Soulbound: A Lone Star Witch Novel

by Tessa Adams

  “That’s nice of you.”

  I drop my phone a second time, use the “accident” to stop our forward momentum. I can’t go any farther. My brain feels like it’s being crushed inside my skull and every inch of my skin is stinging. Deep inside me, every nerve ending I have is aflame. Something wet seeps from my ear, and when I touch it, my fingers come away bloody.

  I’m in trouble.

  While Brett bends to get my phone, I wipe the blood away and then rub my fingers on my jeans to clean them. He stands, hands the phone back to me with a frown. “The glass broke. I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s not your fault I’m so clumsy,” I tell him. My voice is huskier than usual, my eyesight going dim. More physiological changes that I can’t control. I look away, pretend shyness. “I guess talking to you makes me nervous.”

  He laughs, then reaches a hand out to pat my shoulder. “How long are you going to be in town?”

  I shift my weight, inch myself a little bit up the driveway. The vise loosens just a smidge. “Just through tomorrow.”

  “That’s a shame. I was kind of hoping to ask you out.”

  “I would have liked that.” I glance back at the Capitol. “Are you working all night?”

  He nods. “My shift just started.”

  “That’s a bummer. Maybe I’ll come find you next time I’m in town.” I peek at him through my lashes, bat my eyes a little. “I guess I should let you get back to work.”

  I step away, not even having to feign my reluctance. After all, it’s hard to be anything but concerned when I’m afraid my head is actually going to implode.

  He glances over at his police car, and I watch, breathless, as he wages an internal debate. I’m beginning to believe that whether I live or die depends on his decision.

  “I have to do my patrol of the grounds soon,” he finally says. “You can come with me, if you’d like. It’s not very exciting, but you could take some more pictures. And we could talk a little longer.”

  He sounds a little surprised, and uneasy, even as he makes the offer, but I’m not about to let him change his mind now that I’ve gotten exactly what I wanted all along.

  “I would love to.” I inject extra enthusiasm into my voice, even reach out and brush his shoulder with mine as I link our elbows. “Do you patrol the whole Capitol?”

  He shakes his head. “Just the grounds. There’s another officer stationed inside.”

  It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do. At the very least, it should make the pain stop for a while. And right now, that’s enough for me to follow him anywhere.

  “I just have to get my flashlight out of the car,” he says, guiding me back up the driveway. Thank God. When he stops at his car, I take my first deep breath in what feels like hours and just revel in the fact that the pain is almost completely gone. The compulsion—the throbbing pull deep inside my gut—is still there, but after the agony of the past ten minutes, it doesn’t feel so bad.

  Still, as Brett is getting his flashlight out of the trunk of his car, new thoughts creep into my head. Scary ones. Like could this all be a setup on Brett’s part? Making me think I’m the one pulling the strings, when in actuality he’s been doing it since the beginning? I think back on my fear from earlier, that the killer was watching me. Could it have been Brett all along? Has he been messing with me this whole time, laughing while I played right into his hands?

  He hadn’t been on the phone when he was walking toward me, and I don’t remember his mouth moving, like he was talking on his Bluetooth. But at the same time, I’m the first to admit that I wasn’t paying close attention to him. I was too busy dealing with everything else going on.

  As he slams down the trunk, I’m struck with the crushing realization that I should have thought this out better. I should have made sure—somehow—that I wasn’t about to jump from the frying pan into the fire.

  Pasting on a smile I’m far from feeling—I’m getting really good at that, by the way—I say, “Do you mind if I text Lily real fast? Tell her I’m going to be a little late?”

  His face falls. “If you need to go—”

  “No. I want to stay. I just don’t want her to worry.” I roll my eyes, pretend indulgence. “She’s one of those, you know?”

  “I do. And that’s fine. You should always let someone know where you are anyway. It’s safer, especially if you’re with some guy you don’t know.”

  I find it a little odd that he’s invited a strange woman into his security detail and now he’s suddenly Officer Safety, but I’m not going to argue. I pop off a quick text to Donovan, telling him where I am, and then another to Lily—just in case. I haven’t seen her since she left the house yesterday afternoon, but she texted me this morning to let me know she was spending the day with Brandon.

  Then I follow Brett along the fence line until we come to a small gate—which, had I known about it to begin with—could have saved me a lot of pain and trouble. Hannah taught me to pick locks when we were kids, part of our campaign to torture and harass Donovan and Rachael.

  I wait while Brett fumbles the right key into the lock. The pain is gone and in its place is that same humming I felt right before I found Lina. Whoever I’m meant to find is close. I can’t help being relieved—I don’t have to search for a way into the building, after all. The body must be outside, on the grounds somewhere.

  My relief is followed closely by horror. How can I possibly be relieved at the thought of finding a body? Of another woman being dead?

  Brett holds the gate open for me and we walk through. There’s a trail that winds through the sprawling yard and connects our small gate with the main pathway that leads up and around the building. When we get there, Brett turns right. I start to follow him, but the second I step onto the walkway, the pain starts again. Not as overwhelming as before, but sharp enough to get my attention. To tell me that we’re going in the wrong direction.

  I wrack my brain, try to come up with something to get him to turn the other way, but I’m sure he’s got his own routine worked out. He’s already deviated from the program by bringing me back here—if I push him any more, he’ll probably get suspicious. Especially if what I suspect is true and there’s a dead body over there.

  I grit my teeth and bear the pain that comes with each step I take in the wrong direction. If I could concentrate on it, just breathe through it, it might not be so bad. But Brett is talking—a lot, thank goddess—but still, I have to pay attention and respond.

  We’re halfway around the circle before the pain starts easing up, only to be replaced by that strange vibrating that makes me feel like I am on the verge of coming apart.

  The pathway is lit, but Brett sweeps his flashlight over the lawn and bushes as we walk. We finally circle around, so that we’re on the left side of the Capitol, near the huge grove of trees that fills up this part of the common area. The shaking is getting worse until my entire body seems to be throbbing to the time set by some invisible metronome.

  We’re close now, I know it with every cell of my being. I try to look under the trees, but it’s too dark over there and Brett seems determined to concentrate his flashlight on the areas near the path. Which is pretty damn stupid in my opinion—not just him, but the fact that there aren’t many lights out there in that huge, shaded area that is obviously a perfect body dump.

  “What kind of trees are those?” I ask, a little bit desperate as I point toward the copse of trees. I’m terrified we’re going to miss her and that poor woman will have to spend all night out here on the cold ground. Not that it will matter to her, I suppose, but it matters to me and I don’t want to see that happen. Plus, I have a feeling my entire body will go up in flames if I somehow manage to screw this up.

  “The trees?” Brett asks, surprised. I guess I don’t blame him as he was in the middle of a story about a couple of tourists that would have been really amusing if I wasn’t so damn terrified.

  “I saw them when I was here yesterday and they were so
pretty I wanted to ask someone, but when I went inside and saw all that pink marble I totally forgot about it.”

  “They’re mesquite trees,” he tells me with an authority that’s laughable, considering they’re actually oaks. I don’t mention to him that mesquite trees grow in West Texas and are ugly as hell.

  “All of them?” I ask. “I thought there were a couple of different varieties.”

  “I’m not sure.” Finally, finally, he sweeps his flashlight over the grove. It’s so quick that I don’t have a chance to see anything, and obviously neither does he.

  Still, I have to do something or I will be completely screwed. “Did you see that!” I demand.

  “What?” He looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “There’s something over there, near those trees.” I point at a random grouping, making sure to keep things a little vague.

  “Probably just another squirrel,” he tells me with a laugh.

  “Are you sure? It looked awfully big to be a squirrel.” I clutch at his arm and bat my eyes hard enough to achieve liftoff.

  “Maybe it was an armadillo. Have you ever seen one up close?”

  “No! I don’t think I have.” Bat, bat, bat. I think I’m giving myself another headache.

  “They’re pretty cool. It’s the Texas state mammal.” He sweeps his flashlight over the trees a second time. This time, something really does move. “Hey, you want to go check it out? See if we can spot you your very first armadillo?”

  Thank goddess for the official Texas state mammal. “I would love to!” I tell him, squeezing a little closer to him for extra encouragement.

  We’re only a few steps off the path before my phone goes crazy. A couple of text messages followed by a phone call and then another text message. Donovan has obviously gotten out of his meeting.

  Brett looks at me questioningly. “Do you need to get that?”

  “It’s probably just Lily calling to check in. I’ll text her later. I really want to see that armadillo.”

  There’s no way I’m stopping now—no way I could even if I wanted to. The live wire is back, tugging me forward, forward, forward until I’m practically running as I make a beeline across the lawn. My heels sink into the grass a couple of times, get stuck, and I swear to myself that I’m going to wear flats until this damn nightmare I’m involved in resolves itself.

  The third time my heel gets caught, Brett snags my elbow and keeps me from falling for the second time tonight. “Careful,” he tells me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me flush against his side. “You’re going to end up killing yourself out here.”

  I’m not the one I’m worried about. I don’t say that to him, just keep walking—though at a more sedate pace. If I get hurt we’ll never make it to those trees.

  Brett has his flashlight on low and is sweeping the whole grounds with it, trying to catch some motion, which is why we stumble over the body before we see her. I trip on something solid, go flying and probably would have landed on her if Brett hadn’t caught me. At first he doesn’t realize anything is wrong, he just thinks I’ve tripped again. But I know. I felt her, cold and a little clammy from the dew that’s settled on the grass as the temperature drops.

  “Brett. There’s someone here!” I drop to my knees.

  He whirls the flashlight around. “What are you talking about?”

  But then he sees. We both do.

  Sixteen

  She’s naked, lying facedown on the ground, her body covered with so many cuts and burns and bruises that there is almost no unmarred skin to see. Her long black hair is matted with blood and her left arm is angled oddly, the bone poking through the skin in a compound fracture I desperately hope happened postmortem.

  “What the hell!” Brett says, squatting down to get a closer look at her. I don’t think it’s yet registered on him what he’s seeing. When it does, he drops the flashlight and uses both hands to turn her over.

  The large black circlet of Isis is branded into her left breast. It’s about double the size of the one I have on my inner thigh, and somehow so much more intimidating on the flesh of the dead woman in front of me.

  Dead girl, really. She doesn’t look much more than eighteen—though she does look an awful lot like me.

  “You shouldn’t move her,” I tell him, though this is the first time I haven’t done the very same thing. The first time I haven’t tried to save her. Because I’ve known all along that she was already gone.

  Brett isn’t listening to me, though. He’s trying frantically to find a pulse—in her arm, her neck. I could tell him there isn’t one to find, but then he’d know this isn’t a coincidence.

  “Brett.” I crouch down next to him, pull him away. As I do, my arm brushes against her and it starts—the thing I’ve been dreading all along.

  Emotions rush at me, one after the other.

  Terror, disbelief, sickness, pain, anger, hope, resignation, agony.

  I jerk away, instantly, but it’s too late. Her feelings are followed closely by images of what she went through. They bombard me, flashing through my brain at high speed. A knife cutting her skin, a fist slamming against her face, a foot plowing into her midsection. I feel the blows as well as see them and I wrap my arms around myself, start to rock as the horror of the moment grows.

  She’s spread-eagle on a bed—like I was last night—only she’s naked, and he’s above her, his hands rough as they poke and prod at her already abused skin. I feel every pinch and slap he gives her and then he’s between her thighs, raping her and I’m screaming in my head, my own hoarse shouts mingling with hers as I feel him over me, tearing me apart.

  I try to pull away, to get out of the vision that is so much more than a vision, but I’m dug into it and can’t make it stop. The pain, the fear, the humiliation—they go on and on and on—until everything ends abruptly, with a quick slice across my throat that has me gasping and clutching at it, expecting to feel blood flowing down my neck.

  There’s nothing there, though, and that’s what brings me back. The realization that I’m still alive, that this didn’t happen to me—no matter how much it currently feels like it did.

  I’m still sitting on the grass, knees drawn up to my chest in an effort to ward off the pain. Brett’s given up on finding a pulse, is instead puking his guts up in the grass next to me. She must be his first body.

  I wonder abstractly how long I was out of it. It feels like forever, but it must not have been that long if Brett is only now pushing to his feet.

  “She’s dead,” he tells me after he wipes his mouth, his voice hoarse from horror and throwing up.

  I nod. After all, I can still feel the knife slicing across my jugular.

  He looks at me strangely, like he expects me to scream or cry or freak out completely. But I already did that—even if it was just in the privacy of my own head. He doesn’t get any more.

  When I don’t answer him, he gets in my face. “You okay?” he demands. His breath is puke-scented and it knocks me back.

  I nod again. Now that the worst is over, I can’t find it within me to form words. Even simple, reassuring ones.

  Brett looks worried as he stands up and pulls me to my feet. “Xandra, you need to go,” he says. “You need to get the hell out of here. I have to call this in and you can’t be here when I do. I broke procedure inviting you inside the gates.”

  That’s fine with me. More than fine, to be honest. He’s worried about his job and I just want to get away—from her, from him, from here. Part of me—the part that is still able to function—is worried about Nate finding out I was here. After what happened the other night, the last thing I want is to be caught here in the middle of all this.

  Nate may believe I’m innocent, but I don’t want to push him. I didn’t do this, but I can see how the police might doubt it if they realize I helped discover this body as well. And if they dig, if they find out about the one in Ipswitch? Friends or not, I’m pretty sure I’ll find myself locked up before I c
an say cowboy boots.

  The other part of me is too numb to think. Too empty and hollow to do anything but stand here and stare down at this girl who looks so much like me. This girl who could have been me. Maybe should have been me. I don’t know.

  “Xandra, go!” Brett’s voice is harsh and it gets me moving—which is exactly what he intended, I’m sure.

  I stumble away, every step a horror. It hurts—I hurt—and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the gate and down the long driveway to the sidewalk. I know I can’t leave—not until she’s taken away from here—but I don’t know how I’m going to find the strength to stay. Not when I ache deep inside from what that bastard did to me.

  Did to her, I remind myself viciously. Not me. Her. That poor girl whose only crime was to have a haircut like I used to have and skin like mine.

  Behind me, I can hear Brett calling in the body—female, DOS, Capitol grounds. I’ve barely made it out of the small gate Brett brought me in through before I see someone running up the main driveway. He stops at the main gate, right under the streetlight, and I realize that it’s Declan. He’s come for me.

  He doesn’t see me, though, and as he raises his hands, I know Brett is about to get a show he may never recover from.

  “Declan!” I call to him, my voice ragged from all the pain I’ve endured tonight and all the emotions I am holding in check. The numbness is wearing off and I want to yell and scream, to throw myself on the ground and rage at the goddess for letting yet another senseless death take place. But most of all, I want Declan to somehow make tonight’s nightmare disappear. I know it’s not fair, but that’s what I want. “Declan, I’m here!”

  I don’t yell very loudly—I don’t want Brett to get suspicious—but Declan hears me anyway. He turns, runs toward me and I just wait for him where I am. I hurt too much to move any farther.