Soul Chase (Dark Souls)

by Anne Hope

  “To help you.”

  Dawn slowly swept in, and soft, pink light spilled from the window to illuminate his face. Emma’s lungs squeezed in surprise. He looked like an angel—a dark angel, with an angular jaw, sharp, chiseled features and eyes as blue as the midnight sea. Tousled black hair brushed his forehead and curtained one of his brows. His sensual lips hovered a few inches above hers, and she could feel the heat emanating from them…from him.

  For a moment she lost the ability to form a coherent thought. He was beautiful, hard and defined, a Greek sculpture pinning her to the ground. His muscular leg was slung across hers, his fingers encircling her wrists like a pair of steel shackles.

  She couldn’t stand feeling trapped, even if a dark angel was doing the trapping. “If you want to help me, let me go.”

  He hesitated, his gaze capturing hers. Confusion pinched his brows as he studied her face. Then he did something so unexpected, so tender and intimate, Emma’s next breath snagged in her throat.

  He reached up and caressed her cheek. Shock and affection gleamed in his navy-blue eyes, roughening his voice. “Angie?”

  Chapter Three

  Adrian had sensed something familiar about her energy at the apartment complex where he’d picked up her trail, but he’d never suspected the woman he’d find would be the woman he’d lost. The woman he’d mourned for over a quarter of a century.

  He explored the curve of her cheek, rejoiced at the soft fullness of her mouth, buried his fingers in her thick mane of hair, trounced by feelings and sensations he hadn’t experienced in ages.

  God he’d missed her. Missed her shy smile, the way she mauled her bottom lip when she was nervous, the warmth of her touch.

  His gut clenched as he gazed into her multi-flecked eyes. Eyes that held no recognition of him at all.

  He could see well enough in the dim light to make out her features. Her chin was sharper, her cheekbones higher, her complexion more olive-toned than rosy. Her hair, which now fanned across the carpet in silky waves, was darker, a deep mahogany rather than the honey brown he remembered. But those eyes were exactly the same.

  “It’s Emma,” she spat through gritted teeth, then surprised him by raising a jackknife to his throat. He could smell the angel’s blood on the blade, and it froze him solid.

  She was fast for a human. He hadn’t even felt her reach for it. Now he had to make damn sure she didn’t cut him. If the blade so much as grazed his skin it would burn straight to the bone and incapacitate him.

  “Why are you here?” Wariness flattened her heart-shaped mouth.

  “I told you, to help you.” He had to keep his cool. He couldn’t reveal the extent of his feelings for her or he’d scare her away. She wasn’t the woman he’d once known. She wasn’t his Angie. She was Emma now.

  Reincarnation was a concept he understood well, being what he was. He’d lived for nearly two centuries and had seen countless souls reborn, including his own. But Emma was human, and the human mind wasn’t always open to notions that pushed the boundaries of its limited reality.

  Still, long-buried emotions smoldered to life inside him, heating his blood, making his fingers burn with the forbidden urge to touch, to brand and possess. She felt so good trapped under him. After all these years of living without her, feeling her delicate form strain beneath his body was the sweetest of tortures.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t passion that clouded her gaze but mistrust. “You’re one of them. I can tell.”

  I know what you are. That was what she’d said to him when he’d first entered her motel room. Did she see the darkness within him, the emptiness? How? As far as he knew, no human possessed that ability.

  But he could tell at a glance Emma’s soul was different, similar to Angie’s but brighter, more powerful. If he was a betting man, he’d say twin essences dwelled within her. He’d only come across a life-force this radiant once before—Ben’s, the young boy his father, Marcus, had brought to his doorstep eighteen months ago. The boy who’d mysteriously disappeared under his watch.

  “We’re not all the same.” How could he make her understand that not all members of his race were evil? He ached to have her look at him the way Angie once had, needed her to see the man and not the monster.

  “Get off me.”

  The blade aimed at his jugular should’ve warned him to retreat, but part of him refused to believe Angie would harm him, whatever name she went by now.

  A wave of black energy swept through the motel room, and Adrian stiffened, tension coiling through his body. The Kleptopsychs were here. He felt them. They’d probably followed Emma’s signature the same way he had.

  He stood abruptly, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to her feet. He had so much to tell her, but the time for small talk had passed. He needed to get her out of there. Now.

  Emma struggled to escape his grasp, unaware that a much greater threat closed in on her. Desperate to break free, she sliced him across the hand with her bloody blade.

  Adrian muttered a curse, releasing her. Red-hot agony speared through him. Weakness crawled through his veins, and his senses swam in and out of focus.

  The muted thud of her footsteps as she raced to the door pounded in his head. “Don’t—” He reached for her again, but dizziness swept over him, and he dropped to his knees.

  She directed an apologetic look his way, then grabbed the backpack by the door.

  “You can’t go out that way. They’ll see you.”

  She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Who?”

  “The guys from the apartment. They’re here.”

  The color leached from her face. “You’re lying.”

  “I wish I were.”

  A slash of pain cleaved her features, and for a second he feared she’d bolt from the motel room, right into the Kleptopsychs’ waiting arms. “Is my mother with them?”

  His senses were dulled thanks to the angel’s blood contaminating his own, but not so dull that he couldn’t feel exactly who approached. “No. There are six of them. And they’re headed this way. If you walk out that door, you’ll expose yourself to them.”

  She ventured a glance out the window, closed her eyes and muttered under breath, “Holy goddamn hell.”

  Sweat sprang from his brow, but he forced himself to his feet. The room wobbled and spun, then settled down. “Get behind me,” he told her.

  She did as he commanded, and he couldn’t help but feel he’d taken his first step toward winning her trust. Concentrating, he scanned the motel room, x-raying the walls, cursing each time his vision blurred. He hated angel’s blood with a passion.

  There had to be another way out of here. The door and window were out of the question, and the place didn’t seem to have an emergency exit. The ceiling snagged his attention. A network of vents snaked overhead, linking all the rooms together. The vents were made of copper, which meant the Kleptopsychs wouldn’t be able to see through them, nor would they attempt to search them. His kind was severely allergic to copper. It sapped them of their strength almost as effectively as angel’s blood did.

  Adrian climbed up on the bed. Using his fingers, he pried the grate off the wall, tossing it aside and gesturing for Emma to join him. She eyed him warily, directed a glance at the door again, then decided to trust him. Clambering onto the double bed, she came to stand beside him. Only a breath of air separated their bodies.

  Adrian briefly lost his train of thought. It was disconcerting, having her here beside him again, her upturned face watching him expectantly, her pulse racing to the beat of his. Before he could stop himself, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. Touching her strengthened him, chased the weakness from his limbs and heightened his determination. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”

  Something passed behind her eyes. Was it gratitude or a flicker of recognition? Maybe it was a bit of both. The mind sometimes forgot, but the soul always remembered.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys, hand
ing them to her. “There’s a dark-blue Tahoe in the parking lot. Take it and get as far away from this place as you can.” He gripped her by the waist. “Ready?”

  “Wait.” She peeled his palm from her body and placed the folded switchblade within it, closing his fingers around it. “Something tells me you’re going to need this.”

  Adrian’s windpipe constricted at the gesture of trust.

  She bit her lower lip, nearly undoing him. “Now I’m ready.”

  With whatever strength he had left, he propelled her toward the opening. Emma reached her arms up and hoisted herself inside, quickly disappearing within the ventilation system.

  The second he secured the grate in place and climbed down from the bed, the door burst open. Kleptopsychs streamed into the small room, blocking the exit.

  There were six of them and only one of him. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was weakened by angel’s blood and had no weapon beyond this meager blade. But he couldn’t fail, couldn’t let Emma down.

  He’d sworn to protect her, and he would keep that promise.

  Even if it killed him.

  Emma tamped down her mounting panic and crept through the blackened vent as quietly as she could. The sound of a scuffle rose from the room she’d fled—glass shattering, furniture breaking, the thud of bodies hitting the floor.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. Prayed for salvation, for her mother, for the compelling stranger who’d come to her rescue.

  Her dark angel.

  She didn’t know what to make of him, couldn’t explain why his touch made her skin thrum or the sound of his voice elicited a slow glide of heat deep within her. But even more perplexing was the devotion she’d noted in his eyes.

  Why would he risk himself to help her? And why did he look at her like he knew her, when she’d never met him before in her life?

  The vent shook from the impact of the battle that raged below, and her blood ran cold. What if the creatures killed him? What if he died defending her? Hadn’t enough people suffered because of her? What made her so damn special anyway?

  She hadn’t asked to be different, hadn’t asked to be the savior her mother insisted she was. All she’d ever wanted was to live a normal life, to put down roots, to fall in love. She didn’t want to change the world. She just wanted to belong to it.

  A thunderous crash resounded through the vents, and swirls of dust rose to enfold her. Emma fought to stay on course.

  Don’t look back. Keep going. That was the mantra Christina Russo had taught her to live by.

  She flung a glance behind her despite herself, then forced her gaze forward again. A few feet ahead, light pierced the darkness. She was almost home free. All she had to do was kick open the grille, drop into the room opposite hers and escape. The creatures were too distracted to notice or follow her. She could make it.

  Why then did she hesitate? Why did some primal instinct urge her to return to the man she’d left behind? As much as she tried to silence the voice in her head, it kept nagging at her, telling her he needed her.

  But what could she do to help him? For all she knew, he was already dead.

  She halted, her insides blistering at the thought, her fingers tightening around the keys he’d given her.

  Shit. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t run again, couldn’t let someone else fight her battle for her, even if the fate of the world depended on it.

  It wasn’t easy to turn around, given the tight confines of the vent, but she managed. Urgency gnawed at her as she crawled back to the room she’d vacated. The clang of battle ceased abruptly. Silence rose to swallow her, broken only by the annoying buzz of the phone.

  Holding her breath, afraid of what she’d find, she peeked through the opening at the scene below. The place was a mess. Furniture had been overturned, the television set shattered, the curtain rods torn from the windows. The phone lay on the floor, the receiver complaining that it had been left off the hook.

  Several bodies littered the faded brown carpet. Her gaze scanned each one, looking for the man who’d come to her aid. She found him, trapped beneath a massive corpse, his dark head partially hidden by the bed.

  Wasting no time, she kicked off the grate, squeezed through the tight opening, and dropped into the room. She scrambled over the bodies and went to squat beside her rescuer. He lay as still as death, his eyes closed, his fingers still clutching the switchblade. With a surprising surge of strength, she hauled the corpse off him, then felt for a pulse.

  His eyelids twitched, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive. Mangled and beaten up, but alive.

  She stroked his face, her flesh tingling each time she touched him. “Wake up. We need to get out of here.” She didn’t even know what to call him.

  He moaned. “I thought I told you to leave.” His eyes sprang open, and a sea of blue engulfed her. “Guess some things never change.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. “Can you walk?”

  He propped himself on his elbows. “I don’t have a choice. There may be more of them on the way.”

  That was the last thing Emma wanted to hear. “What the hell are they?” Exasperation stretched her voice thin. “And who are you?”

  “Adrian.”

  The name delivered a well-aimed blow below the ribs. She’d heard it before, in her dreams. How many times had she awakened with a sharp ache in her heart and that name dangling from her lips?

  Just a coincidence. It had to be. “And these things?” She poked at one of the carcasses with an equal blend of curiosity and disgust.

  He stumbled to his feet, swaying a little as he stood. “They’re called Kleptopsychs.”

  “As in soul thieves?” Emma raised two dubious brows. “Is that the best they could come up with?”

  A wry grin tugged at his sensual mouth, making his left cheek dimple. A swarm of butterflies invaded Emma’s chest. It wasn’t fair. Demons weren’t supposed to have dimples. They were supposed to be ugly, with sharp teeth, red, mottled skin and pointy horns on their heads.

  “Actually, my grandfather came up with it, right after the Great Flood.”

  She quirked her lips. “Of course he did.”

  His fingers closed around her arm, and he urged her to the door. “I can’t explain now. We’ve got to go.”

  For a second she felt cornered, and that deeply ingrained flight instinct reared within her. “Where are you taking me?”

  He released her arm and raised his hand to the nape of her neck. His fingers slid beneath her hair, caressing her head, cradling it. Emma stiffened, even as her heart betrayed her with a loud thud. Why did he keep touching her this way, with intimacy and affection? And why did some hidden part of her respond to it?

  “Somewhere safe.” He flung a glance over his shoulder at the carnage, then propelled her out the door, his fingers still massaging her scalp. “Trust me.”

  Chapter Four

  Adrian didn’t relax until he had Emma secured in his Tahoe. If another wave of Kleptopsychs attacked, with him feeling so damn weak, he wouldn’t be able to protect her. It was a miracle he’d managed to hold his own back in that motel room.

  He started the engine and drove out of the parking lot, regretting the mess he was leaving behind. Normally, he would’ve disposed of the corpses, but there was no time. The Watchers would have some serious damage control to do when they got wind of the slaughter, including stealing the bodies from the morgue, altering memories and erasing autopsy reports, all to conceal the existence of their kind.

  The road unfurled before him, swimming in and out of focus as the angel’s blood continued to poison his system. But he had to keep it together, couldn’t succumb to the weakness until he had Emma safely ensconced in his world.

  She sat beside him, fiddling with the bloody switchblade. “I can’t believe you took them all out with this.”

  “I was highly motivated.” Failure hadn’t been an option. And a little angel’s blood went a long way.

&nb
sp; Her gaze dropped to his injured hand. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked his raw, puckered flesh, and his ribcage squeezed. From the corner of his eye, he watched her as she examined his wound. “Sorry I cut you.”

  The mere fact that she touched him infused him with strength. A Hybrid drew his energy from his lost soul—the closer he was to it, the faster he healed—and his old soul now dwelled within Emma. The same soul that had once belonged to Angie. “I’ll live.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  Like hell. “Not really.”

  Gently, she ran her finger over the swollen gash. With every soft stroke, the wound shrank and healed. Realizing what was happening, Emma yanked her hand away. “Am I doing that?”

  He ached to tell her who she was and what she meant to him, but he held back. Instinct warned him she wasn’t ready for the truth yet. “My kind heals exceptionally fast.”

  Adrian directed the Tahoe onto Interstate 17, driving north. They wouldn’t reach the safety of his community for another two hours, at least.

  “You still haven’t told me what you are.”

  He continued to cleave a path through the desert. Slashes of sunlight striated the road and made the pavement glisten. On either side of the highway, clusters of creosote lined the road. It was an interesting plant, the creosote. It did not germinate in the traditional form, but eventually split in half, the new plant becoming a clone of the old.

  The same could be said about a Hybrid’s soul. It moved from one person to the next, leaving an echo of its energy behind, all identities linked by a network of roots. A Hybrid figuratively drank from those roots, replenishing himself, regardless of the distance separating him from his lost soul.

  “There’s no one word for what I am.” Adrian had never fit in any one particular category, so he’d created his own—a community of rogue Hybrids who weren’t welcome among the Kleptopsychs and who didn’t wish to fight with the Watchers.

  “Okay, then let’s start with what you’re not. You’re not human.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, void of accusation or contempt, but the statement still stung.