The Soul Collector (previously released as Angel's Fire, Demon's Blood)

by Tamela Quijas

  She squeezed his hand. “Reese wanted to remain behind. I couldn't leave you alone.”

  “One more night wouldn't make any difference.” He admitted.

  That was the difference between them, she realized. Despite their differences, she could call on her family whenever she needed them.

  Lucien was different. His father had been a sadistic dictator more interested in murder and mayhem, and his brother hunted him. He had suffered an eternity of loneliness and sadness, trapped in a world never of his own making.

  She didn't want him to be alone again.

  “I’ll stay with you, Lucien.” Her whisper was soft and oh-so-feminine to his frayed senses.

  “You don’t…”

  “I went with you, I came back with you. Besides,” she attempted to interject some levity into the conversation. “I couldn't have you wandering the streets of Miami all by yourself. You might replace me with some saucy Caribbean vixen.”

  He managed to smile weakly. She could never be replaced, this starlight that shone so bright even in his normalized vision. There wasn't another woman in the world that equaled the power she held over him.

  “Thus, you opt to remain with me, the most damned of damned?” He lifted his gloved hand from his side and flexed it. Her eyes never shifted from his face, and her features softened perceptibly.

  “Thus, Lucien, I opted to stay with the person who needs me the most,” Eva responded in kind. He leaned toward her, his expression unreadable. “Consider it the spirit of the season.”

  “Then grant me one wish, in the spirit of the season, Evie.” He whispered fervently.

  “Oh, not you, too.” She grumbled and shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Evie,” she scowled but didn't remove her hand from his tight grip.

  “Your family calls you that, do they not?” He questioned, already knowing the response. It was the simpler version of her name, far gentler than the name she chose for her profession.

  She rolled her eyes and shifted on her feet, tottering on her heels.

  “I prefer it when you call me Evangeline.” She admitted and a slight flush crept into her face. Attempting to make her mind blank, she focused the pulse throbbing in a slow and steady pace at the base of his throat.

  “Evangeline?”

  His throaty pronunciation warmed her and she nodded.

  “You never use your proper name.” He pointed out. “Everything is Eva, or Evie.”

  She stared into his adored but troubled features.

  “I just like the way you say Evangeline.” She admitted and saw the smile creep into his eyes. Her breath became tight and her heart began to thud wildly. Desperate to clear her traitorous thoughts of seduction, she cleared her throat and changed the subject. “What do you wish, Lucien?”

  His gloved hand rose to her cheek and he cupped the softness, his touch poignantly gentle.

  “Stay with me tonight.”

  Her heart did the oddest thing by catapulting into her throat, the beat intense. Her blood roared in her ears, and her face flamed with betraying heat.

  “Lucien?”

  “No.” He repeated the word several times, flushing with color. “I didn't mean….” He closed his eyes and struggling for a coherent thought. “Merde!”

  Eva understood the explicative.

  “Are you…?”

  “Am I capable?” He dropped his hand and raked trembling fingers through his hair. Lucien blushed furiously and closed his eyes in embarrassment. “I don't know.”

  “What do you mean, you don't know?”

  “I haven't had…. relations with a woman since I was young.”

  “Young?”

  “Damn it all, Evangeline!” He snarled, his eyes flying wide. “I haven't….” He foundered for words, mortified. “Not since,” he exhaled. “Not since my actual youth!”

  “Oh?” Absently, she tallied the years within her head.

  “Don't count, Evangeline.” He snapped without any heat. “You're humiliating me.”

  She winked, stilling the series of numbers.

  “For once,” he paused, refusing to release her hand. He appeared relieved when she didn't attempt to extract her fingers. “I want to know warmth when I sleep. I want to remember what it feels like to dream. I want to feel the comfort of another person at my side.”

  He wanted pleasant dreams and comfort. The words whispered repeatedly in her head, soft and pleading, gently coaxing. The temptation was there, so silvery soft.

  “No sex.” She wondered if she were tempting fate as the words fell from her trembling lips.

  “No sex.”

  She felt strangely disappointed and considered his words. He was wretchedly serious, which she found disarming and enchanting. Eva nodded in response, knowing he would never overstep the boundaries dividing their worlds.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Permit me one allowance for; indeed, I have nothing else

  The deep wave of rippling heat rose from the pavement. Lucien dropped his coat over his arm, undid the top few buttons of his shirt, and grimaced. Pasting on an ever-familiar smile, he awaited his well-versed crew, ignoring those who remained unseen to the mortal eye.

  Brice paused in his steps as he walked from the open door of the van. His eyes were unreadable behind the thickness of his glasses, and he squinted up at the ebbing sunlight. A handkerchief flashed in his hand, the snowy whiteness mopping beads of profuse sweat from his brow.

  The exuberant youths lagged behind him, struggling with the weight of heavy equipment while they bickered between themselves. There were a few muttered curses and scowls directed at the film crew Noah sent along. Obviously, the boys preferred to work alone and considered the newcomers an intrusion.

  Nikolai remained at a distance, his arms folded across his chest. A scowl settled over his heavy features and he glared up at the sprawling house. His regard was intent, the deep furrow of his brows forming a single line above dark eyes.

  Only one person reflected a semblance of sanity. Silent, Deborah eyed Lucien and the curvaceous woman at his side.

  “Why does she watch you?”

  Her voice was soft and inquisitive, and Lucien turned. It took all of his cognitive powers to refrain from leaning over to taste the sweetness he knew lay at her touch.

  She was temptation, a deadly sin he avoided over the centuries. Now, the sensation was a rampant demon ruthlessly disturbing him. He had assumed the one night she spent with him, in all innocence, would drive the enticement from his haunted soul.

  He had been mistaken.

  Lucien was lost in thought, the images of her soft body pressed to him as she had slumbered so innocently. Lulled to the edges of sleep with her in his arms, he had savored the warmth flooding his veins, ebbing away the chill always so prevalent on his skin.

  Besides the careful tuning of renewed human senses, he felt an insatiable need pulsing through him. He wanted to taste the curve of her neck, and feel her tremble beneath his hands. He had fought the urges and spent a night in blissful agony, his body aching with longing. With every breath she exhaled, he crumbled more.

  “Lucien?”

  Her questioning pronunciation of his name cleared the rampant images dancing wickedly through his mind. He pushed his dark sunglasses higher and shook his thoughts away.

  “Deborah reads auras.” Lucien stated simply.

  Eva wondered about the sudden change in his attitude. He wasn't the same man he had been last evening, when he laughed so easily and tempted her with the plea to stay at his side.

  If possible, Lucien was more reserved.

  “Auras?”

  ….shades of the sixties

  “Au contraire,” Lucien supplied, hearing the muttered tones. He already suspected Reese was in the vicinity, and knew the precise moment the spirit reappeared. The specter had remained conspicuously silent, as the day had progressed, although his image lingered in the perpetual distance.

  “Deborah read
s auras, or shades of unseen light, emitted by a person.”

  Eva nodded pensively. She was surprised as the woman approached them, leaving the equipment to the capable hands of Gil and Ethan. Deborah paused a few feet away, her head cocking to one side as she examined Lucien's face.

  He returned her stare with a placid look. There was a long moment of silence before he curtly nodded, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Without a word, he wove his way toward Nikolai.

  “You're curious?” The woman chirped in the softest of tones, having overheard their conversation. Eva blushed hotly before nodding.

  “I am, always, when presented a new subject.” She admitted, grimacing.

  “I’ve a theory,” she began easily. She edged closer to Eva's side, something she hadn’t done with Lucien present. “I read auras and believe the colors show a person's actual being.”

  She tilted back on her sandaled feet and gave her the critical once over. Deborah oohed and ahhed and her face wrinkled into pensive lines. Her bright eyes narrowed to unimaginable slits before she made the oddest declaration.

  Eva was pleased the woman couldn’t hear Reese's snicker of derision.

  “You’ve an aura shining the most blessed shade of white,” she announced suddenly. The loudness of her voice caused the aged Mr. Linton to leap in his own upright slumber. Eva scowled at the strange declaration and a shiver crawled over her flesh, which didn't have anything to do with Reese's hovering presence.

  “I’ve a white glow?” Eva questioned.

  “Ah, yes, I see a stunning shade,” Deb continued, her coiffed head bobbing.

  Eva's shoulders slumped and she leaned in close, her brow furrowing. She was grateful she hadn’t worn her trademark high heels and opted for comfortable flats, the lack of height making the woman's diminutive stature more accessible.

  “What does that mean?”

  “A white aura reflects other sources of energy, the purest state of light.” Deborah's voice lowered to the softest breath of a sigh, the words nearly indistinguishable. “It’s rumored a person with a white aura holds spiritual and non-physical qualities existing in a higher dimension.”

  “Such as?”

  Deb exhaled a giggling breath. “I would say you’ve some nearly angelic qualities that haven't been unleashed.”

  “I suppose I'll take that as a compliment.” Eva smiled indulgently at the woman, and remembered that Lucien's similar comment. “I had read somewhere a white aura symbolized impending death.”

  “That all depends on who's doing the interpreting,” she scoffed. “Angels are in the presence of those with a white aura, which could be defined as either impending death, or protection.”

  “What would you say the auras are around your fellow investigators?”

  “Brice, there,” Deborah indicated the balding pate of the elderly man, ambling toward the white picket fence surrounding Mendelssohn House. His gait was slow and deliberate, each step measured, as if he were uncertain of his own footing. He paused for a moment, ignorant of their rapt attention. He slid his thick lenses from his nose and lifted his eyes to the fading sunlight, squinting as he checked if the glass was clean. “Brice possesses a distinctly orange-yellow aura.”

  “Which means?”

  “Oh, he’s creative and intelligent.” Deb breathed.

  Eva couldn't fail to notice the slight brightening of her cheeks in the soft rays of the soon-to-set sun. There were unspoken emotions running deep in this woman, and she bore some affection for the elderly scholar.

  "Is he?" She couldn't resist asking, even though she knew the answer.

  “Brice is also detailed orientated, scientifically inclined, and a devout perfectionist.”

  Eva had surmised that much information on her own. She had watched him review the facts he sequestered on the screen of his ever-present laptop. During the past few hours, before the light dimmed and night approached, he perused pages about the site they were investigating.

  “Ethan?”

  The woman's attention shifted to the energetic figure of the younger man, who bounced about on the toes of well-worn tennis shoes. Even with the heaviness of the camera equipment, he feinted left and right, pretending to throw jabs at Gil's averted back.

  “He's an orange,” Deb chuckled, a motherly look invading her features. “He couldn't sit still if you were to tie, gag, and duct tape him to a seat.”

  “I think the condition is labeled as ADHD,” Eva supplied as Gil placed his camera equipment on the ground and slapped away Ethan's punches with playful regard.

  “That's the problem with this world.” She huffed and her birdlike appearance changed to a fierce annoyance. “Everyone's so preoccupied with placing labels on each other. If you don't have an Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, then you have an Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. If you don't have OCD, you may be psychotic. There's a drug for everything and anything, and the drugs cause more damage than the affliction.”

  Eva frowned, realizing the woman spoke the truth, as far as she was concerned. “So, what does the orange mean?”

  “It's the color of vitality and vigor. Ethan is full of good health and a wholesome dose of excitement.”

  ….wonder if I was an orange.

  “Really?” She questioned, thankful her question applied to both matters at hand.

  ….though, don't like being compared to fruit.

  Eva couldn't contain her laughter at Reese's pensive comment, the loud trill causing all eyes to turn toward her. She sobered instantly at the scowl directed by the crew leader. Eva glanced at the woman and the woman granted her a minuscule smile that relayed the pain assuaging her knees before shaking her head.

  “Does Lucien…” Eva forced herself to recall the name he used among his co-workers. “Does Luke have an aura?'

  “That's the strangest thing of all.” Deborah admitted in sotto voce. “I’ve watched him for the longest time and I can't find one.”

  “What does that mean?” Eva questioned. “What happens if someone doesn’t have an aura?”

  “Only the dead lack auras, Miss Keyes.”

  Speechless, she pushed her hands deep into her jean pockets as Deb walked away. Eva released a pent-up breath, shaking her head.

  ….hit the nail on the head

  “A little too closely,” She agreed, looking at the home.

  Before her was a luxurious Victorian era house with elaborate gingerbread moldings, surrounded by the endearing quaintness of white picket fencing. There was a light breeze bearing the faint scent of the ocean, ruffling the fronds of tall palms. A small and artfully decorated sign, situated on the curb, declared Mendelssohn House, Established 1902, Bed & Breakfast.

  Eva surveyed her surroundings, realizing the ornate building appeared horribly out-of-place, surrounded by towering palm trees and tropical vegetation. Perhaps dear Mr. Mendelssohn had attempted to inject some comfort of the old world in this lush site, but the home would have been more typical for the northern climes.

  There was a bustle of activity about her, and Eva was thankful the years she spent before the camera. Gil was setting up the various assortment of video equipment, including infrared, digital, and night vision lenses.

  ….busy little bees

  The ever-persistent voice didn't cause her to leap in surprise anymore. She’d grown accustomed to Reese's incessant blather, actually relishing his presence when her thoughts would have been too intense. He followed her and casually continued toward the van.

  Knowing he was hovering close on her heels, Eva walked to the building. The team's van had been pulled around to the side of the Victorian homestead. Open wide, the doors of the large vehicle revealed a system Eva wouldn't have considered plausible. A generator had been set up for powering the computers and video cameras used during the night.

  Brice stood at the open doors, again perusing his notes. The former professor was a treasure trove of valuable information, and a definite asset to the popular program. She watched
as he closed his folder and spoke with Gilbert, while the younger man examined the computer screen for various camera angles.

  “Are those the temperature gauges?” Eva used her chin to indicate the mechanism the other youth, Ethan, was studiously inspecting.

  ….suppose so, yeah, like I freeze a room

  “I'm fortunate to be standing where I am, Reese. New York was getting just too cold, especially in the center of my apartment.” She grumbled sarcastically, wrapping her arms about her as a slight chill enveloped her. “I can vouch ghosts do radiate cold spots, without the use of thermal cameras.”

  ….keep it quiet, Evie

  She stopped speaking. Ethan interrupted Gil with a rapid flow of technical questions, all playfulness tossed to the wayside as they discussed work. They were more than highly cognizant of the valuable equipment they used, she realized. Brice explained to her, on the flight from New York, firsthand knowledge of the equipment was vital to the success of their investigation. Some of the devices were the most common, items she had seen on many of her own interviews.

  Normally, Gil remained relegated to the site wherever the equipment monitors were placed. Ethan did the footwork and tended to the technical setups within each facility NADGEL chose for investigation. Both young men knew what device was best situated where, especially when working in buildings subjected to zero light factors during their nocturnal explorations.

  Eva hovered, her expression curious as she listened to their conversation. Suddenly aware of her presence, they paused and turned.

  “Come on over.” Brice urged her forward with the wave of his hand. Gil granted her a mockery of a salute before his angular features creased into a wide grin. “I suppose, you just may wish to know what the boys are up to.”

  ….really, it's me being nosy

  “Of course,” Eva leaned into the illuminated interior of the van. “I watched enough of the show but, when you explain the technical matters of the equipment, I sort of zone out.”

  ….no shit

  “People usually do.” Gil admitted reluctantly. “I hate to think all the precious work we do winds up on some cutting room floor.”