Soul Bound (2 page)

Her eyes shot to the surgeon’s face in quiet supplication. “He was stabbed. I saw the gash. I bandaged it, performed needle decompression.”

Compassion peppered with a dash of impatience swept over the doctor’s tired face.

“You saw it,” she appealed to Diane. “You saw the stab wound. You watched me struggle to resuscitate him.”

“Sorry,” the nurse lied. “All I saw was blood. It must’ve come from somebody else. God knows enough blood was spilled tonight.”

“No. He was cut.” Diane’s dishonesty rankled. “The wound was deep. An upper cut that perforated the lung.” She turned to Dr. Adams. “If you don’t believe me, ask the paramedics.”

Diane centered her dark, penetrating gaze on the surgeon. “She’s exhausted,” she told him. “She needs to rest.”

Lia shook her head in disbelief. “I know what I saw.”

Dr. Adams’s expression grew blank, distant and cold. Any compassion she’d seen on his face melted away, replaced by irritation. “Go home, Lia.” His tone was non-negotiable. “Your shift’s over.”

Lia turned the key and entered her quiet, depressingly bare townhouse. She’d lived here for two years and still hadn’t gotten around to decorating the place. She kept telling herself that she was too busy, that once she completed her residency she’d have more time, but the truth was, the hospital was much more of a home to her than this redbrick building in Portland’s North District.

This house was just somewhere to crash after a long shift, a quiet corner to retreat to before life resumed its crazy pace. There was nothing here to tether her, no one waiting to welcome her, not even a cat or a dog. Tonight, any greeting would’ve provided comfort, even a soft purr or a wagging tail. But Lia had no time to care for a pet any more than she had time to forge relationships.

The cordless phone sat on the console by the door, where she dropped her keys. Her fingers itched to pick it up, to dial Cassie’s number, but something held her back. How could she explain tonight’s events to her sister when she could barely make sense of them herself? But worse was the fear that Jace Cutler’s
incident
would lead Cassie straight back into his arms. Her sister had been hurt enough, by too many men like Jace. Men who only cared about themselves and who treated women like notches on their belts.

The digital clock next to the phone reminded her how late it was, nearly one in the morning. The call could wait. What she really needed was a scalding shower.

A few minutes later she stood naked beneath the jets, scrubbing her skin raw, driven by the desperate need to wash Jace Cutler’s blood from her flesh. It was his blood that had smeared her lab coat, his blood that had covered her hands, regardless of what everyone else believed. Even the paramedics who’d brought him in had denied seeing the stab wound.

The strange energy that had rippled beneath her skin when he’d died continued to hum along her nerve endings. For some reason she couldn’t explain, it made her feel less alone.

She towel-dried her hair and body, slipped into her robe, then crashed into bed without bothering to change into her pajamas. Exhaustion clung to her, a wet blanket dragging her down, clouding her thoughts. Sleep claimed her instantly.

At first, only blissful darkness enfolded her. Then colors slowly crept in, merged to form shapes both strange and familiar—a pristine mansion nestled in an alcove of trees, the ocean whispering nearby, a fallen nest, the mournful coo of a down-feathered bird.

The sun was bright, the air cool and damp. She reached out and gathered the pigeon in her palms. Her fingers were small, like a child’s, but big enough to cradle the hatchling. The frail-boned bird shivered in her grasp. Affection and protectiveness gripped her. She hugged the pigeon close and raced toward the house, only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw the shiny black Lexus in the driveway. Her stomach lurched.

He
was home.

In her hand, the pigeon squirmed. She whipped off her spring jacket and gently tossed it over the hatchling, then skulked into the house, praying the bird would remain quiet long enough for her to make it to her room unnoticed.

She was halfway up the stairs when he called to her, and her whole body tensed at the sound of his voice. Still shielding the pigeon with the jacket, she turned partially around to face him.

Please don’t make a sound, she pleaded silently with the bird.

The man at the foot of the staircase was a stranger, yet something visceral inside her recognized his powerful features, his straight patrician nose, those sharp, disapproving green eyes.

“Why aren’t you in your room doing your homework?” His voice was as polished as the rest of him, as refined as his expensive double-breasted suit and shiny black loafers.

“I’m headed up there now.”

For a few agonizing seconds he said nothing, simply watched her with that probing gaze that drilled a hole straight down to the marrow of her bones. Then his shoulders relaxed. “Don’t take all night. I’ve got some chores for you to do.”

With a relieved nod, she sprinted up the rest of the steps and plowed into the bedroom.

A boy’s bedroom.
She’d never seen it before, yet she knew instinctively it was hers.

Guided by that same instinct, she scanned her surroundings, made sure everything was impeccably neat in case he decided to come up and check. The navy blue comforter that covered the boat-shaped bed didn’t have a crease on it. A collection of perfectly aligned cars adorned the shelves. No toys littered the thick wool carpet that stretched over the hardwood floor.

Releasing the breath she’d trapped in her throat, she carefully shut the door behind her.

Beneath the gray jersey jacket, the pigeon complained. She uncovered the hatchling and placed it in a shoe box she retrieved from the closet, which would now serve as a nest.

She’d just managed to hide the bird in the closet when footsteps sounded outside her door. With surprising speed, she pulled her books out of her schoolbag and settled herself at her desk.

The doorknob began to turn. Her heart drummed a steady beat in her ears. She closed her eyes, waited…

Lia awoke with a gasp, her gut bunched in a series of painful knots. She inhaled deeply, tried to ease her galloping pulse.

Just a dream, she told herself.

A dream that felt oddly like a memory, only it wasn’t hers. The heaviness in her chest made absolutely no sense. Neither did the sorrow ripping through her. Something fundamental inside her connected with the boy in her dream, understood his awkwardness and isolation. His loneliness echoed her own.

Too agitated to drift back to sleep, she slipped out of bed and walked out onto the balcony. Above her, a glittering sky stretched, dark and bright at the same time. Again, she felt that electric thrum, a current in the air that brushed her skin and made every pore come alive. In the distance something hypnotic called to her. Her soul reached for it. She felt full yet incomplete, as if a part of her was missing and she needed to find it.

Problem was, she didn’t know exactly what she was searching for.

“Enter, Diahann.” The seven-foot-tall figure stood at the heart of the darkened room. Moon shadows embraced him, made his jet-black hair gleam almost silver.

Diane approached Athanatos, stopping five feet away from him as was customary for someone of her rank. She kneeled before him and waited for him to begin interrogating her. A Kleptopsych never addressed an Ancient first.

“Stand.”

She complied without hesitation. Although she was tall herself, nearly six feet in height, she still felt dwarfed by his imposing stature. No wonder the Ancients had once been referred to as giants.

“You have something to report?” The words rolled off his cultured tongue like honey. Had Diane been capable of emotion, his silky voice would have triggered a deep, primitive response in her. As things stood, it only elicited a humbling wave of respect.

“Yes, Your Excellency. A Hybrid was brought in tonight.”

Athanatos turned around to face her, and she allowed herself a brief glimpse of him. Perfect, angelic features came together to form a stunning picture. “You witnessed his rebirth?”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Yes, and so did a resident at the hospital.”

Silence stretched to fill every corner of the abandoned hotel that now served as their command center. They’d moved their operations here recently, after the Watchers had discovered and raided their last location. This place was ideal, far removed from civilization, offering perfect access to the catacombs.

“Did you capture his soul?”

Athanatos didn’t approve of his followers feeding at will—the risk of growing greedy and going rogue was too great—but if one of them happened to catch an errant soul, especially one belonging to a recently turned Hybrid, he did not object.

Diane averted her gaze. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t realize what he was until it was too late. I thought he was just another human injured in the riot.” A riot the Kleptopsychs had instigated at Athanatos’s request. Every so often their leader planned an event that would allow him and his followers to feed without arousing suspicion—a riot, a mass murder, a robbery. On those rare occasions when they truly feasted, hundreds, sometimes thousands of human lives were lost.

“You didn’t sense the darkness in him?”

She shook her head. “Not until the soul had left his body.”

Fury pinched Athanatos’s features. Emotion was an unavoidable side-effect of feeding, and tonight, he and the others had ingested their fill of souls. Diane envied them. Her job at the hospital had prevented her from joining the feast, which meant she’d have to find another way to satisfy her cravings. Thankfully, lives were lost every day at Rivershore. Working there definitely had its perks.

“Take care of him,” he ordered. “Before the Watchers find him.” The statement was deceptively soft, yet encrusted with ice. “As for this witness, did you wipe her memory clean?”

Diane ventured a step closer, caught herself when he directed a piercing stare her way. “Not yet.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she’d tried and failed. “I did take care of the paramedics who brought him in, though. They didn’t corroborate her story. Our secret is safe.”

He startled her by bridging the distance between them. His thumb traced the outline of her jaw with a deliberate slowness that was undeniably erotic. Increased sexual desire was another side-effect of ingesting a human soul, one she more than welcomed.

Diane might have missed the feeding tonight, but heat still flooded her veins. Her eyes drifted shut as a swell of lust tightened in her abdomen. Her breasts grew heavy, suddenly screamed to be touched. Becoming Athanatos’s mate would be an honor equivalent to being crowned queen—a position she was ready for, both inside and outside the bedroom.

“Our kind has lived in secret for several millennia now, and it’s that very secrecy that has ensured our survival.” His silken voice flowed over her skin like a lover’s caress. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time we were careless?”

Diane studied him through hooded eyes. “I’ll erase her memory tomorrow. You don’t need to worry.”

“I don’t. Worry is for the weak.” He threaded his fingers through her pin-straight, black hair. His hand was so wide, his palm spanned her entire head. She leaned into it, waited for his mouth to devour hers. Her lips ached with the burning need to be kissed.

“Don’t let this one get away.” His breath tickled her mouth. “I will not see the Watchers gain any more ammunition. We are at war, Diahann. Never forget that.”

Chapter Three

The air around him buzzed, an unrelenting throb that battered his eardrums and yanked him from a dreamless sleep. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He lay on an uncomfortable hospital bed, his body covered with a white sheet. Everything around him had a surreal feel, every sight painted in stark detail, every sound amplified. He could see the hairline cracks in the ceiling, the chips in the white paint coating the walls. Beside him, an assortment of equipment he couldn’t name added an arpeggio of offbeat chimes to the chorus.

He sat up, expecting to feel weak, surprised when he didn’t. He tried to gather his thoughts, but they remained scattered—small, lightning-quick flashes of something he couldn’t quite grasp. What had happened to land him here? And why did he feel so numb inside, as if he’d swallowed twice the recommended dose of Valium, then chased it down with a bottle of Johnnie Walker? Funny, he couldn’t remember his own name, but he knew the taste of his favorite brand of whisky.

The door suddenly swung open, and a perky young nurse entered. What he saw convinced him they’d pumped him full of some serious drugs. A bright, compelling energy pulsed around her, flickering like a halo.

“How are we feeling today, Mr. Cutler?”

Cutler. The name didn’t ring a bell, but it obviously belonged to him.

“Stoned. What the hell did you guys give me?”

The closer she got, the more the strange glow enveloping her sang to him. The sudden hunger to steal it from her tangled his gut, and he pressed his back to the headboard.

The nurse looked genuinely surprised. “Nothing. Just a saline drip.” She frowned upon seeing the tube hanging from the side of his bed, no longer attached to his arm. Liquid pooled on the floor.

“You shouldn’t have removed that.”

The nurse hastened to reattach it to his arm, but the new needle broke before it could pierce his skin. She promptly got another one, tried again with the same result. “Well, that’s funny. Must be a defective batch.”

“I don’t need it. I feel fine. Which begs the question, why am I here?”

She furrowed her forehead, took several seconds to answer. “To be perfectly honest, we have no idea.”

He tried to concentrate, but her glow kept distracting him. It made the yawning black hole in his chest ache. He nearly reached out and grabbed her. The need to suck that light from her and bury it deep inside him was a wound festering at his very core.