Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2

by Anne Hope

  Regan propped herself on her elbows, felt her side burn like hellfire. A wave of dizziness gripped her, and she collapsed on the lumpy bed again. “Where are we?” Her voice sounded foreign to her, flat and raspy.

  Marcus angled his head her way but didn’t turn to look at her. “Cabin in the mountains, ’bout twenty miles north of the complex.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “I carried you, after you went and got yourself stabbed.”

  She inspected her midriff, pushing aside her bloody shirt to find a blister the size of a baseball. The memories gushed back, and she shot up in bed even though it made the room spin. “Ben?”

  “He’s safe, asleep in the next room.”

  Regan exhaled in relief. She brushed the hair from her face and leaned against the wooden headboard. “What exactly happened?”

  Marcus finally flung a glance her way, and the storm brewing in his eyes made her instinctively recoil. “Isn’t it obvious?” He pivoted on his heels and began to stalk the room like a caged lion. “I saved your pretty little ass. Now I’m as screwed as you are.”

  “You killed them? The others?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Marcus had never defied a direct order from Cal. Never.

  “No. I just maimed them. It was the only way I could get you and the kid out of there in one piece.”

  Gratitude tangoed with shock and outright confusion. “Why?”

  “Because I’m a flaming idiot.” He turned the full force of his anger on her. “And so are you. What the hell were you thinking, Regan?”

  She buried her face in her hands, shook her head. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t let Ben die. The compulsion to save him was stronger than I was.”

  He released a short laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” The tension melted from his limbs, and he came to stand by her bed, his eyes raking over her body in a way that made her muscles stiffen and her stomach tingle uncomfortably. “How’s your cut?”

  “Raw and blistered, but healing. I’m kinda low on energy, though.”

  He lowered his tall frame beside her, firmly gripping her hand. Short of ingesting a soul, the Watchers’ bond was the best way to fight the draining effects of angel’s blood. By pooling his energy with hers, Marcus was essentially helping her refuel.

  His familiar heat traveled through her, a soothing balm that cleansed her system and sped up the healing process. She closed her eyes and savored the revitalizing tingle in her bloodstream, losing herself in the humming warmth of it.

  She could feel her wound shrinking, the blister fading, until nothing remained but a thin white scar. “Thank you.” Those two words were hardly enough to express her gratitude. “For everything.”

  She knew what saving her had cost him, the sacrifice he’d made, and it sent her mind reeling. He’d put everything on the line for her—his job, his home, his very purpose—and as much as she appreciated it, she still failed to understand it.

  “Besides suffering from temporary insanity, why’d you do it? Why’d you save Ben and me?”

  A shadow passed behind his eyes, as dark as it was compelling. “Because I couldn’t bear to watch you die.”

  The naked honesty in his voice elicited a slow glide of heat deep in her abdomen. “Do you really think Cal would’ve had me executed?”

  He released her hand. “He wouldn’t have had a choice. All acts of treason must be dealt with accordingly or he risks full-blown mutiny.”

  Maybe she was in denial, but she had difficulty accepting that Cal would coldheartedly order her death. Not after all the years she’d served him. “He forgave me once before.”

  “If you’re talking about the time you ran off and supposedly drowned your kid, that doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you hadn’t taken the blood vow yet. Back then, you still had the right to choose. Now you don’t.”

  A curl of amusement spiraled through her at his bluntness, even though this blasted situation wasn’t the least bit funny. “Your bedside manner sucks, you know that?”

  His lips quirked at the corners. “Just saying it like it is.” He squeezed in closer, raising his legs onto the mattress and propping his head against the headboard. Lying here in bed beside him, Regan felt an illicit tremor of something she couldn’t quite identify. All she knew was that she liked the feel of it.

  “If it’s any consolation, he won’t enjoy hunting us down.” His hard biceps brushed her arm, and her skin came alive at the inadvertent touch. “Cal has major guilt issues as it is. Terminating us will only add another brick to the heavy load he already carries.”

  “Gee, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Little good it’ll do me when my head’s rolling on the ground next to yours.”

  “He’s gotta keep his eye trained on the goal, Regan,” he persisted. “He can’t lose sight of the big picture. One life is inconsequential when pitted against billions.”

  “Why do you always feel the need to defend him? He’s not perfect. Not by a long shot.”

  He trapped her with his gaze, and she became lost in the mesmerizing blueness of it. Suddenly she was aware of every inch of her skin that brushed against his. Tiny prickles of awareness raced over her flesh, and liquid warmth inundated her system until she feared she’d drown in it.

  “No, he’s not perfect,” he conceded. “But he’s not evil, either.”

  “I never said he was evil. But he is determined.” She pulled her arm away so his touch could no longer harass her, but the tingling sensation persisted. “Determined to rid the world of everything Nephilim. In case you haven’t noticed, that includes us.”

  Thunderous waves hit the shore, curling hungrily at Jace’s feet, threatening to pull him in. The Watchers usually liked to look at the sea from the safety of the cliffs above. Rarely did any venture to the bank below, but tonight Jace had felt compelled to do just that.

  “What are you doing down here?” Lia’s voice penetrated his heavy thoughts, and he realized she’d crept up behind him while he’d been busy staring at the whitecaps.

  “Thinking.” The news about Regan and Marcus had quickly spread through the complex, leaving everyone in shock, especially Jace.

  Lia shuffled closer and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but even her touch couldn’t calm the storm brewing within him tonight.

  “Cal is hunting my mother down like some animal,” he told her. “He’s sent out all the newbies because they don’t know her well enough to harbor any loyalty toward her.”

  “He just wants to find them.”

  “And when he does? What then? Know what his orders are?” He turned to look at her. “Death upon resistance. If either Marcus or Regan engages in combat, the Watchers are authorized to cut them down.”

  A swift breeze lifted her golden hair off her neck, and she trapped the errant strands with her fist. “I don’t blame them for protecting Benjamin. He’s just a little boy caught in a war he can’t even begin to understand.”

  “I don’t blame them, either. I considered running off with the kid myself. That’s just it. This act of mutiny is something I could picture you and me being guilty of, but Regan and Marcus? They’re both so focused, so entrenched in Cal’s world. It makes no sense.”

  The Watchers were like a collective. They shared one purpose, one mind. Jace sometimes resented the others for not having the guts to stand up to Cal, Marcus in particular. That was why he’d fought so hard not to become one of them. Even now, after having taken the blood vow, he still couldn’t bring himself to follow Cal blindly. But Marcus worshipped the guy.

  “Regan may be a Watcher, but she’s still a woman.” Lia glided her palm down his arm and sought out his hand. “A woman who’s had a child and feels guilty because she wasn’t there for him when he needed her.”

  He clasped her fingers like a lifeline. “Yeah, I kinda got that impression, too. So is that what Ben is to her? Her ticket to redemption?”

  “It’s mor
e than that. She genuinely cares about him.”

  Jace pivoted on his heels to face her, gripping her other hand as well. “How is that possible, when she’s got no soul?”

  “You cared about me when you were soulless. I care about you, even though my soul is no longer inside me. It’s the benefit of being a Hybrid.”

  “But we’re soul mates,” he countered. “We share one essence. Regan’s got no connection to this kid. And what about Marcus? He’s been Cal’s right-hand man forever. A few months ago he was ready to beat me to a bloody pulp just for disrespecting the guy. And now he’s gone and betrayed him?” He released her hands, took a step back, his body taut with anxiety. “Something’s not right here, Lia. I need to be out there, figuring this thing out.”

  Cal had purposely excluded Jace and Lia from the hunt because of their obvious allegiance to Regan. Although he had no idea that Regan was Jace’s mother, he was aware that she was the one who’d trained him and that Jace owed her a debt of gratitude.

  “And what would you do if you found them?”

  “Convince them not to put up a fight.” All descendants of the Nephilim possessed the power to influence humans, but Jace was blessed with a rare gift—the ability to plant suggestions in his own kind. He didn’t particularly like the idea of using his persuasive powers on Regan, but he’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her from getting herself killed.

  “Yeah, maybe. But do you think Regan would ever forgive you if you did?”

  Jace reached for her again, bracketing her face with his palms. Touching her anchored him, emboldened him and sharpened his resolve. “I don’t give a damn if she hates me for the rest of her existence. As long as she’s alive.”

  Chapter Ten

  The scream yanked Regan from a dreamless sleep, minutes after the sun had risen to pulse faintly behind a thick mantle of clouds. She shot out of bed, grabbed hold of the footboard to steady herself because she had yet to recover fully. When the room stopped wobbling and the floor settled, she started toward the door.

  A second scream, spiked with agony and terror, pierced the newborn day. Urgency snowballed within her, and she forgot about her dizziness and sprinted across the corridor leading to the bedroom opposite hers. The bedroom within which Ben slept. The bedroom where the scream had originated.

  Normally, she would’ve folded space, but given her weakened state she had no choice but to do things the pedestrian way. A million and one frightening scenarios hopped through her head in the few seconds it took her to cross the small hallway. When she finally burst into Ben’s room, she found him lying in a tangle of sheets, his body drenched with sweat, a pillow bunched beneath his tiny fists.

  The day was gray and drab, but the clouds momentarily parted, and blades of light swept down from the skylight above Ben’s bed to cleave his face. Distress contorted his features. His lips were pulled back, exposing pearl-white teeth, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Small whimpers issued from his throat, stretched thin by anguish.

  Hastening to him, Regan gently shook him awake. “It’s okay, baby. Wake up. It’s just a dream.”

  His lids parted abruptly. He shot up in bed, scuttled against the metal headboard and drew the pillow to his chest, a frightened, disoriented look in his eyes. She reached for him, but his arms began to flail wildly, pushing her back. “Stay away. Don’t touch me!”

  “Take it easy, kiddo. It’s just me, Regan.”

  His gaze finally focused on her face, and relief chased the fight from his limbs. “Don’t let him get me,” he pleaded.

  “Who?” She didn’t know much about dreams. She hadn’t had one since her human days. But she knew how powerful they could be, how the events unfolding in Ben’s mind could feel real enough to reduce him to tears.

  “The man with the scary eyes,” he sniffed. “He’s after me.”

  The clouds returned to shroud the sky. It looked like it was going to rain again. “It’s just a nightmare, Ben. It’s not real.”

  He shook his head in frantic denial. “It is real. All my dreams are real. Everything I see happens.”

  Foreboding iced her spine, but she fought to ignore it. This wasn’t the time to lose herself to superstition. Getting sucked into Ben’s vivid fantasies would be nothing but counterproductive. Still, she felt compelled to ask, “Can you describe the man for me?”

  With another terrified whimper, Ben reluctantly nodded. “He’s got black hair, down to here.” He indicated his shoulders. “And his eyes—I think they’re blue—but they look almost white. He has a sword and he talks funny, like they do in those old movies.”

  Regan’s stomach muscles gathered in a painful clasp. Ben had just described Kyros with frightening accuracy. Coincidence? She wouldn’t bet on it. She’d been hoping Cal was mistaken, that his prophecy was nothing but a bunch of bull, and that hope had spurred her into action. Now, doubt crept in to duel with conviction. “Why do you think he’s after you?”

  “I saw it, saw it happen in my dream. I’m in a cave—a cave with jewels in the walls. The man with the scary eyes is standing behind me, and he’s got a knife. I feel it here.” He brought his palm to his throat. “It’s cold.” A shudder shook his body. “I start to run, but someone grabs me. Then there’s this flash and everything goes bright. So bright I can’t see anything.” Tears pooled in his eyes, and the hopelessness she caught within them squeezed her heart into a handful of rubble. He was too young to know such fear, such desperation. “I’m scared, Regan. I’m so scared.”

  Something thick and sweet lumped in her throat, laced with an unfamiliar sorrow. She stretched awkward arms toward him and pulled him hard against her chest, where she could keep him safe for as long as it was possible to do so.

  The sky suddenly thundered, and the boy shivered. “I don’t like it here,” he sobbed. “I want to go home.”

  A rough sigh scraped her throat. “You are home.” She smoothed back his damp hair, lovingly brushed it off his forehead. “I’m your home now.”

  Marcus returned just after ten in the morning to find Regan standing on the rickety front porch, scoping the surrounding woods. She didn’t need to physically scour the forest to identify a threat. Like him, she could tunnel her vision and see past the boundaries of space, catching glimpses of what hid behind curtains or walls or, in this case, trees.

  She must have seen him coming because she didn’t react when he peeled around the corner in the hunter green Jeep he’d “borrowed”. He screeched to a stop on the dirt road in front of the cabin and exited the vehicle, dragging a couple of bags out with him. The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the ground was still damp, and his boots sloshed in the mud as he advanced toward the house.

  Anger blazing in her eyes, she tore down the faded wooden steps toward him. “Where the hell have you been? I thought you ran out on us. I would’ve called you but I can’t seem to find my phone.”

  “I threw it out along with mine.”

  “Why’d you do that? Last I checked our cells were untraceable.”

  He gave her a pointed look, surprised at how clueless she was. “Not to Cal they aren’t.” Marcus tossed a bag her way, and she caught it effortlessly. “We needed supplies…and a ride. Unless you want me to carry you again.” His gaze trailed over her body, lingering long enough to be suggestive. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he couldn’t help it. Regan always managed to bring out the worst in him.

  A blush dusted her cheeks, and she bristled to hide her discomfort. He’d always loved the way she did that—used anger to mask her vulnerability, as though it could somehow shield her, not only from others but herself. “No thanks. Can’t picture you lifting both me and that huge ego of yours.”

  “I managed all right yesterday.” He grabbed another bag, cut a path toward the house. “Where’s the kid?”

  “In his room drawing. I found some paper and an old box of crayons, figured he could use the distraction.”

  She followed him into the kitchen
, where she placed the bags on the counter and began rummaging through them. Arching a brow, she pulled out a loaf of bread and a couple of cans of Spam. “Is this your idea of gourmet dining?”

  “Best there is when you’re on the run.” He got to work emptying the other bags. “The Jeep has a decent amount of trunk space, but you can’t exactly fit a fridge in there.”

  Deep grooves lined her forehead. “So we’re leaving?” Her voice tinkled with a note of regret.

  His hands stilled. “We can’t stay here, Regan. As fun as it’s been playing house with you, we’ve got to keep moving if we don’t want the Watchers to track us down.”

  The sun’s silvery rays slashed through the window, brightening one side of her face. Half in the shadows and half drenched in sunlight, she painted an ironic picture. The Watchers were creatures of both righteous integrity and pervasive darkness. Each day they fought their dark nature to remain in the light. Some succeeded, many failed, but Regan was undoubtedly one of the purest among them. She’d never ingested a soul, maybe because her link to her own soul was so strong, which would explain her uncommon ability to feel.

  “You’re their best tracker. Without you they’ll be hard-pressed to find us.” She turned sideways, and the shadows greedily swallowed her.

  “Thomas shows promise. With me gone, he’ll finally get the chance to test his wings.”

  “We can’t run forever.” The grim reality of the situation was finally sinking in, and hopelessness dulled the confident lilt he was accustomed to hearing in her voice.

  “No, we can’t,” he agreed. “But until we figure out our next move, there’s little else we can do.”

  Chapter Eleven

  After they’d all had a quick bite to eat, Ben returned to his room to finish his drawing while Regan remained in the kitchen to clean up. As for Marcus, he disappeared in the bathroom, only to return minutes later a changed man. He’d abandoned his customary black-on-black in favor of an army-style shirt, a pair of blue jeans and tan-colored construction boots.