The Soul Stealer. Alex Archer

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       “So, what is this Khosadam thing anyway?” Annja asked.

      “She’s a Siberian goddess,” Bob replied.

      “As in a deity?” Annja shook her head. “You realize how ludicrous that sounds. They actually think there’s a goddess stalking them?”

      “That would be my impression, yes.”

      “What—did she get bored with heaven or Olympus or wherever she was hanging out?”

      “She was kicked out of heaven, actually,” Bob said. “By her husband, of all people.”

      Annja grinned. “One step forward for women’s rights.”

      “Don’t misunderstand it. Ec banished her for being unfaithful. She liked to cavort with the lesser deities and sometimes even mortals. She has another name as well,” Bob said, leading them into the nearby café.

      A wall of heat slammed into Annja as she walked through the door. She could smell burned coffee and some other scents she didn’t recognize. Despite her unease with the entire situation, her mouth watered and she realized she was ravenous. “What’s her other name?” she asked.

      “Eater of souls.”

       Titles in this series:

      Destiny

      Solomon’s Jar

      The Spider Stone

      The Chosen

      Forbidden City

      The Lost Scrolls

      God of Thunder

      Secret of the Slaves

      Warrior Spirit

      Serpent’s Kiss

      Provenance

      The Soul Stealer

      Rogue Angel_™

       The Soul Stealer

       Alex Archer

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Merz for his contribution to this work.

      Contents

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       Chapter 31

       Chapter 32

       Chapter 33

       Chapter 34

       Chapter 35

       Chapter 36

       Chapter 37

       Chapter 38

       Chapter 39

       Chapter 40

       Chapter 41

       Epilogue

       1

      She was being followed.

      Again.

      Annja Creed sighed with an almost nonchalant grin as she felt the familiar feeling wash over her. As many times and as many places as she’d been, she could tell–without even turning around to confirm it–that someone was taking more than a passing interest in her.

      Even here, she thought. Even in this remote industrial complex where the concrete was as gray as the cold sky overhead, she hadn’t managed to escape the eyes and ears of the locals.

      The question, as always, was who was following her? Since arriving in Moscow and then taking the Siberian railroad to the northeast reaches of the former Soviet Union, Annja had kept what she thought was a low profile. She’d paid cash for her transactions. She’d used her new fake passport and booked her travels under a fake name. She’d even tossed her schedule out the window and lingered in several stops for far too long.

      But it hadn’t worked.

      She ran down the list of people in her head who might wish her harm and then frowned. The list was long and growing longer. Every new adventure seemed to add dozens of names to the roster of folks who thought the world would be a better place if perhaps Annja Creed wasn’t inhaling any more of its oxygen.

      She passed the plate-glass windows of a department store advertising fashions so outdated that Annja wondered if anyone actually came in and requested them. She paused, however, and used the reflecting surface to look behind her.

      Nothing.

      She kept moving rather than give away the idea that she suspected she was being followed. No sense altering the hunters.

      Annja knew that professionals never allowed themselves to be seen when they followed you. So the fact that she hadn’t spotted anyone in the shop window might mean she wasn’t dealing with amateurs.

      On one level, that was good. Amateurs in this part of the world tended to be thugs and rapists who would brutalize you and then sell you off into some sexual-slavery den.

      At least the professionals just killed you and got it done with.

      She smirked at the thought. How my life has changed, she mused.

      She turned a corner and strolled up a narrow street. Ahead of her, she could make out an outdoor market area filled with a smattering of produce, imported electronics goods and bootleg DVDs. Annja knew the mafiya controlled these impromptu bazaars. But she hoped she could use them to lose her tail.

      Unless, of course, he worked for the very same gangsters who ran the marketplace. She pondered that for a moment. But she couldn’t worry about that for long. Not when she had a pressing appointment to keep with Robert Gulliver, known to his friends as Biker Bob and to the rest of the world as the cycling archaeologist.

      Gulliver liked riding across the world on his favorite all-terrain bike. It was how he had scouted so many famous dig sites. Before he went in to any place with loads of equipment, he would casually assess the environment from the comfort of his bicycle. So far, Gulliver had crisscrossed the globe numerous times, although this was his first