions, which he recognized as stoneskins. He’d never encountered one before, but he’d heard of them. They were a Norse legend, men who had abandoned their comrades during a fight so the gods had turned their hearts to stone. According to myth, stoneskins were incredibly strong; they could break a man in half. They were also allegedly bulletproof.
    Behind them stood monsters Soren knew only too well: gaunts, the same kind of creature the Council had been creating in Reapoke Forest. They stayed hunched on the ground on all fours, looking at Soren with their faintly glowing, white, bulbous eyes. A few opened their mouths and