Soul Chase (Dark Souls)

by Anne Hope

  She’d actually felt herself dying, felt the life drain from her body and her soul rise. This was by far the freakiest experience she’d ever had, and that was saying a lot given the life she’d led.

  The door to her room crashed open, and Adrian came tearing in. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  He took in the sight of her tear-streaked face, and his features stiffened. In a few, graceful strides he was beside her. He sat on the bed and seized her by the arms. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, swiping the last of her tears from her cheeks. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken.” She inhaled sharply. “I just had the mother of all nightmares.”

  A look she couldn’t decipher flitted across his face. “Tell me about it.”

  “I can’t. It was just a bunch of jumbled thoughts and images. None of it made any sense. Except the part where I died.”

  She couldn’t tell him how prominently he’d figured into the dream, couldn’t admit the extent of her obsession with him. An obsession that ran so deep she’d subconsciously placed herself in his dead girlfriend’s shoes. That was the only way she could explain seeing him beside her as death swept over her.

  It made sense. Earlier today he’d told her about how the woman he’d loved had died, so she’d dreamed about it. Not only that, but she’d actually gone as far as to imagine she was that woman. How desperate and pathetic was that?

  His hold on her tightened, and she raised her hands to his chest.

  His bare chest. Corded muscles tensed beneath her palms, filling her with decadent warmth. She trailed her gaze over him, a potent flush swamping her face. God, he was beautiful. Wide shoulders led to a broad chest, which tapered down to a flat stomach.

  Emma swallowed to wash the sand from her throat. Maybe she was feeling vulnerable. Maybe remnants of the sensations she’d experienced in the dream still hummed in her blood. Or maybe she was so damn lonely she was desperate for any kind of physical contact, if only to convince herself she was alive.

  Whatever the case, the need to touch him exploded within her. Guided by a will of their own, her hands explored his torso, sliding greedily over smooth, tanned skin. With tentative fingers, she caressed his waist, the tight cluster of abs at his center, the wide expanse of his ribcage.

  The sound of pleasure he made emboldened her. She ran her finger over the birthmark beneath his collarbone, hesitantly lowered her head and pressed her lips to it.

  He moaned, yanked her closer until they sat chest to chest. Fire erupted within her, a wild desire to experience that completeness he’d alluded to yesterday, the rare gift of finding one’s other half.

  His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, bringing her lips within a hairsbreadth of his. The air left her lungs. She felt like she was drowning again, and only his kiss could save her.

  He hesitated, doubt stilling his hands and stiffening his shoulders.

  Everything inside her ached for this man, ached to belong to him, to be possessed by him. The emptiness inside her was so wide and so deep, it threatened to swallow her unless she did something about it. Unless she took what she wanted, what she needed.

  Before he could come to his senses and pull away from her, Emma boldly raised her chin and kissed him.

  A low growl, ripe with longing, issued from his lips, and an answering yearning swept through her. She melted against him, felt her bones turn to rubber and her muscles grow soft and molten. He could do anything he wanted to her, and she’d welcome it.

  His mouth drank from hers, sweet and musky and spiced with lust. But worst of all were his hands. They were everywhere at once, touching her, stroking her back, heating her flesh with each maddening stroke.

  He yanked her onto his lap, and she sighed when she felt the hot brand of his arousal. She pressed into him, and he lurched against her, inspiring her to kiss him harder, wilder. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth. It was intoxicating, addictive.

  Familiar. Why was it so familiar?

  She was losing her mind, and for once she didn’t care, didn’t try to stop it. Let the visions come. Let them sweep through her, consume her. Nothing would make her stop what she’d put in motion.

  Nothing but Adrian.

  With an abruptness that startled her, he pried his mouth from hers. “No. This is wrong.” He tossed her back on the bed, severing all physical contact between them. “I won’t do it. I won’t take you. Not like this.”

  Passion slid into confusion. “Why not?” She sounded pathetic, maybe even a little desperate, but she didn’t care. She didn’t understand what was holding him back. She wasn’t asking for forever, just one night in his arms. For one measly night, she wanted to feel safe, to belong to someone. Was that really so terrible?

  “You’re upset, shaken by the dream you had.”

  She couldn’t deny that, but that didn’t mean her judgment was off. Okay, maybe it was, just a little. “I know what I want.”

  He held her gaze. “Do you? Do you know who you are? Who I am? Do you understand what’s happening between us?”

  She looked away. There was no way she could form a coherent thought while staring into those dark, tortured eyes. Eyes that haunted her dreams.

  She shook her head. “Does it matter?”

  His gaze raked over her body, which lay in an undignified sprawl on the bed. He reached out and caressed her cheek. “Yeah. It matters. It matters to me.”

  The broken expression on his face perplexed her. What man denied himself the pleasure of a woman when she so shamelessly offered herself to him, especially if he wanted her? And there was no doubt in Emma’s mind that Adrian wanted her.

  She closed her eyes, savored his touch. “Why?” Nothing about this night made one iota of sense, least of all this conversation.

  “Because you’re different.” His thumb glided across her cheek to feather over her bottom lip. The gesture was so tender, something inside her fractured. “You’re mine.”

  The proprietary way he touched her, coupled with the words he spoke, sent a pleasant thrill racing through her. “Will you at least hold me? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  He didn’t reply, nor did he need to. He slid onto the bed beside her, his arm encircling her waist, drawing her to him. Their bodies merged, not the way she’d originally intended but in a way that was almost as satisfying.

  She hadn’t realized how good it would feel to be held by Adrian. His strength enveloped her, a blanket of heat and vigor, sweeping away her fears and loneliness, tethering her to the here and now. She breathed in his spicy male scent, that comforting combination of nature and man. All she wanted was to feed off his vitality, to let the darkness inside him tangle with her light.

  In that moment when his arms sheltered her, she understood. Understood why he was so familiar to her. He’d been holding her in her visions for years, a faceless phantom whose name had hovered on the edges of her consciousness for as long as she could remember.

  Adrian.

  It was no coincidence. His was the name she’d been calling out in her dreams. She was sure of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Diane crept into the cold, dank cell where the old woman huddled. Soft, enticing light pulsed around the prisoner, surprisingly strong considering the abuse the woman had suffered. Diane would’ve gladly extracted her soul, but she needed her alive.

  For now.

  The woman glared at her, and Diane was certain that it was sheer hatred and determination that kept the human from breaking.

  Diane had made several attempts to infiltrate the bitch’s mind, but her efforts had failed repeatedly. “My patience is wearing thin,” she told her, exposing her latest acquisition—a little device that delivered a painful jolt of electricity directly to a person’s nervous system. “You will tell me what I need to know or you will suffer.”

  A glint of steel flashed in the captive’s eyes. “There’s nothing you can do to me that will make me talk, so you might as well quit trying
.”

  Diane didn’t quit. Ever. She’d learned that if she held on long enough, she usually got what she wanted. She zapped the woman, enjoying the way her body thrashed from the shock.

  “Tell me where your daughter went.”

  The woman wiped the drool from her mouth and pressed her back to the wall for support. “To hell. Why don’t you go join her?” Her voice quivered, but the strength behind the words was impossible to miss.

  Diane zapped her again. “You told her you would go find her.” One of the Kleptopsychs who’d survived the attack had heard the parting promise the old woman had made to her daughter. “Where were you planning to meet her?”

  The woman’s body twitched from the aftershock of the Taser, which Diane had set to stun mode. She didn’t want to incapacitate her target, only cause her a world of pain.

  Despite her obvious discomfort, the prisoner held her ground. “Kiss my wrinkled ass.”

  Fury expanded within Diane, a result of the recent feeding she’d had and the woman’s dogged refusal to surrender. Guided by anger, she turned to the serving platter by the wall, which held a stale, untouched sandwich and a bottle of water. Using her unique ability to control water, Diane willed the contents of the bottle into motion. The liquid rose and slithered through the air like a transparent snake, stopping a few inches from her captive’s face.

  Diane raised the Taser menacingly. “I could kill you with a flick of my finger.” The device wouldn’t cause electrocution if it came in contact with water, but the woman hopefully didn’t know that. “I could fry your brain and that smart tongue of yours.”

  “Go ahead,” the woman said. “Get it over with, because I’ll die before I let you anywhere near my daughter.”

  Diane released her mental hold on the water, and it splashed onto the concrete floor. She zapped the prisoner one last time for the sheer pleasure of it. “Oh, what I have planned for you is far worse than death. I’ve only gotten started.”

  Adrian awoke to the heat of the sun upon his face and the delicious feel of Emma’s curves pressing into him. A tangle of dark curls blanketed his torso. Her fingers spanned his lower abdomen, and her leg straddled his hips in the most enticing way.

  He did his damnedest not to move, not wanting to disrupt the moment or wake her. She looked so relaxed, so peaceful.

  His left arm lay trapped beneath her, while his other arm was draped around her waist. The top of her head grazed his chin, and he inhaled her compelling scent. She smelled like flowers and woman, like mint and spice. For as long as he lived, he could never get enough of that smell. It filled all the empty spaces inside him and welcomed him home.

  She stirred, and he stiffened beneath her, holding his breath. He didn’t want the moment to pass, the dream to end.

  He slid his free hand up her back, touched his fingers to her cheek. She turned her face into his palm, gliding her lips across his flesh, and his body reacted painfully and violently. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his face to hers and planted a featherlight kiss on her mouth. Her eyes flew open, and her arresting gaze engulfed him.

  For a second she looked disoriented, as terrified as a deer caught in the headlights. Then the fog cleared and she smiled at him. That smile was more potent than the hand she had stretched less than an inch above the waistband of his pajama pants, more dangerous than the delicious pressure of her thigh on his crotch. That smile had the power to shatter him.

  “You stayed.” She sounded surprised.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  In the revealing light of morning, her mask slipped, exposing her vulnerability. “I didn’t know what to think. When a man spends the night with a woman, he usually has an ulterior motive, which clearly you don’t.” She sounded disappointed.

  “Oh, I have an ulterior motive. But it’s a little more complicated than sex.” Saying the word out loud only served to heighten the tension between them. The air hummed with an electric charge, and he became achingly aware of every point where their bodies touched.

  “What is it?” Her voice grew low and husky, gravel wrapped in silk. “Your motive.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Haven’t you guessed yet?” His fingers caressed her face again, and he bared himself to her, briefly allowed her to see the intensity of his feelings for her.

  Bewilderment pleated her brows. She tensed, resistance creeping in to wreck the mood. She had no qualms surrendering her body to him, but her heart was a different matter entirely.

  She squirmed against him, and for a second he forgot why he’d sworn to take things slow. Desire lanced through him, muddying his thoughts and threatening to obliterate what little willpower he had.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when Emma extracted herself from his arms. One more second of her thigh rubbing against him and he would’ve been lost.

  She shot out of bed, running her fingers through her wild hair to tame it. The act made her breasts jut against the cotton tank top she wore, and Adrian looked away. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

  He tried not to picture her naked beneath the jets and failed miserably.

  “I’ll do my best not to use up all the hot water,” she quipped, desperate to break the tension.

  Adrian didn’t bother to tell her that it wouldn’t make a difference. Since the Great Flood, his kind had an acute aversion to getting wet. No matter how hot the stream, water always felt ice cold against their skin. Showers were a necessary ordeal, endured but never enjoyed. Otherwise, he may have been tempted to join her.

  He climbed out of bed and reluctantly made his way to the door. “I’ll be downstairs.” He’d take a quick, cold shower later, by himself.

  She forced a smile, but it didn’t conceal the anxiety in her gaze. An anxiety that hovered on the edge of recognition. For a brief second, he could see Angie looking back at him, and it shook him right down to the marrow of his bones.

  Then in a flash it was gone, and she brushed past him, leaving a fragrant cloud of jasmine and mint in her wake.

  Enticing aromas lured Emma downstairs, where Adrian waited for her in the kitchen. All of her favorite foods lay sprawled across the table—bacon and eggs, thick slices of country-style bread, blackberry jam, freshly squeezed orange juice.

  “Wow. You made all this?”

  He stood leaning against the counter, a coffee mug clasped between his fingers, looking relaxed and as appealing as sin. “You didn’t eat much yesterday. I thought I’d make up for it.”

  Her lips tingled with amusement. “I appreciate the gesture, but there’s enough food here to last me a week.”

  He bridged the distance between them and pulled out a chair for her. Emma folded her body into it, staring at the feast with a touch of wonder. “How did you know what I like?”

  “I’m incredibly intuitive.” He took the seat across from her.

  “First the coffee, and now this.” She gripped one of the thick slices of bread. “I’m starting to think you can read my mind.” She filled her plate with a mountain of food, more out of gluttony than hunger. “So can you? Read my mind.”

  His shuttered gaze gave nothing away. “Not the way I read others, no.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She spread her toast with jam, took a bite and sighed. It tasted like heaven.

  He drew a long gulp from his mug. “Would you like some coffee?”

  She shook her head, noting how he’d sidestepped the question. “The orange juice is fine.” She took a sip to emphasize her point. “So your kind can control people like puppets, is that right?”

  “Comes with the territory when you’ve got tainted Nephilim blood coursing through your veins.”

  He’d mentioned the Nephilim yesterday, but she’d been too preoccupied at the time to inquire about it. “What exactly are the Nephilim?”

  “The offspring of humans and fallen angels.”

  The toast paused midway to her lips. “Are you telling me you’re part angel?”

 
“Fallen angel. And so are the Kleptopsychs. The only difference is that I have more human blood than they do.”

  The puzzle was starting to come together for her. “That’s why you were born with a soul.”

  He nodded. “According to the legend, thousands of years ago, angels known as the Grigori were sent to Earth to watch over mankind. But they rebelled and ended up mating with the very humans they were duty-bound to protect.”

  He stopped long enough to take another swallow from his mug. “Their offspring were cursed to be born soulless, and century after century, these creatures hungered for what they lacked, a human essence. So they killed multitudes, consuming their souls, until the corruption grew so great, God sent the Great Flood to wipe them away.”

  She sampled her scrambled eggs. They were perfect, just the right texture and moistness. “I’m guessing it didn’t work.”

  “Some of them survived, thanks to my grandfather, Athanatos. He spawned the Kleptopsychs, labeled them as purebloods and led them for the next five millennia or so.”

  Led, past tense. “What happened to him?”

  “He was killed. My Uncle Kyros inherited the throne, so to speak.” He searched her face, as if the name should mean something to her. “Until he, too, was killed a year and a half ago.”

  Emma frowned. “Who’s leading the Kleptopsychs now?”

  “That’s the one-million-dollar question.” He deposited his mug on the table and finally picked up his fork. “If we figure that out, we figure out who’s after you.”

  She touched her own fork to her bottom lip, let the cool metal linger there for a second or two. “Who’s next in line?”

  He released a caustic huff. “Mommy dearest.”

  “Your mother?” Surprise slackened her mouth.

  “The one and only.” Something told her they didn’t get along. “But last I heard, Kora was in Europe. She’s got a pretty elaborate operation there, so I can’t picture her dropping everything and moving to North America.”