by Anne Hope
Cal stared at their joined hands in silent contemplation. “You two share a compatibility the likes of which I’ve never seen among my recruits. Whenever you’re together, the Watchers’ bond is amplified, and the links to your lost souls grow stronger.” Cal’s expression was that of a father watching over a sick child—drawn and expectant, full of quiet worry. “Let’s hope it’s enough to speed up the healing process. Otherwise, humanity may cease to exist altogether.”
“You’re wrong.” She squeezed Marcus’s hand, willed him to open his eyes. “Ben is not what you think he is. His purpose isn’t to destroy the world. It can’t be. There’s something we’re missing. I feel it in my gut.”
“I hope you’re right.” Cal’s eyes went from silver to a lethal gunmetal gray. “Because if Marcus doesn’t wake up in time, we’ll all have the opportunity to see Ben fulfill his purpose.”
Now that the fire had gone out of him, her leader didn’t look nearly as formidable as she remembered. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked beaten, and a seed of guilt took root deep in her belly. She’d done this to him. She’d broken his spirit, forced him to swallow the bitter pill of defeat.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” The apology chafed her throat like sandpaper. “I didn’t enjoy going mutinous on you. I hate that I came between you and Marcus.” Her thumb traced the Watchers’ mark on Marcus’s wrist, a perfect mirror of her own. “It killed him to defy you.”
“Why did he do it then?”
She brought her hand to Marcus’s face, let it linger for several heartbeats, her fingers lovingly stroking his cheek. Cal’s ardent stare drilled a hole through her, and she snatched her hand away, a little too quickly perhaps. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“There’s no need,” Cal said. “There are two things that can compel a man to go against everything he stands for. One is hatred. And the other—” He directed a knowing glance at the hand she’d used to caress Marcus, his brows narrowing in understanding. Regan clenched her fingers self-consciously, but it was too late. Cal had seen all he needed to see.
“And the other is what?” she prompted, knowing full well she’d regret it.
“Love, of course.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The dreams came as snapshots, lightning-quick flashes of things Marcus had once known and forgotten. Regan figured prominently in all of them. Her hair color was different, more brown than red, and her eyes were flecked with green, but he knew who she was, recognized her on an instinctive level, the way one recognizes the familiar scent of home. She went by a different name, but he couldn’t think of her as anyone other than Regan.
In one dream she lay on a plaid blanket spread on the prickly grass, gazing up at the fickle sky, her arms crossed over her middle. For the most part, the day was bright, the clouds thin ribbons unraveling overhead. But every so often the sun would disappear behind a cloud, and cool gray light would spill upon her. She wore a bright green striped gown, adorned with bows and lace, the bodice cut low to reveal the tops of her breasts.
She reached out and caressed his arm lovingly, her eyes sparkling with affection. The picture unfurling in his mind was so vivid, Marcus actually felt the heat of her palm on his flesh. He bent down, and her warm breath feathered across his cheek. Her touch grew bolder, her hand exploring his body, sliding beneath his shirt to trace the muscles on his chest.
Fire ignited in his blood, and he captured her mouth in a hot, languid kiss.
Abruptly the landscape shifted, and he found himself sitting on a hard cot in a cold dank cell that smelled vaguely of mud and piss. Thick stone walls encased him, and the only illumination came from a small window adorned with iron bars. Quivering strips of sunlight striated the grimy stone floor, and strange noises issued from blackened corners.
The iron door creaked open and Regan stood in the threshold. Her presence instantly warmed the room, chasing the chill from Marcus’s bones.
“You have five minutes,” the guard said. He left them alone in the cell, slamming the door in his wake.
Regan ran to Marcus, propelling herself into his arms, her face streaked with tears. “You’re safe now,” she whispered.
He pressed her tightly to him, losing himself in the reassuring cadence of her heart drumming against his. He closed his eyes, drowned in the heat and scent of her. A cloying lump of emotion gathered in his throat. He’d thought he’d never be blessed enough to hold her again.
“How?” His voice was taut with surprise. “Last I heard they were planning to hang me at sunrise.”
She smiled through her tears. “Not anymore. I promised I wouldn’t let them hurt you, and you know there’s nothing I can’t achieve when I set my mind to it.”
Something didn’t feel right. The resigned look in her eyes sent a shiver of dread sliding through him. “How did you manage to convince them of my innocence?”
“That’s not important. All that matters is that you’re free.”
He didn’t understand. He’d been convicted of kidnapping, even though he’d done nothing but return the missing children to their homes.
Marcus had always possessed certain gifts, had struggled his whole life to keep them a secret. He usually kept to himself, avoided people like the black plague. In his experience, interacting with others was a recipe for disaster. Regan was the only one he allowed into his private world, the only one who truly knew him and failed to be corrupted in his presence.
Then, in one fateful night, seven children had been abducted, stolen from their beds as they’d slept. The townsfolk had searched unsuccessfully for days, until Marcus had decided to leave the safety of his sanctuary and help.
He should’ve stayed out of it, but he’d been unable to stand by and do nothing while families grieved for their lost young. Guided by a force beyond his control, he’d tracked the children to an old fort by the sea, where they were being held captive by a creature more beast than man. Marcus had never encountered anyone like him. He was huge, close to seven feet tall, with a wild, animal sheen in his eyes. What impressed Marcus most was the man-beast’s strength. He’d beaten Marcus bloody in a matter of minutes. He was convinced he would’ve been killed had the giant not lost his footing and fallen off the low overhang into the raging waters below.
Marcus had returned, bruised and mangled, with all seven children safely in tow. At first he’d been crowned a hero. Then the accusations had begun. How had he known where to find the children, when the townsfolk had been unsuccessful in their hunt for days? There were two possibilities: either he possessed some form of precognition, which marked him as a servant of the devil, or he was in fact the kidnapper.
“You’re hiding something from me.” He knew her well enough to recognize the signs. Deep grooves lined her forehead, and a silent apology shimmered in her gaze. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
Before she could answer, the door swung open on rusted hinges. The guard returned and seized her. “Your time is up, witch.”
Marcus’s blood froze in his veins. Witch? Why was he calling her that? The witch trials had ended over fifty years ago. Marcus lunged for the guard, intending to free her, but another two quickly barreled in, trapping his arms behind him and immobilizing him.
“Where are you taking her? Let her go!” He struggled to break free, failed.
“Your wife confessed,” a guard spat over his shoulder. “Told us everything. How she made a pact with the devil. How she intended to offer the children as sacrifices.”
“No.” Marcus was struck dumb. “She’s lying.” Perhaps they no longer hanged people for witchcraft, but they could certainly hang her for kidnapping and the intent to commit murder.
“No use trying to protect her now,” the other guard said. “We know you uncovered the truth and returned the children before she could carry out her sick plans. Thought you could save her from the noose, did you?”
Marcus elbowed one of the guards, spun around and took a swing at t
he other. Regan cried out for him to stop, but he kept pounding away. He wouldn’t stop until all three were out cold and he could grab Regan and run.
But his strength back then wasn’t what it was now, and the guards quickly overtook him. They slammed his face into the cold stone floor, secured his hands behind his back and pinned him beneath their crushing weight.
“We were planning on releasing you,” one of them snarled. “Now you’re going to stay in this cell until the noose is safely fastened around your wife’s neck.”
“You idiots.” Marcus struggled and bucked, but he couldn’t get free. “She’s lying to protect me. I’m the one with the gift. I read energy. I can track anyone.”
Laughter echoed through the gray cell. “Sure, and I shit gold.”
The guard holding Regan hauled her toward the door. Marcus met her watery gaze, held it for a second before she was dragged away, all the while silently asking her why, even though he already knew the answer. She’d accepted the blame because she couldn’t bear to watch him die. Now she’d condemned him to that same fate.
Like the shifting lens of a kaleidoscope, the colors and patterns changed, and he now found himself in the marketplace, holding Regan’s broken body in his arms. A vicious battle ensued, with him cutting down anyone who approached, until a lucky blade ran him through and the welcome shroud of death fell to smother the light.
Regan sat at Marcus’s bedside, tracing the cuts on his chest and shoulders. Since Cal had left, she was free to touch Marcus to her heart’s content. Whenever her fingers connected with his damaged flesh, a current of electricity thrummed beneath her fingertips, and the bloody wounds morphed to white, threadlike scars.
Some time ago, a Watcher had come to gather Marcus’s ruined clothing, but she’d barely noticed him. Her gaze had remained riveted to Marcus, whose refusal to awaken was starting to seriously worry her.
Just when her fears threatened to snowball out of control, she felt movement beneath her palm. The tight knot of anxiety within her loosened, giving way to excitement. It looked like he was finally coming to.
“Marcus? Can you hear me?”
His only response was a grunt.
She cupped his face and leaned over him. “I need you to open your eyes,” she urged. “You can do it. I know you can.”
Without warning, he thrashed and bucked in bed, forcing her to release him.
She clutched his shoulders to steady him. “Easy there,” she soothed. “You’re safe now.”
“How?” His speech became muffled, and she failed to make out the words that followed.
“How what?”
He wrestled in bed again. “No. She’s lying.”
Regan frowned, completely befuddled. It looked like Marcus was having another dream. “Marcus, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
After battling an invisible adversary in his sleep, he went deathly still. So still Regan’s heart skipped a beat. Then his eyes sprang open, and his navy blue gaze engulfed her. It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
Relief gushed through her. “Thank God.”
“I remember,” he rasped. “I remember everything.”
“Good, ’cause we’re running out of time.”
He bracketed her face, looked at her like she was the sun and his whole world revolved around her. “You’re alive.”
Her next words died on her tongue as he claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss.
Great. The angel’s blood hadn’t only weakened his body, it had obviously addled his brains. Not that she was complaining. She liked Marcus best when he was slightly off his game. Only then did he drop his guard and let her in.
As much as she would’ve loved to sit here all day and lose herself in his kiss, she had a kid to save, not to mention an apocalypse to avert, so she pulled away. “Not that I don’t enjoy kissing you, but we’re smack in the middle of a badass crisis. Cal thinks Kyros may have gotten his hands on Ben.”
Those words snapped him out of his daze as effectively as a bucket of ice water. He looked around his old room, startled. “How did we end up at the complex?”
“I thought you said you remembered everything.” She sighed, recounted the events of the last few hours to him, including how Thomas had decided to turn him into a stained-glass window. “If Lia hadn’t pulled out the glass as quickly as she did, we would’ve lost you.”
“You said Kyros has Ben?”
“Cal thinks he was abducted by the angel of divine intervention, Micah. He believes Micah is working with Kyros.” She sought out Marcus’s hands, squeezed them as urgency shot through her. “Look, I know how crappy you must feel right now, but you have to track Ben. It may already be too late.”
Disregarding pain and weakness, Marcus sprang to his feet. “It’s not too late.” He grabbed a black T-shirt from one of the drawers and yanked it on.
“How can you be so sure?”
“I have reason to believe Ben’s soul can’t be taken. Not without some work.” His movements were labored as he struggled to tug on a black leather bomber jacket. With every move he made, agony contorted his features. “Remember when Lia was abducted by Athanatos? Cal insisted her soul had some kind of immunity because it had once belonged to a Hybrid.”
“Yeah. What does that have to do with Ben?”
“I think Ben’s soul also once belonged to a Hybrid. Two, in fact.” His gaze locked with hers, and the intensity she caught in his eyes rocked her to the soles of her feet.
“What are you saying?”
He stopped dressing long enough to seize her by the arms. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Regan? Why the hell do you think we’ve been feeling so damn much lately? There’s a reason our connection is this strong. Our old souls are cut from the same cloth. They’re twins, and Ben’s the human who’s walking around with them.”
She shook her head in denial, but it was nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction. Somewhere deep down inside her she knew he spoke the truth. She felt it in that place where her soul had once dwelled. “If what you’re saying is true, that would make us—”
His expression was one of awe and tender affection, of wonder and recognition, as though every question he’d ever asked himself had just been answered. “Soul mates.”
Chapter Forty-Three
By the time Kyros returned to the bunker, the sun rode high in the sky and dusk was only hours away. He’d gone to inspect the Rivershore Hospital, half convinced the newscaster had been mistaken.
When he’d seen the wreckage for himself, a futile desperation had gripped him, and he’d begun digging through the debris, tossing beams and medical equipment aside, hunting for his soul extractor. The device had been designed to be indestructible. Nothing could damage it, not water, not fire, not even a powerful explosion. He needed only to retrieve the sphere in order to rebuild.
But the sphere had been stolen. His first thought was that the Watchers had taken it, but then another possibility had occurred to him.
Diane.
It made perfect sense. That was why she’d let the fire ravage the hospital, why she’d failed to check in with him. She wanted the soul extractor for herself.
He never should’ve trusted the bitch. His father had been right when he’d attempted to execute her.
“You certainly took your own sweet time getting back.” Micah spoke from the shadows, where he sat in the vomit-green armchair at the heart of Kyros’s personal chamber waiting for him.
“I had business to attend to.” Kyros had no desire to explain himself to the angel.
“I hope that doesn’t mean another prostitute will turn up dead tomorrow.”
A dozen bitter retorts shot through Kyros’s mind, but he refrained from voicing them. “Is there something I can do for you, Micah?”
The angel stood and approached him. “Quite the contrary, it’s what I can do for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you recall that soul I mentioned? The one that would empower you be
yond your wildest imaginings?”
“Of course. One does not forget something like that.”
Micah’s mouth curled into a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve captured him for you.” Kyros could’ve sworn he caught a silent taunt in the angel’s voice, underscored by contempt.
“Where is he?”
“Come with me. I’ll take you to him. But there is one condition. You must come alone.”
“Why?”
“This soul is far too valuable a prize. No one else can know of its existence.”
Kyros hesitated. There was no question he desired this soul. An essence this powerful would allow him to hunt down that traitor Diane and take back his creation, maybe even help him finally bring the Watchers to their knees. But at what price? “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t.” Micah circled him with slow, even steps. “Then again, greatness cannot be achieved without some measure of risk.”
Perhaps, but a smart leader never left anything entirely to chance. As Kyros stepped out of his chamber with Micah, he signaled his first lieutenant with a wave of his head. The knowing gleam in the Kleptopsych’s eyes told him he’d gotten his point across.
If Micah thought Kyros would follow him blindly, alone and unguarded, the angel was sorely mistaken. Kyros hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid. True, greatness couldn’t be achieved without risk, but nothing prevented him from tipping the scales in his favor.
He only hoped the angel wouldn’t sense his troops following them.
Cal was headed out the door to check on Marcus when Jace dropped by his office again. With a weary sigh, he returned to his desk and folded his body into the welcoming lap of his old leather chair. “What can I do for you, Jace?”
“I thought there might be a few things we need to clear up.” Jace ventured farther into the room, sitting across from Cal.
