Soul Bound (19 page)

The look he gave her was hot enough to scald. Her body, her very essence, responded to it. For one beautiful heartbeat, she thought he might pull her to him.

But he didn’t. With a decisive yank of his hand, he severed all contact between them. “Let’s go. We need to rent a car, figure out where we go from here.”

He shot out of the room and plowed a determined path toward the lobby, where a cranky hotel manager greeted them with an irritated grunt.

“Checking out early?” the man asked, his eyes never straying from his newspaper.

“We need a car,” Jace informed him. “Know a place nearby where we can get one?”

“What do I look like? The goddamn yellow pages? There’s a visitor’s center a few blocks down the road. Why don’t you go pester them?”

Lia opened her mouth to blast the insolent man, but Jace halted her with a quelling look. He tossed the keys on the counter, urged her to the door.

“Why didn’t you let me give him a piece of my mind? That’s no way for him to treat his customers.”

“Not his fault.” They walked out into the bright day. “He was probably doing the night shift. Our room is only a few doors down from the lobby.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Forget what I am? A creature of chaos and despair and all that wonderful stuff. He was exposed to my particular brand of charm all night. Must’ve taken a toll.”

She thought of Cassie, of the erratic behavior she’d demonstrated when she’d been dating Jace, and understood. “If that’s the case, why aren’t I affected?”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Guess you really are a tough nut to crack.”

Lia rolled her eyes and trekked down the road before Jace decided to carry her again. “Well, this nut is starving. What’s for breakfast?”

It felt strange not to have to go to the hospital. Lia had called that morning and asked for a few days off. Another resident had graciously agreed to take over her shifts, which lessened the sting of guilt she’d experienced when she’d told them she wouldn’t be in.

Now, no longer bound by responsibility, she felt oddly liberated, sitting in a rustic diner across from Jace, drenching a stack of pancakes with syrup as he watched her with a nauseated look.

“If you’re trying to drown those flapjacks, you’ve accomplished your goal.”

She took a large bite, spit it out in revulsion. “Crap. I forgot I’ve lost my sweet tooth.” Clutching her mug, she washed the disgusting taste away with a long swallow of bitter coffee. “Your fault, by the way.”

A strained laugh blasted out of him. “What isn’t?” he grumbled past the forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth.

She decided to share his breakfast. Chances were she’d like it better than hers. “Your soul’s messing with my taste buds. All of a sudden, I’m gagging on sugar and drinking my coffee black. Don’t get me wrong. My thighs are grateful, but the rest of me is kinda ticked off. If I can’t have a pint of rocky road ice cream, how am I going to make up for a lousy day now?”

He shrugged. “Nachos and jalapeños?”

“Gross,” she groaned, stealing a strip of his bacon. “Tell me something. How come you eat food
and
souls?”

Dark brows arched over shadowed eyes. “Beats me. Guess a creature like me needs all sorts of nourishment. How else could I leap tall buildings in a single bound and will people to blow their heads off?” Despite the flippancy in his tone, bitterness peppered with self-loathing laced his words, and the light mood was shattered.

“Did you—?” She paused.

His gaze connected with hers, probing and completely arresting. He waited, encouraged her without words to say what she must.

“Did you take one yet? A soul.” She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know, but she felt compelled to ask, especially after what he’d said to her last night. The black fog that swept in to soak his features was all the answer she needed. “When?”

“Two days ago. Right after I left the hospital. I rode the MAX. There was a woman sitting next to me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she was vulnerable. A broken spirit. All it took was one thought and she threw herself in front of the train. Then her life-force left her body and speared into me, as if I’d called it. As if I was some sort of soul magnet.”

“How did it feel?”

A caustic chuckle rang from his throat. “It felt freaking incredible. Every nerve ending in my body came alive. All my senses sharpened. It was as if I was made of pure energy—strong, invincible. But it also turned me into a total basket case, like I was drunk or high. I couldn’t get my emotions under control.” He rolled his mug between his palms, stared pensively into the swirling black liquid. After a lengthy pause, he said, “I nearly killed a man.”

Surprise loosened her jaw. “How? When?”

“I went back to The Hangout,” he confessed. “The bar where I was stabbed. He was there—the guy who carved me open.”

She reached out and touched his hand, and her consciousness instantly merged with his. Scenes of what happened next played like a slideshow in her mind. “Oh, Jace, you didn’t.”

“If Marcus hadn’t walked in when he did—” He shook his head. “I would’ve slit the bastard’s throat…and enjoyed every minute of it.”

For the first time, Lia sensed the violence boiling inside him, an inexhaustible well that threatened to overflow and submerge him. “You should let Cal and Marcus help you. They know how to deal with this.”

“No.” The word cleaved the air like a sharpened blade.

“They can teach you things. Help you understand what’s happening to you.” She didn’t like the thought of being separated from him, but if the Watchers could help temper the darkness inside him, it was worth considering.

“And turn me into some mindless lackey.” He shoved his plate aside. “No thanks. I don’t take orders from anyone.” Hunching over the table, he turned his palm toward hers and gripped her fingers. Her skin came alive at his touch. “Did you see them? All of them. They looked like zombies, following Cal’s lead like he was the law personified. Marcus is the only one who showed any sign of having a brain, and he still lacks the balls to defy Cal.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not me. From what little I’ve gleaned about my life, I’m not much of a team player.”

“That’s only because no one ever gave you a chance.”

He shifted in his chair, stared at some distant point over her head. “I can do this, Lia.” The strength of his conviction nearly persuaded her that he was right. “I can figure this thing out on my own.”

She nodded halfheartedly. “I hope you’re right. I really do.”

Jace flagged the waitress, and the woman lifted her index finger in a gesture that said, “Be there in a minute.”

“Do you really think those other guys will come after us?”

“They already have. Remember the shower incident at the hospital? That was Diane’s doing. She tried to drown me again yesterday at my place. Flooded the whole damn apartment using some kind of psychic mojo.”

Lia wished she could find it in herself to be stunned, but after everything she’d been through lately, nothing seemed beyond the realm of possibility anymore. “I seriously hate that woman.”

Jace chuckled. “And I thought she was starting to grow on you.”

“Not a chance.” She took a final bite of her toast. “So I guess drowning is another way to kill these things.” Seconds too late she realized what she’d said. Jace averted his gaze, but she didn’t need to see the hurt in his eyes to know she’d cut him, deep. “I didn’t mean— I wasn’t talking about you—”

The waitress came with their check, and Lia’s chance to fix her blunder was lost. Jace quickly handed the woman his credit card.

“Jace Cutler,” she said, noting the name on the card. “Any relation to Cutler City?”

Lia and Jace both gave her a blank look.

“It was one of our former communities around here,” she explained, “founded by a Mr. and Mrs. Cutler in the early nineteen-hundreds.” A self-conscious smile graced her lips. “Sorry, used to work as a tour guide. One of our stops was the Cutler mansion on Siletz Bay, a beautiful, colonial-style building right on the beach. Unfortunately, no one’s lived there for years—ever since that boy died there—but I think a Cutler still owns it.”

Lia’s pulse sped. Something about the story struck a chord in her. She wanted to question the waitress further, but the woman scampered off to process the card.

When she returned, she handed Lia a brochure. “That’s it,” she said. “Cutler mansion. Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Astonishment skipped through Lia’s bloodstream.

Jace signed the credit card slip, tipped the waitress and stood. “Coming?”

Lia continued to study the picture, her stomach muscles gathered in a tight clench. “We have to visit this house.”

“It’s probably just a coincidence,” he said. “Cutler’s a common enough name.”

“You don’t understand. I’ve seen this place before.” Her eyes rose to rest upon his face. “In my dreams.”

Chapter Eighteen

The house was exactly how Lia had envisioned it, only the façade wasn’t white but a warm, yellow cream. Redbrick sidings reached toward a brown gable roof, where four chimneys linked by a white metal fence completed the symmetry. Black shutters framed the multi-paned windows, and dormers adorned the paneled door and third-story windows.

She approached the temple-like entrance. “This is it. The house I—I mean,
you
—grew up in.”

Jace followed her up the redbrick path that led to the door, which was flanked by an unkempt lawn boasting several handfuls of unsightly weeds. The place screamed desertion and neglect. “Doesn’t look familiar.”

“Maybe that’ll change once we go inside.”

He slanted a questioning look her way. “Is the good doctor suggesting we break in?”

“We don’t need to break anything. I saw how Marcus manipulates doors. I’m sure you can do the same.”

He reflected for a second. “Don’t know. Haven’t tried.”

“This is as good a time as any to give it a shot.”

His gaze brushed hers. “I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“It’s not every day a girl gets to hang out with a superhero,” she teased.

Ice swept in to glaze his features. “I told you, I’m no hero.”

“Stop arguing and open the damn door.”

He stifled a grin. “Your wish is my command.”

Next thing she knew, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Lia shook her head in amazement. “How did you do that?”

“Beats me.” He shrugged. “I just willed it to happen. It’s like everything around me is this big ball of clay, and I can shape it into anything I want.”

Part of her envied him. To wield that kind of power and control over your surroundings…

“Don’t,” he warned, reading her mind again. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Believe me.”

“Right. Half the time, I can’t even get my hair to cooperate. Like right now.” She flicked an annoying strand aside. She wasn’t used to wearing her hair loose.

His fingers clasped one of her unruly locks. “I like it just fine this way.” Spring green eyes roamed over her face until she felt consumed by his gaze.

Fidgeting, Lia ventured into the familiar house. Like dormant snakes awakening, the memories slithered up to ensnare her, ugly shadows of a past that wasn’t hers. But the feelings that swamped her were as real as if she’d experienced them herself—loneliness, dread, worthlessness.

“What’s wrong?” Jace sensed her change of mood.

“You hated it here.” She studied the vintage furniture with its intricate carvings and dark wood covered by a fine layer of dust. Everything was rich and heavy, orderly and oppressive. The wood framing the windows was nearly black. Thick, damask drapes curtained the panes, allowing very little light to trickle in. Expensive frames decorated deep, sunset-colored walls and complemented the bronze statue that stood at the far left corner of the room. The place reminded her of a museum, meant to be admired but not inhabited. “All you could think about was getting out. Away from him.”

“Who?” Jace explored the living room, his feet hissing across the elaborate Persian rug that blanketed the floor.

“Your father. More like your warden. He watched over you like a hawk, didn’t let you breathe.”

A slew of photographs lined the mahogany mantelpiece, all of Jace and his father. Jace picked one up, wiped away the dust, and studied the stern man Lia recognized from her dreams. “Why?”

She couldn’t bring herself to pry her eyes from the photograph. The sight of that unsmiling face sent cold waves rippling along her skin. “I don’t know. I think he was afraid. Afraid of what you’d become.”

“So he knew.” Resignation dulled his tone. “He knew and he never told me.”

“Maybe he was hoping he could change things.”

“By torturing me?”

“By exerting discipline and control.” A ribbon of understanding slowly unwound within her. “Kleptopsychs thrive on chaos, right? Maybe your father believed he could save you by applying some kind of strict order. Eliminate the chaos—”

“Keep the darkness in check,” he finished for her.

“Makes sense.”

“To a sociopath, sure.” Jace returned the frame to the wooden mantel.

“I never said the man was sane.”

He flicked a glance at a snapshot of himself, then quickly averted his eyes as though he didn’t want to see the person he’d once been. “So who do you think scrambled his brains, me or my mother?”

“I can’t answer that.” She saw flickering images in her head, got impressions, but had no real knowledge. That rested with him.

Sensing her thoughts, he said, “I wonder, if you have all my memories, how come I still know how to talk and read and write? How do I know that Obama is president or that we’ve just faced one of the worst recessions since the Great Depression or that the Trailblazers have beaten the Bobcats out of the season series three times in the last six years?”

Lia bit her lower lip. “Doctors have been trying to answer questions like that one forever,” she said with a light shake of her head. “The truth is no one really knows where knowledge or memories are stored. They’ve conducted experiments in lab rats where lesions were carved in different sections of the brain in an attempt to wipe out memories, but the animals still remembered how to find their way around the maze.