The Soul Healer

by Melissa Giorgio

  When he didn’t answer, I got really, really angry. Forget that my life was over, but Charles had threatened my family. This wasn’t some stupid little joke. This was the biggest mistake Evan could have made.

  “Answer me!” I shouted at him. “It’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t it, Evan?”

  “Of course it is!” He whirled around, his blue eyes blazing. “She’s been in a coma for two years! For two years I’ve watched her, unable to do anything.” He jumped to his feet and stalked over, his face uncharacteristically angry. “And then you come along, and you can heal people. How could you expect me to stand by and do nothing, Gabi?”

  “Because,” I growled, “I’m your friend. Or, at least, I was your friend. Not after this, Evan. Not after you got Dad and Chloe involved. I can’t wait to see Rafe deal with you. This time I won’t stop him.”

  The corner of Evan’s lip curled. “Except that’s not going to happen, since he’s not even speaking to you, am I right?”

  My hand flew out, almost on its own accord, slapping Evan hard across the face. I actually wanted to jump him, to show him some of the moves Rafe had taught me in our few training lessons, but Charles yanked me back, putting himself between us. “Enough,” he barked. I almost laughed. Was he trying to protect me?

  Can’t have his precious Soul Healer (still had no clue what that was) harmed, right?

  “We’re wasting time,” Charles continued. He nodded toward Jonathan, now unconscious on the floor. “Deal with this, Evan, and then take care of her family’s memories. Meet us back at Headquarters as soon as you’re done.”

  I expected Evan to protest, since he sucked at taking orders from anyone but himself, but he surprised me by nodding. “Yes, sir.” His cheek was red from my slap, and I felt a small twinge of satisfaction.

  It quickly died when Charles turned his attention to me. “And now, my dear Soul Healer, it’s time for you to sleep.” He lifted a hand.

  “Oh, hell no, not again—”

  The stupid world went black again.

  ***

  Rafe and I were standing in his apartment, sofas pushed against the wall to give us a clear space for training. He was standing behind me, my back pressed against his chest as his hand curled around mine, showing me the proper way to throw a punch. With him this close, his cologne making me dizzy, I barely heard a word he was saying, but I was desperately trying. Rafe only rewarded me when I actually succeeded.

  I liked when he rewarded me.

  “So you keep your thumb on the outside of your other fingers,” Rafe explained as he showed me what he meant. His fingers were calloused and feather-light against mine, sending little shivers throughout my body. I sucked in a shaky breath, nodding to show him that I understood. “If you put your fingers over your thumb, you’ll end up breaking it.”

  “I have a feeling that wouldn’t be much fun.”

  He snorted. “No, definitely not. Now here, put your arm up, and extend it in a straight line, toward your opponent.” I lifted my arm and shot it out, pretending I was punching a demon. Rafe hummed his approval and told me to do it again a couple of more times. I complied, feeling like an idiot. Look at my skinny arms. Did Rafe actually think I would hurt someone?

  “Shouldn’t I lift some weights and get some muscles?” I asked him. “I’m pretty sure if I punched someone, they’d probably just laugh at me and say it tickled.”

  Rafe grinned. “Maybe you’re right, but I don’t know how I feel about my girlfriend having muscles like a body builder. I think I’d be intimidated.”

  “Damn right you’d be!” I flexed, and of course nothing happened because there was nothing there to flex. “I’d kick your butt all over the place, Rafe Fitzgerald!”

  “Mmm, why do I like the sound of that?” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close so he could nuzzle my neck.

  I gasped. “Is training over already?” Sweet! We usually worked out for an hour before he rewarded me. Rafe was in a good mood tonight.

  “Actually…” Rafe paused and I groaned. Great, I had opened my big mouth, and now Rafe had decided to turn our potential make-out time into more training. Did he want me to kiss the demons to distract them or something? “Try and get out of my grip.”

  “What?” Rafe’s arms were still encircled around my body, pressing me tightly against him. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”

  “Because I’m a big scary demon, about to take a giant chunk out of your neck.”

  “No, you’re my super-hot boyfriend, about to kiss me. No reason for me to leave,” I quipped.

  “Gabi!” Even though I couldn’t see his face, I could hear the exasperation in his voice. Might as well try to please him. I wiggled, but with the tight grip Rafe had on me, nothing happened.

  After a few moments of struggling, I gave up with a loud sigh. “I can’t.”

  “That’s because you’re not trying.”

  “Yes, I am!” I growled, twisting my face so I could glare up at him. “You’re a billion times stronger than me, so how am I supposed to break away?”

  Rafe patiently asked, “Did you think about using your legs?”

  My legs? I looked at them. They were free, but what was I supposed—

  Just like that, it dawned on me, and I stomped down hard on Rafe’s left foot. He let out a howl and released me so suddenly I went catapulting forward. I only just managed to avoid smacking my face against the armrest of the couch, steadying myself against the fabric and turning around to shout a triumphant, “HA!”

  Rafe stopped rubbing his foot to give me a huge smile. “That was perfect, Gabi!”

  I loved when he praised me. It made me feel all sorts of warm fuzzies. And he didn’t even seem to mind that I had stomped the crap out of his foot, either. “I’m the best,” I declared, posing for him.

  Rafe shook his head, still smiling. “How about saving some of your praise for your teacher?”

  “How about you come over here and let me personally praise you?”

  He joined me in a flash, scooping me back up into his strong arms. This time, he didn’t ask me to try and get away, which was a good thing, because I had no intention of escaping.

  ***

  My eyes fluttered opened, and I immediately winced against the harsh lamplight shining in my face. Pushing my tangled, messy hair out of my face, I looked around to see I was in another unfamiliar room.

  Everything from the worst night of my life came rushing back at once, and I clutched my head in my hands, groaning. I had hoped it was a dream, but why would life be that nice to me?

  I had been kidnapped, my family had been threatened, and I was going to kill Evan.

  As soon as I get out of here. Wherever “here” was. I peeked through my fingers, surveying the room. It was very brown. I was sitting in the center, on a brown couch, surrounded by fluffy brown pillows. The walls were lined with brown bookshelves (no windows, so I had no idea if it was morning or night), and a brown carpet covered the floor. Yeah, it was one dark, disgusting mess of a room. (I’ll be nice and not say what it reminded me of but…use your imagination.) Silver Moon really needed to hire some interior decorators. Really, the only colors came from the books on the bookshelves—at least those ranged in color from blues to reds, and I even spotted a couple of green ones. They looked really old, really dusty, and really boring. I wondered if this was where Rafe had planned to do his research. I shot to my feet, ignoring the ache in my temple. If these books held the answers to what the heck a Soul Healer was, then I needed to find them.

  I was halfway to the nearest bookshelf when I heard footsteps coming from the hallway. Belatedly, I realized I probably should have attempted to escape instead of, you know, start reading. I cursed under my breath, wondering who was about to grace me with their presence.

  Please don’t let it be Charles again, I pleaded silently. I couldn’t stomach another meeting with him, not so soon.

  I steeled myself as the footsteps—a pair of them (wonderf
ul, two jerks to deal with)—came closer.

  Chapter Ten

  Two teenage boys entered the room, freezing when they saw me.

  “Oh look, our guest is awake!” one boy exclaimed to the other, elbowing him. He had brown hair and dark eyes, and I didn’t like the way he was already looking at me. It was like he had x-ray vision and was trying to see under my pajamas. Was every Silver Moon member a freaking pervert?

  “I can see that,” his friend, tall and dark-skinned, remarked dryly. He came closer. “Hey, baby, nice clothes.” They snickered, acting like that was the funniest quip in the world.

  I looked at the couch, wondering if I could use one of the brown pillows to cover my pajamas. Or use it to beat them senseless—whichever came first.

  “I’m Jerome,” the second hunter to speak said. He pointed to his friend. “That’s Scott.”

  I stared at them. “I don’t care.”

  They blinked. I guess they were used to girls falling all over them or something? Not this girl. I wondered if they would let me go, or if they were as loyal to Charles as Jonathan was. (Although if he was still loyal after getting stabbed in the gut, then he was a moron.) My gaze flicked to the doorway, and both hunters tensed.

  There was my answer, then.

  “Come on, baby,” Scott said, coming over to me. I backed away, putting the couch between us. “You just need to sit tight until Director Charles gets here, okay? He had a couple of things to take care of first, and he asked us to watch you.” He came around the couch and I took a few steps backwards until my back crashed into the bookshelves. “So why don’t we have some fun until then? What’s your name?”

  “None of your business.” I didn’t need there to be two more morons who insisted my name was “Gabriella.”

  Scott grinned. “You’re fun. I like you.” He touched me on the shoulder and I slapped his hand away. Unfortunately, that made him grin even wider. Oh gross, why did every Silver Moon member remind me of Christian? Probably because they’re all perverts, and Christian is the ultimate pervert.

  If he’d had the Sight, he’d fit right in.

  “Don’t be like that.” Scott made to grab me and I darted out of the way, but I was too slow. The next thing I knew, I was locked in his embrace, my back pressed against his chest as he smelled my hair.

  Oh, gross!

  That lasted for all of five seconds thanks to Rafe’s training lessons. While Scott was still in mid-sniff, I slammed my foot down on his. We both cried out (dammit, I forgot I was still in slippers) and his hold on me slipped.

  I raced for the doorway like my life depended on it.

  Too bad Jerome was waiting for me, laughing like I was putting on a show for him instead of fleeing for my life. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I skidded to a halt, grabbing a book and hurling it at his face. He ducked. “Missed me.” Oh yeah? I turned to grab another one—I’d throw the whole shelf of books at him before I’d let him touch me—when someone else entered the room and punched Jerome so hard in the face he went crashing into the wall. He toppled to the floor, unconscious.

  My mouth dropped open as I stared at the new arrival. Another teenager, a few years older and only a few inches taller than me, with dark blonde hair cut short and a very, very solid build. Rafe had insane arm muscles, but this guy was like a tank. His warm brown eyes searched my face as he asked, “Are you okay?”

  Scott made a rude noise behind us. “Go away, Philip, this doesn’t concern you. You don’t like girls, remember?”

  I expected the newcomer—Philip—to burn red with embarrassment, but he looked bored, like he had heard that particular insult all his life. Taking a step closer to me, he ignored Scott, waiting for me to answer.

  “I…” I shook my head. “Not really, no.”

  “Did they bring you here, promising you a good time?” Philip rolled his eyes. “You aren’t the first girl, and you definitely won’t be the last. Here, let me show you out.”

  I felt a surge of hope. Finally, someone nice! Although I was a little peeved that he assumed I’d be stupid enough to go anywhere with Perverts One and Two.

  Scott was having none of that, though, as he clamped a hand down hard on my shoulder again. “The director told us to watch her, and that’s what we’re going to do. Go away, Philip. I have this under control.”

  I shot Philip a pleading look, but he was too busy staring down (well, up. He was pretty short for a guy) Scott to see it. “Duck, please.”

  It took me half a second to realize he was talking to me. “What—” I broke off into a shriek as Philip lifted his leg in a powerful roundhouse kick. I stumbled away more than ducked, hearing Scott curse as he realized, too late, that Philip was aiming for his face. There was a satisfying crunch and Scott went flying, much like Jerome.

  And I didn’t feel bad for them. Not one bit.

  “Um, you’re awesome,” I told Philip. “Can you be my best friend?” I sent a silent apology to Penny.

  Tapping Scott’s prone body with his toe a few times, Philip grinned. “Sure. What’s your name?”

  “Ga—”

  “Philip! What are you doing!”

  Jumping, we both turned to see a pissed off, red-faced Charles standing in the doorway. I smiled gleefully, ready for Philip to kick his butt, too. Gee, I wish I had popcorn, because this is going to be a great show!

  Imagine my surprise when Philip’s shoulders slumped. Staring at the floor, he mumbled, “Oh, hey, Dad…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mister Director was Philip’s father? Great. Now I had to take back my offer of being his best friend. There was no way I was hanging out with anyone related to that jerk.

  Which sucked, because Philip seemed really cool, too, from the three minutes I had known him. Less perverted and more awesome, you know?

  “‘Hey Dad’?” Charles repeated incredulously. “You’re beating up your colleagues and that’s what you say to me?”

  Um, did he forget that a little while ago, he stabbed Jonathan?

  Philip took a deep breath before answering, as if steeling himself for Charles’s wrath. “They were harassing this girl. I couldn’t let them—”

  Charles waved his hand. “I’m sure you’re just exaggerating. I instructed them to watch her, nothing more.”

  “Then why was she hurling books at Jerome’s head?” Philip asked, pointing to the giant, dusty tomb that had unfortunately missed its intended target.

  “Because she’s a very difficult girl,” Charles said. He picked up the book and returned it to its spot on the shelf.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry for being so difficult,” I said, annoyed that they were speaking about me as if I wasn’t in the same room as them. “Should I bat my eyelashes and thank you most enthusiastically for kidnapping me, Mister Director?”

  Philip took a step closer to me. “Kidnap? Dad, what is she talking about?” He looked me over—not in a perverted way like Scott had been doing, but like he was trying to analyze me, maybe see something he hadn’t noticed before. “Is she a hunter?”

  “No, she’s something much better,” Charles responded, his back to us as he continued to study the books in front of him. “Much, much better.”

  I shot Philip an extremely pointed look—it roughly translated to, “Help, your father is crazy, please get me out of here right now.” He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, then shook his head slightly, his gaze flickering to his father. Any hope I had felt earlier deflated like a balloon. So even the guy with the crazy muscles and insane fighting skills still deferred to the director. Wonderful. What was it about Charles that made everyone listen to him? Was it the fact that he was the director? The Big Man in Charge? I rolled my eyes. He was a bully and a jerk—I bet the only reason he got the job was because he stabbed the competition.

  Still, Philip remained by my side, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he asked me, not his father, “So, what are you?”

  “I’m a gir
l,” I said flatly. “I’m also annoyed, cold, pissed off, hungry, incredibly irritated, angry, irate, mad, furious, infuriated, outraged—” I shot Charles my death glare. “Need I go on, Mister Director?”

  “You forgot difficult and highly ornery.” He turned from the bookshelves, lifting his thick brows as if to deflect my scowl.

  Curses! No one had ever deflected it before!

  “You’re cold?” Philip asked. He pulled off his dark-blue and worn hoodie, exposing a faded graphic tee underneath, and handed it to me. “Here, put this on.”

  Unlike Evan’s jacket, I gratefully accepted Philip’s hoodie, zipping it up to my chin. “Thanks. Someone kidnapped me in the middle of the night and didn’t even give me a chance to pack, the jerk.”

  Philip laughed before he could stop himself. He tried to cover it up by coughing, but Charles wasn’t fooled. Glaring at his son, he said, “You can leave us, Philip. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  “Not really, no.” He flung himself down on the brown couch, patting the spot next to him. After a moment’s hesitation, I joined him, and we stared up at Charles like we were students in a classroom. “I’m actually really curious, Dad. Since when do you go around kidnapping young girls?” He grinned at me—he had this sideways grin that was totally endearing. “Didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.”

  This time, I was the one who laughed. I didn’t bother covering it up with a cough, though.

  Sighing heavily, Charles planted himself in front of us with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back, like he was about to give a speech. “This girl, Philip, is a Soul Healer.”

  “Allegedly,” I muttered.

  But Philip had already gone wide-eyed. “Are you really?”

  “No.” I shook my head vigorously to emphasis my point. “No way. Your dad is batshit crazy. Did you know he stabbed a fellow hunter?”

  “Who?” Philip demanded of his father, going pale. “Dad—”

  “It was Jonathan,” Charles said. “And he’s fine, no thanks to the Soul Healer.”