The Lost Soul (Fallen Soul Series, Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  “Laylen.” I race to the driveway and check the front seat of his car. It’s empty. “His body’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  “So now it’s Laylen you’re worried about.” He skids in the gravel. “Tell me, do you ever worry about me like that?”

  I blink at him. “Seriously? I think you know the answer to that question.” I revolve in a circle. “Laylen! Can you hear me?!” I tug my fingers through my hair, wrenching at the roots. “Laylen!” Tears leak from my eyes.

  “I could make you worry about me,” Nicholas carries on the conversation without missing a beat. “I’ve made you do things before.”

  My hands fall heavily to my side. “What are you talking about?”

  He rests his elbow on the car, his eyes penetrating under my skin. “What do you think I’m talking about? I’ve asked you a million times why it is you always come to me for help and I think you know the answer.”

  “I can’t believe…” I let out a frustrated grunt and then surrender my hands in the air. “You know what? I don’t care. I need to find Laylen.”

  He strides alongside me. “That’s understandable, but you’re going the wrong way.” He dodges in front of me and turns me by the shoulders, directing me toward the castle. He points a finger at the tower. “He’s up in his room, sleeping like a baby.”

  I sprint up the pathway and burst into the foyer. My feet hammer up the stairs as I rush to Laylen’s bedroom. I fling open the door. He’s lying in his bed, his hands overlapping his stomach. I swallow hard and hurry to his bedside. Veins bulge under his pallid skin and his body is nothing but bones.

  “Laylen,” I choke, tenderly touching his arm. A Black Widow crawls out from under him and makes a path to his stomach. Gasping, I fling the bug across the room and it splatters against the window.

  His eyelids bolt open and he sucks in an immense breath. Stunned, I leap back, my heart racing.

  “Oh my God.” My hand presses over my heart. “You’re alive.”

  Wide eyed, he nods. He inspects his arms, his legs, his hands. The color returns to his cheeks and his cheekbones start fill out. His veins blend beneath his skin.

  He pants for a while, too shocked to speak. I sit on the edge of his bed and find his gaze. “Hey, are you okay?”

  He nods, staring at the wall. “I think so… I mean it’s weird.” His gaze connects with mine. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

  “To be dead?” I check and he nods. “Yeah, but that strange feeling you have will eventually vanish. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you.” He shawls his arm around my shoulder and guides me closer. “But the question is do you trust me?”

  “Of course.” I rest my head against his shoulder just as Nicholas appears in the doorway.

  “Am I ruining a moment between you two?” He points a finger accusingly.

  “You ruin every moment of our existence.” Laylen glares. “By just being here.”

  Nicholas clamps his lips together, his eyebrows knitting. “Don’t you two want to know what’s wrong with Aislin?”

  “Did you take her to the Foreseers’ holding cell?” I ask and he nods. “Is she okay?”

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “She will be when the magic spell wears off. Apparently, when Aislin was captured by the sprites, she put a spell on herself which basically made her temporarily stupid in case Luna showed up.”

  “You got her to tell you that?” I rub a smudge of blood off my upper arm, lingering evidence of my fall out of the window.

  He nods. “In a few hours she’ll be as good as new.” He pauses. “Until then, what do we do? Because there are a million different things you need to fix.”

  “Like what?” I put him on the spot.

  He’s speechless by my attitude. “Like closing the Faerie Realm in the closet, getting your mark back, freeing your dad and your lover.”

  “Alex isn’t a prisoner,” I say. “He’s there on his own freewill.”

  “You’re awfully sure of that,” he expresses. “Yet, you haven’t even talked to him.”

  “I did, on the phone,” I respond. “He seemed pretty content with Stasha. And pretty pissed that I called.”

  He ambles across the room, glancing around at the clothes on Laylen’s floor. “It looks like a tornado blew through here. Are all vampires this messy?”

  Laylen’s lip twitches. “You better watch it faerie. All vampires like to feed, especially on fey.”

  I eye Laylen, curious to know if he’s joking. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did Helena do something to you?” My gaze sweeps his body, his torn shirt, the holes in his dark jeans, the fresh blood in his blonde hair.

  “I told you I’m fine.” He smoothes his hand down my back, his harsh demeanor alleviating. “How about I go get that crystal of yours fixed while you go check on Alex?”

  “You want me to go to Stasha’s house and see if Alex is there against his will?” I mope. “What if he isn’t? What if he’s there doing things I don’t want to see?”

  “Like what?” Laylen wonders.

  “Like…” My eyes wander to Nicholas. “Stuff.”

  “Don’t hold back on my account.” Nicholas takes a seat next to me, smelling like daisies, rain, and perfume. “Is it because of what I showed you?”

  I scowl at him. “Why do you even care?”

  Laylen slants forward, glancing back and forth between Nicholas and me. “What did he show you?”

  Nicholas waits expectantly. “Do you want to explain or should I?”

  I sigh and direct my attention to Laylen. “There’s nothing to explain. I’ll go free Alex or whatever, and you go fix the crystal ball.”

  We nod in agreement and depart for the door.

  “What about me?” Nicholas chases after us.

  “You’re going to take me to Stasha’s,” I say. “Does she still live on the east coast?”

  Laylen heads into the bathroom. “No, she got a place in town to be closer to us.” He turns on the sink faucet and dunks his head in the water, rinsing the blood from his hair. He shuts the water off and snatches a towel from the hanger. “She mentioned this when she was here the other day, but I didn’t want to tell you.” He dries his hair and tosses the towel in the corner.

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” I lean against the doorway and fold my arms. “I don’t like knowing now.”

  He combs his fingers through his hair, rearranging it into place. He leans over the counter, admiring his reflection in the mirror. “You need to get over it, Gemma. Alex is Alex.”

  “Since when have you been so into your looks?” I raise my eyebrows critically.

  His gaze sweeps my body. “If I were you, I’d be doing the same thing.”

  Taken aback, I stand up straight and inspect my filthy clothes. “That was kind of rude.”

  Sighing, he pulls me in front of the mirror. “Look at you. You’re a beautiful girl, you just don’t try.”

  I stare at my reflection, my matted brown hair, dirt and dried blood on my pale skin, long limbs covered by an oversized black tee and some faded jeans.

  He dips his lips next to my ear. “You’re really beautiful. You shouldn’t hide it.”

  Nicholas watches us uncomfortably from the entryway. “He’s acting really weird.”

  I consider Laylen’s behavior, and a strange tingling feeling kisses my skin. I squirm away from him. “He’s right, though. I do look like crap all the time.” I wedge past a stupefied Nicholas. “Hold on. I think I’m going to go change first before we go.”

  I march to my room and throw open my closet. In a nutshell, my clothes are a lost cause. But I make do; taking out a pair of denim shorts and a sleeveless black shirt Aislin gave me. I put them on, wash my hair and face. Then I twist my damp hair up, leaving a few stray pieces to frame my face, and secure it with some hairclips I stole from Aislin’s room. I trace some black eyeliner around my violet eyes and dab some dark red lipstick on my lips. When I loo
k in the mirror again, the girl staring back at me isn’t Gemma Lucas. She’s someone more powerful. More confident. More venomous. My eyes darken as I smile, wondering just how far I could go with this new look.

  I meet Laylen and Nicholas at the bottom of the stairs. They’re arguing about something and Nicholas looks edgy. When they notice me, they stop.

  Laylen gives me an approving once over. “Nice.”

  I stand proud. “Thank you.”

  Laylen holds the broken Crystal of Limitation in his hand. “Well, I’ll go get this fixed and you two can go drag Romeo back here.” He opens the door, eyes lingering on me. He lets out a low growl. “You really should keep that look.”

  Our fiery gazes remain linked until he steps outside and shuts the door.

  “What the hell happened to you two down in The Afterlife?” Nicholas investigates my eyes. “I’d guess you are possessed, but that’s not possible. You’re a Protected One.”

  I pat him on the head. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I’m acting. Now will you please take me to Stasha’s?”

  “There’s something going on.” He grimaces. “And that’s saying a lot coming from me.”

  Disregarding him, I take his hand. “To Stasha’s.”

  He shakes his head with befuddlement. “Fine Gemma. But if you try anything tricky—if you try to attack me or something—I will hurt you.” His hand constricts around mine. “Don’t forget who you’re dealing with here.”

  I almost laugh at the ridiculousness. We walk hand in hand out the door and to the shore of the lake, far enough away from the praesidium. He obtains the miniature crystal ball from his pocket, giving one more protest and threat before we go. But I don’t care. Because I know he can’t hurt me—I’m much too powerful.

  Chapter 21

  Stasha’s house resides on the outskirts of town, where the neighborhoods are lowly populated and the mountains expand to the sky. The trees cast sinister shadows across the lawn and the silence of the air chills my spine. But I breezily shake off my uneasiness and stride up the rocky path toward the house. The lights are on, revealing two silhouettes inside.

  “You probably shouldn’t just walk in,” Nicholas mentions as I place my hand on the door handle. “Need I remind you Stasha can kill with a touch of her bare hands?”

  “Need I remind you I can’t die?” I kink the door handle.

  His hand zips forward and he jerks the door shut. “You may not be able to die, but you can go back to The Afterlife. And it seems like you’ve lost some of your sanity since your last visit there, so might I suggest taking a break from the whole self-death sentence thing.”

  I lower my hand. “You make an excellent point.” I rap on the door.

  The door swings open. Stasha narrows her eyes immediately, putting a gloved hand on her hip. “What are you doing here?” she asks with a patronizing bob of her head.

  I barge my way inside. Like her old house, the olive walls and the ceiling are garnished with lush vines and florid plants. I know from experience that she controls the plants and can turn them on me.

  Alex is seated in a cream sofa that centers the room. “Gemma.” He bounds to his feet, his eyes browsing my new look. He doesn’t look guilty or evil, like I anticipated. He looks worn out. Dark shadows crescent below his eyes and his skin is ashen. His hair pokes up everywhere, a sign he’s been taking his stress out on it. “What are you doing here?”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?” I wander through the room, examining the framed photos on the mantle. Stasha obviously still has a thing for Alex, since he’s in nearly every photo.

  “You’re the one that came barging into my house.” Stasha strolls in, twisting a curl of her sunny hair. “If anyone should be asking the questions, it should be me.” She points her finger over her shoulder at Nicholas who is invading her personal space. “So, first question. Why’d you bring him?”

  Nicholas sniffs her hair and grins. “What’s the matter Death Girl? Did you miss me?”

  “He brought me here,” I answer, running my finger along a photo of Stasha and Alex holding hands on the beach. Stasha, of course, has gloves on. I wonder if this is before or after they made the Forever Blood Promise. Hurt creeps in, but I shut it down before the emotion consumes me. “What’s the matter, Stasha? Does he make you uncomfortable?”

  She smirks, but it’s forced. “The only person who makes me uncomfortable is you. But only because you’re a freak.”

  I tap my fingers on the mantle, torturing her with my nonchalant manner. “I’m the freak. I’m not the one whose hands have to stay covered, otherwise I’ll kill someone. Tell me, how were you and Alex even a couple. I mean, you couldn’t even touch him with your hands…” I trail off as a revelation dropkicks me in the gut. Alex and Stasha’s Blood Promise. Their hands were pressed together—their bare hands.

  She rips off her gloves, ready to battle. “What were you saying about my hands?”

  I glance from Stasha, to Alex, and then my eyes land on Nicholas.

  He bites down on his lip and shrugs. “It wasn’t my fault. I had to do it.”

  Alex’s fingers wind around my elbow. “Gemma, I need to talk to you for a minute. Alone.”

  Stasha huffs and melodramatically stomps her foot. “Alex,” she whines. “I thought you were over her.”

  Before anyone can respond, he escorts me out the front door, into the dusk of the night. The porch light beams down on us.

  I wrench my arm away and charge down the stairs. I cross my arms and glare at the profiles of the trees. “Having fun?”

  “No,” he says it like I’m an idiot. “Why would you think that?”

  I target my eyes at him. “Why wouldn’t I think that? You disappear in the middle of the night and end up here.” I mitigate my tone. “I thought you were dead… there was blood everywhere.”

  His eyes search mine. “You really don’t remember what happened?”

  “How could I? I was asleep.” Dreaming of Helena, eating Annabella.

  He shuts his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he inhales the cool air. “Then it’s worse than I thought. She’s somehow blocked out your memories.”

  “What are you talking about? My memories are fine. At least the ones that weren’t erased by your father.”

  He opens his eyes and swallows hard. “Gemma, you attacked me in your sleep.” He jerks down his shirt collar, showing me the fresh bite marks on his skin. “You bit me over and over again, like you were trying to eat me or something.” He shudders at the memory.

  “I’m not a zombie,” I rage. “And if you don’t want to be with me, then you can just say it. Don’t feed me crappy lies.”

  “I’m not lying.” He steps off the porch and stands close to me. “And I’m not saying you’re a zombie. Or a vampire. Or anything else that bites.” He sucks in a breath, like he might cry. “I think you’re possessed.”

  I gape at him. “I can’t be possessed. Remember. I’m a Protected One.”

  “Yeah, but protected from what?” Hesitantly, he reaches out, his fingers pursuing mine. “We hardly know anything about a Protected One, except for what Lucinda has told you. And how reliable of a source could the Queen of The Underworld be?” He motions at my body. “And look at you. You’re dressed weird and you have that crap all over your eyes.”

  I trace my tongue on my lipstick-stained lips. “I thought you liked it when I dressed this way. You seemed to like it when I was a Black Angel.”

  “You can dress however you want. I just want you to be you. God.” He rubs his eyes, exhausted. “I don’t even know who you are. Are you really my Gemma Lucas, or Helena’s?”

  “I’m no one’s Gemma Lucas.” I wave an irritated hand at Stasha’s house. “And how do I know you’re you. You’re here with Stasha. It’s like the ultimate betrayal.”

  “Does it hurt you?” he asks, hopeful. “Does it make you feel… I don’t know, hurt or something?”

  I let my body numb. “I
don’t feel anything.”

  “Even if I told you I kissed her?”

  “Did you?” I demand. He doesn’t answer. “Tell me if you did.”

  He remains stoic, awaiting my response.

  “I hate you.” I storm for the forest.

  He tackles me from behind, casing an arm around my waist and bracing us as we collide with the grass. He hovers above me, his hair dangling in his lustrous eyes, fingers digging into my skin. He straddles my hips and restrains my arms above my head.

  “Gemma.” His tone is begging. “I need to know you’re still you.” Shifting my trapped wrists into one of his hands, he flattens his free hand on my heart, confirming it’s still alive.

  “I’m not a Lost Soul,” I respire, edging my face closer to his. “Ask Nicholas. He knows about Protected Ones.”

  “You want me to trust Nicholas?” He laughs harshly. “There really must be something wrong with you.”

  “How can you not believe me? How can you not see that I’m still me?” Tears pool my eyes and flood down my cheeks. But it’s an act—a brief slipup. It’s like I’m stuck behind a brick wall and part of the real me has slipped through the cracks.

  His expression softens. “Don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry.” He kisses the tears away, his lips soft like a feather grazing my skin. “I love you.” His lips brush mine. “I just thought… when you bit me I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I was having a bad dream that night.” I hold his gaze. “I could have been reenacting it in my sleep.”

  “You’ve never been a sleepwalker before.” His fingertips trace the corners of my eyes. “You’re usually a peaceful sleeper.” He needs more proof that I’m still me. Or at least a distraction.

  A hollow feeling congests my chest. I sneak my legs out from under him and secure them around his hips. My arms are still confined, but I lean my head up and crush my lips into his. His lips fleetingly falter, before returning my passion equally. Loosening his grip on my wrists, his fingers travel down my arms, my shoulders, my ribs. He grabs at my hips kissing me with so much desire and passion it heats my skin. He trusts me completely. And that’s exactly how I want it.