Torn Souls (Soul Ties Book 2)

by LJ Swallow

  Jack remains close for the first few days, and then he edges away from me again physically. As more days pass, the occasional touch and hug from Jack subside and his wide-eyed cheek biting when I move close begins again. However much Jack loves me, the demon is there, and he’s hungry. I don’t know if the renewed interest by Asher and Eli in finding help for Jack is to distract me or to help him, but they’ve made contact with someone.

  The stone built house rests high above the city, amongst the purple patchwork moors. The location is a short drive and a journey where barely a word is spoken. Jack sits in the front of the car with Asher, and I watch the city thin into countryside through the window. The recent snow lingers on the fields and crisscross dry stone walls. When I climb out of the warm car, I shiver.

  “Who are we seeing?” I ask Asher, again

  “One of Jack's own.”

  I halt, and so does Jack. “You're taking us to a vampire?”

  “Who else will be able to help us?” Not moving, I study Asher's calm features. This is screwed up. But then isn't everything in the world we now share?

  “A bit cliché,” mutters Jack.

  “What?”

  “Gothic house on the moors. I can't wait to see what he looks like.”

  “She,” says Asher and approaches the stained wooden door. To my surprise, he lets himself in.

  The doorway opens straight into a small room, brightly painted orange, and a woman sitting on a sky-blue sofa. The contrast to the aged exterior is jarring, and I expected something macabre. A woman jumps to her feet and hugs Asher. The usually serene Asher steps back, a perturbed crease to his brow.

  “This is Eloise,” says Asher, “Eloise, this is Jack and Dahlia.”

  The woman turns to Jack. The evidence she's a vampire shines from her skin, but her grey-green eyes are brighter than Jack's. I'm relieved she doesn't look as hungry as he does. Eloise’s scrutiny flicks between Jack and me, and her plucked brow arches. Her immaculate make up and nails are matched by sleek blonde hair, and even though she's wearing slouchy yoga pants and a co-ordinated jumper, Eloise still appears the model of elegance. Not what I expected, or Jack judging by his stupefied expression.

  “I didn't realise you were bringing the girl too?” Eloise voice is soft, a foreign lilt to the tone.

  “She likes to be involved.” Asher smiles at me, and I blush. What a polite way to describe my dogged interference.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asks us and indicates the kitchen behind her.

  “No. Thanks.” Why would a vampire need a kitchen?

  “I don't live alone, Dahlia.”

  I blink at her. She's a mind reader. “Can you...?”

  “Yes.”

  I turn to Jack, and he shakes his head. “No, I can't read your thoughts. Every man's dream though.”

  “What?” I frown at him. Jack says some weird things sometimes.

  The woman laughs. “That’s because you're not long turned, Jack. You look starved.”

  Wow. Straight to business. Jack wipes his hands on his jeans, then burrows them into his pockets. I tense, expecting Eloise to drag an unwilling human from the basement and glance around for a door.

  “Dahlia, really...” she says.

  Mind reading. So rude. “Please don't,” I say, deciding getting snarky with a vampire could be a mistake, and instead a polite request is advisable.

  “I'll try not to, but your emotions run close to the surface, and I catch them anyway. Please, sit.” She indicates the plump, blue sofa in the window.

  Eloise smoothes her clothes and studies Jack until he squirms beneath her gaze. “I haven't met someone turned unwillingly for many years. The practice is frowned upon, and these days, there're many willing participants.” She sighs. “The coven who took you are a little too involved in turning people.”

  “But that's because they are closer to the Demon Lords?” asks Asher.

  “They were, when Alexander led them. Now he's gone, they're fairly renegade.”

  Gone. Because of Keir and me.

  “Can I be turned back?” blurts Jack.

  Eloise's eyes glisten with sympathy, and she smiles sadly at him. “No. But you don't have to live the life you did with Alexander's coven.”

  Jack's slumped figure perks up. “So I don't need to drink human blood?” Is he thinking about deer again?

  “You do, Jack. There isn't an alternative. And the donors don't have to die.”

  Donors?

  I expect Jack to be pleased with the information, but instead he swears and drops his head into his hands. I glance at Asher in alarm but Eloise understands.

  “You were lied to, Jack; don't feel guilty about those you killed.”

  His head remains in his hands. “But I did. They told me I had to kill them. So many...”

  I swallow. I don't want to know how many. Eloise looks at my hands, and I realise I'm picking at the hem of my shirt.

  “Do you want to be here and listen to this, Dahlia?”

  “Yes. I want to know so I can help him.”

  Eloise sits back. “This isn't pleasant. We are hunters who need fresh human blood for survival. Jack will always need blood, and the trick is finding willing people.”

  “Willing?” Jack rubs his face. “Who would be willing?”

  “You'd be surprised.” She looks at me again, then to Asher. “She really shouldn't be here to listen to this.”

  “No, I need to know.”

  Eloise smooths her hair again, a slight frown on her brow. She looks to Asher, who nods curtly. “Some people like vampires feeding from them. They find the experience... erotic. These are the people Jack could feed off if he lets me help him. I can teach him not to kill people.”

  The room spins sideways and my uncomfortable nervousness morphs into nausea. I glance at Jack and his eyes are cast down, hands trembling.

  “The other alternative, used by some covens, is unwilling victims. Missing people who nobody looks for kept alive as blood banks.”

  “No,” says Jack.

  “To what?”

  “Either.”

  “Then you will kill again. Don't fool yourself that you can starve to death, the demon inside will never let this happen.” Eloise voice hardens. “If you feed when you’re starving, you’ll kill. If you feed regularly, the easier it is to control that impulse.”

  Asher remains silent, almost like a chaperone, gazing around the room absently. This man should be appalled and drag us from the house.

  I’m appalled and shouldn’t be. Isn't this what I wanted? A way to fix Jack?

  “Let her teach you,” I say to him.

  Jack shakes his head and stares ahead for a few moments. The room is small, furniture tightly packed and constricts around me as Jack stands. His eyes dart to the door and back over.

  “Asher, I need to go outside for a minute,” he mumbles, then disappears through the heavy front door.

  Eloise gazes after him before turning her beautiful, cold eyes to Asher. “I will look after him and teach him.”

  My stomach lurches. “Are you taking Jack somewhere?”

  “Only if he wants to come.”

  “How long for?”

  Eloise brushes a stray blonde hair from her shoulder. “Only a day or so this time, to see how he copes. If things go okay, he may need to come away for longer next time.”

  “Shouldn't you wait for Jack to be here before talking about this,” I ask.

  “Frankly, I wanted to see your reaction.”

  “To?”

  “Jack leaving.” Asher's low voice startles me. “With vampires.”

  An image of Jack's limp body dragged into trees hits me, and I rub my eyes, trying to dislodge the picture.

  “My coven is not like that,” says Eloise. “We are not savages.”

  To me the words demon and savage are interchangeable. “I don't want to know about covens and vampires. I just want Jack fixed.”

  “Fixed?” she laughs at me. “N
o one can fix him. We can teach him not to kill again though, if he wants.”

  I draw in a huge breath. Jack's leaving me again with other vampires. Will he return?

  “Go. Talk to him,” suggests Asher, gesturing at the door.

  Fresh air is a great idea. I stand and leave the building with relief.

  Jack leans against the rough grey brick, staring down at his dirty combat boots, hands stuffed in his jeans. Despite the cold weather, he's jacketless and there's no sign he's cold. Lack of blood doesn't appear to affect his physique. Jack’s toned chest beneath his black T-shirt isn’t broad, but he has the same sexy just-right proportions that caught my attention all those months ago. He’s rubbing his arm, the arm I want to slide my own hands up and touch the hard biceps hidden beneath his T-shirt. I could approach him, but I'm unsure. He doesn't register me.

  “Do I trust her?” he asks the ground.

  “Eloise? Asher does, and I think he's selective about who he trusts.”

  He turns his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. I approach and smooth some away. We don't touch a lot, but sometimes I need to. Pained eyes return my look.

  “I'm scared,” he whispers.

  The idea of Jack drinking blood has repulsed me so much over the weeks; I've buried the thought down and denied he does some things so unlike my old Jack, even in those days last month when I'm certain he’d fed.

  “Scared of what?”

  “Losing the Jack I've started to find again if I go with her. Your Jack.”

  My breath hitches, and I touch his face, eyes pleading with him to pull me close. He understands and wraps his supple arms around me, drawing my face into his cool chest. “The Jack who can hold you,” he whispers to my ear, rubbing his nose in my hair.

  I shift my head, so I can see his face. “If you don't go, you might not be able to control the demon Jack when he’s hungry. If Eloise’s the person who can help, we have to try.”

  Jack pulls away and strokes my hair. “I'm also scared I won't come back to you. She's a demon and could take me like they did before...”

  “She's a demon Asher allows to live. That means something.”

  Dropping his arms, Jack steps back and sighs. “I know. You're right.”

  As he walks back into the house, and I follow, Keir re-enters my mind, and I wonder where he is or what he’s doing. Keir is never far from my thoughts, nor is the uncomfortable reality that I have two demons in my life now, not just one.

  31

  JACK

  I leave with Eloise, and two days in her life are more than enough. Spending time with other vampires normalises my state, and I’m terrified I’ll be dragged back into a coven and lose Dahlia again. But Eloise told the truth, her coven is very different, but they’re too close to human life, with their hedonistic parties and “special friends.” Wild parties were never my scene when I was human, so at least there’s no temptation to stay. Thoughts of Dahlia keep me grounded and pull me to leave.

  I call Dahlia several times a day to remind myself of my real life outside, and she's at the Nephilims’ house. I ask why she's not on campus, and she has one word: Keir. After that, I don't ask anything else.

  After my few days with Eloise, I leave one strange place and return to another. From vampires to Nephilim, I don’t feel comfortable in either. Arriving at the house, I find Dahlia waiting in the kitchen. She looks up as I walk in, then studies the contents of her mug. I hover in the doorway, turning words over in my head as I prepare my first sentence.

  “You look better,” she says, and sweeps her gaze over me.

  “Yeah.”

  Our eyes search each other’s thoughts. Of course, she wants to know or maybe she doesn't. I'm trying to suppress the memory, but it's not working. Flashes of the dark club, shadowed figures and faces I didn't want to see before I fed from them, loop through my mind like some horror film from my human past. The worst part is I should feel disgusted, but I'm not. Or I wasn't but now my fragile and hurting Dahlia is in front of me, face pale, I am. Disgusted and guilty. I can't explain why, but the act of feeding felt like cheating on her, close to a human and closer than with her.

  I pull a chair out and sit next to Dahlia; near enough for her to know I want to touch her, but not so close, I'm presuming she wants me to. Dahlia touches my hand, her soft fingers curling around mine.

  “You're not hungry now?” she whispers.

  Relieved she doesn't ask for details, I smile. “No.”

  “How long for?”

  “A week. Maybe longer.”

  Dahlia sucks at her lip and the memory of kissing her floods my brain. She's upset, I can tell by the Dahlia crease on her brow. I stop smiling.

  “I'm not going to ask you about... it. And I don't want you to tell me,” she says, stroking my hand with her thumb.

  The sensation pushes through to human Jack, and I'm overwhelmed by my need for her. I'm shocked by the power of the realisation the energy is between us again; the same pull that turned me inside out when we first met. For the first time since she found me, I don’t want her blood.

  “Can I kiss you?” The words blurt out before I have the sense to stop them and the wide-eyed Dahlia doesn't answer me.

  “Kiss me?” she asks, barely audible.

  God, why can’t I keep my mouth shut? “Sorry.”

  A smile hints at Dahlia's lips. “Jack… don't say sorry.”

  But she doesn't say yes. I sink back in my chair. “Are you staying in the house?”

  “Yes. But I don't want to talk about why.”

  “Okay.”

  “And yes you can.”

  “Can what?”

  Brushing my fringe from my face, she places her lips gently on mine before withdrawing again. My breath catches, the familiar softness of her mouth I dream about kindles the embers inside me.

  I don't want to taste her blood. I could be her Jack again.

  “Your lips feel the same,” she says, touching hers. “I thought they'd be cold.”

  I'm about to respond, but she interrupts with an “oh” of realisation. Yeah, because I'm full of a stranger's blood. This kills the mood for me, dragging me back to vampire Jack. I curl my hand into a fist on my knee.

  “Are we going to move past this, Jack?”

  I shrug before I realise what I'm doing, and Dahlia raises an eyebrow.

  “Shrugger.”

  I grin at Dahlia talking to the human Jack and ignoring my vampire. I can do this. “Yes, we are,” I say as I crush my mouth onto hers.

  Dahlia gasps, and I wait for her to draw away, but she tangles a hand in my hair and holds my face to her. She kisses me, tongue parting my lips, and I taste the Dahlia from my past. I’m consumed by the scent of her familiar perfume mingled with the smell of her blood. We enfold each other in an embrace of two people who don’t want to let go, a need to anchor each other in their world. The longing her Jack has had since the day I returned explodes inside, and I wish we were alone in the house.

  Someone clears his throat, and I turn to see Eli watching us curiously. Dahlia dips her head, cheeks pink, and I reluctantly slide my hand from her shoulders.

  “Could you come into the lounge, please?” he asks, but he's telling.

  Dahlia instantly stands. “What's happening? Is it Keir?”

  Inside, I sink. He's never far away from her thoughts.

  “If you could just wait for Asher.” He turns away.

  Eli doesn’t speak to me much, and he scares Dahlia too; her wide, brown eyes and pale face betray fear. I know she's waiting for Keir to come back, we all are. I'm worried about what she'll do when she sees him.

  DAHLIA

  He killed.

  Keir killed.

  The very opposite of everything the old Keir believed in.

  And more than once.

  Ava broke the news, and I’m engulfed by a horror that pushes out every ounce of comfort from Jack's kiss. I'm in a daze when Jack takes me home. They all try to persuade me to stay
at the Nephilims’ house, but I want to see him. I need to see Keir. He wouldn't do this. Not Keir. Not my Keir.

  Asher and Eli told us they suspected, and now he’s admitted to Ava he’s killed and taken souls to Zach. Apart from he didn’t admit he’d killed—he bragged about it. But I have to hear this myself… from Keir’s mouth.

  Jack guides me back to my room and waits near the closed door. I stand in the window, looking through the open curtains at the trees, wondering if Keir's nearby.

  “It's not true,” I say.

  Jack doesn't reply, probably doesn't want me to have a breakdown like I did when the Nephilim and Ava told me. Jack never copes well with tears and has no idea what to do now.

  “Do you want a drink?” he asks, picking up a half-empty bottle of red wine.

  I shake my head, fighting the tears.

  More silence.

  “I don't know what to say,” Jack says.

  “Evidently.”

  “Do you want me to stay or go?”

  Poor, awkward Jack. Some things never change.

  My mind is far from Jack at the moment. The two Nephilim recently discovered returning Keir’s soul is simple—a case of breaking the crystal containing his soul near him and allowing the released soul to re-enter him. Ava says Keir told her he doesn’t want his soul back, but she’s been told to get closer to him and try.

  Why not me? I could try.

  “How can they trust her? Ask her to return Keir’s soul when she was the one who stole it?”

  “She's the closest to him, plus he’s already told her he wants to be physically closer.”

  “I could do it! I mean, not the physical bit, but he’s my friend. He’ll remember that.”

  “No!” The strength in Jack's tone startles me. “He'll kill you!”

  “No, he wouldn't.”

  Jack crosses the room and looks down, face illuminated by the lamp. “If they thought you could return his soul, don't you think they'd ask you? You’re not strong enough.”

  “Why does everyone still trust her?” My words are a plea, not a question. Jack chooses silence as an answer.

  He reaches out, brushes my cheek with his cool fingers. “Let them deal with this. Can't we focus on fixing our problems instead?”