Waking Dreams (A Soul's Mark Novella) (6 page)

 “Mitch, you don’t have to talk about her,”
Angelle said, breaking the awkward stretch of silence.  She pulled her chair
closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, giving him a squeeze.

Mitchell smiled, a sad kind of smile, and
then he took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.  “When Amelia was scared, when
her emotions were running wild, I could latch onto her and pull her out while
we were awake.  When I did, well she appeared as herself, and anyone around
could see her, touch her, as if she was really, fully there.”

Eric blinked, and then blinked again. 
What?
 
Who was Amelia?  What fire?  How many things did he not know?  Or maybe the
better question was how many of Mitchell’s lessons had he ignored?

“She used your vampiric energy to gain
substance,” Lola said matter-of-factly.  Everyone looked at her then, and she
shrugged.  “What?  After she died, I did some research about the connection. 
It’s more common than you think, especially when the connection is strong.”

They were all still gaping at Lola as if
they had never seen her before, when Eric blurted, “Who is Amelia?”

Mitchell opened his mouth to speak, but to
Eric’s amazement, he closed it just as quickly.  For the first time since Eric
met him, Mitchell looked … broken.  Utterly and completely broken.  There was
no mask.  His emotions were thick in the air; cold, broken, and empty.  It was
as if a piece of him died at the mention of her name, but behind the
brokenness, Eric also caught something else, self-loathing and a burning
hatred.  Even Eric knew that was a dangerous mixture.

“She’s Mitchell’s soulmate,” Angelle said. 
She whispered a few soothing notes in Mitchell’s ear and rubbed his shoulder,
her arm still wrapped tightly around him, before she continued.  “She was
burned as a witch just over three-hundred years ago, and he hasn’t been able to
find her since.”

“She died, and you’re still looking?” Eric
said it as a question, because well, it was.  Mitchell smiled at him, or that’s
what Eric thought it was supposed it be.  It looked more like a freaked-out
sneer than a smile.

“Eric, no human really dies,” Mitchell
said, his voice thick with emotion.  “Their body may, but the soul never does. 
Even if you don’t find Megan in this lifetime, she’ll come back to you in
another.”  He offered another scary looking smile, and Eric cringed.

Not find Megan?
That wasn’t a scenario that Eric wanted to think about.  It was
right then that he decided what he would do.  The others continued on, telling
him about the mark and some kind of bond that happens after a human gets bitten
by their vampire soulmate, but Eric wasn’t listening.  No, he was too busy
forming a plan.  A plan to find Megan before whatever, or whoever, was after
her found her first.

Eric was being held—restrained.  He figured
it was his own fault; he should never have attempted to come up with a plan
while the others had been trying to explain what was happening to him. 
Mitchell had said it was evident, written clearly across Eric’s face.  So …
Mitchell had locked him away, supposedly to stop Eric from doing anything rash
and impulsive.  Mitchell claimed it was just until they all knew what they were
dealing with, but Eric didn’t care why.

The cellar was damp and dark, and the
chains that kept Eric pinned to the wall were cold.  But he hardly noticed any
of it.  All he had really noticed for the last three days was the relentless
tug around his heart.  Three excruciatingly long days.  And each day, Megan’s
fear was stronger.  And the stronger it got, the harder it was to stay civil. 
He wanted to go on a rampage, killing anyone that stood in his way.  He had
never felt so useless before.  But right now, that’s exactly how he felt. 
Useless.

“Eric, this is for your own good,” Mitchell
said.  He had been sitting in front of Eric, blabbing on and on about
soulmates, and dreams, and God only knows what else for hours now.  “You’ll
only put her in more danger by chasing her.”

“You don’t know anything!” Eric snarled,
yanking against the chains.  He wanted to kill Mitchell—literally.  All he
could think about was ripping out his throat.  And the more he thought about
it, the more he wanted to break the chains, drive his hand through Mitchell’s
chest, and tear out his heart.  He felt like a wild animal, savage and
ruthless, and although he knew
this
was not him, he relished the thought
of watching Mitchell’s body fall in a lifeless heap at his feet.

Mitchell rose from his chair, and his eyes
flashed red.  “I’ve spent seven hundred years dealing with this bond, Eric.  If
you’re not thinking clearly, you’ll hurt her.  You could even kill her.”

“You’re insane,” Eric hissed.  Kill her. 
He wouldn’t hurt her.  Never.

Mitchell tossed his hands up in
exasperation, and started pacing the dirt cellar floor.  “I’m trying to help
you.  You’re too young for this.”

“How can you tell me she’s real, and then
lock me up like a rabid dog?” Eric spat, barely hearing Mitchell’s pleas.  “I
thought you cared about me.  I thought I was your family.”

“I do care, Eric,” Mitchell said softly,
and then he sighed, a sad kind of sound.  “I know you don’t understand, but it
is because I care that I can’t let you run after her until you know where she
is, and what’s chasing her.  You’ll only make things worse.”

“I hate you!”  Eric yelled.  As soon as the
words left his mouth, he regretted them.  Mitchell looked … well, he looked
like Eric had physically punched him, and it was awful.  Completely and utterly
awful.  He may want Mitchell dead, but he also loved him.  It was the most
confusing mix of emotions that Eric had ever felt.

Mitchell dropped down into a chair and
scrubbed at his face as he whispered, “I know.”

****

Lola brought Eric dinner that night.  It
was a blonde with bright blue eyes, and she was overly willing to donate her
blood.  She even urged him to take more than he needed, and Eric was pretty
sure she would have let him drain every last drop of blood she held within her
body if she had thought it would make him happy.

She was curled up on the dirt floor beside
him, her head resting on his bare chest.  “Will you please leave,” Eric said
through gritted teeth, again.  He lifted his shoulder from the wall with a
jerk, in an attempt to dislodge her head from his chest.  It didn’t work.

She shifted her cheek so she could glance
up at him through sad, sleepy eyes.  “Why don’t you like me?” she asked,
pouting.  She ran a finger up and down his chest, playing with the top of his
slacks before dragging her nail back up again.

Eric just shrugged.  What was he supposed
to say? 
I don’t like you because you are just a meal.  You are food, that’s
it.
  It sounded overly harsh, even if it was the truth.  What did these
humans expect?  Did they really think they could be more than a handy meal? 
And really, did the girl miss the fact that he was chained to a wall?  She had
been delivered to a prisoner (well, not really a prisoner, but she didn’t know
that) and she was begging for more of him.  Whatever manipulation Lola had
used, she had definitely gone overboard.

“Am I not good enough for you?” she said,
her voice whiney and overly grating.

“What?” he asked distractedly, and nudged
her head again, but this time she wrapped an arm around him, holding him
tightly to her.  He wished that Lola would come back and take her away, because
small talk with food was really, really not something he wanted to do.

“Is there someone else?” she whispered,
nuzzling against him, her breath warm against his skin, and she lightly trailed
her fingers down his chest again.

Eric groaned loudly.  He was going to wring
Lola’s scrawny little neck the next time he saw her.  If this was her idea of a
joke, brainwashing some poor girl to offer herself to him in ways that she
shouldn’t even think of offering to anyone but her husband, he would throttle
her.

“Mr. Carter?”  Eric cringed at the sharp
tone. 
Megan.
  He reluctantly followed the sound, glancing up, certain
that he would see anger in those pretty green eyes.

He did.

Her eyes were bright and full of fury.  He
should have known she would pop up now.  Since Mitchell had put him here, she
seemed to only show up when he was doing something he did not want her to see,
or when she was terrified and running for her life.  She hadn’t been sleeping
much, too scared to close her eyes, but over the last few days … well, she had
found him in a few embarrassing situations. 

And of course, like every other time she
had appeared, Mitchell wasn’t here to see her.  Eric was certain that if
Mitchell could just see Megan, he would let him go.

“Hello, Megan,” Luke’s voice boomed from
the doorway, before Eric could even open his mouth.

Megan spun on her heels, her hands on her
hips.  “Who are you?  Why are you in my dream?” she blurted in a frenzy.  Then
she turned back to Eric, and her eyes shimmered with angry tears.  “Who is that
girl all over you, Mr. Carter?” she demanded, with a little stomp of her foot.

“I should ask you that.  This is your
dream,” Eric said, and chuckled.  He couldn’t help it.  Megan was just so darn
cute when she was angry.  She pursed her lips and put her hands back on her
hips, tapping her foot and waiting for more of an answer. 
If she only knew
that I was real,
Eric thought,
she would probably try to stake me.
 
Because with the look she was giving him, well, Eric wasn’t sure if she was
going to try to kill him or go after his meal.

Luke swept past Megan.  “I’m a friend of
Eric’s, and she is no one.”  He bent down, scooping the girl up in his arms,
and whispered so softly that only Eric could hear him, “Ask her where she is. 
I’ll be back in a moment.”  Luke met his eyes, staring at him intently for a
moment, and then he left, taking the girl with him.

Once Luke was gone, Eric was sure Megan was
going to yell at him.  She looked like she wanted to, but she didn’t.  She just
stood there, with narrowed eyes, and her hands still on her hips, and that was
even worse.  He would have preferred to hear all the hateful things she was
thinking.  To know how badly he had messed up, even if he really hadn’t done
anything.  Instead, she just glared, and the silence between them was so thick
that Eric could scarcely breathe.

Finally, after an eternally long moment,
she sighed and shook her head.  “Mr. Carter, why in the world are you chained
to that wall again?”

“Like I said before, it’s your dream, you
tell me,” he said hastily, frustrated.  Eric had decided not to tell her the
truth yet, and holding it back was brutal.  He wanted to wait and tell her
everything in person.  In person, she would believe it, he was certain, but in
a dream … he knew she wouldn’t.

Megan rolled her eyes.  “Well, I guess I
must fix it then.”  She scanned the room, searching, and when she spotted the
key ring hanging by the door, she walked over to it and lifted the keys off the
hook.  She turned back to him triumphantly, dangling the keys from a finger.

Megan took her time crossing the few steps
to him, and her hand trembled slightly as she began unlocking the chains.  Eric
watched, mesmerized.  He could hear her heartbeat and smell the sweetness of
her skin.  He knew she was an illusion, she wasn’t really there, but she was so
real.  And with her so close, leaning over him as she unlocked the shackles, he
could even feel the heat from her skin.  It was magic, plain and simple, magic.

“I was hoping I would dream of you again,”
she murmured, as the last chain fell away.

Eric grinned, and he almost
giggled—almost.  “Really?” he asked, as a little voice in his head shouted,
she
wanted to see me again!

“Well, yes …” she blushed, and dropped her
eyes.  But then she screamed.  It rang, shrill and sharp.  And just as quickly
as she had appeared, she was gone.  Vanished without a trace, as if she had
never been there to start with.

Megan screamed again, and a loud metallic
clatter resonated around his brain.  The sound was agony to his ears, and his
heart skipped a beat.  Eric gritted his teeth, fighting to block out Megan’s
screams.  He could feel her awake and sensed that she was running, fearing her
life, and he had to keep her that way.

Awake and running.

Eric bolted towards the door, and a wave of
fear hit him, knocking him off balance.  He gripped onto it, the wood snapping
within his hands, as he forced himself to stay awake, and keep her spirit in her
body.

Luke wasn’t happy.  He stood in the
doorway, blocking Eric’s exit, with his arms crossed and his jaw flexed. 
“Where did she go?” he asked coarsely, as Eric tried to get a grip on himself,
and push Megan from his mind.

“She woke up,” Eric said through gasping
breaths.  “She’s running.”  He leaned against the wall, slouched over with his
hands on his bent knees, sucking in mouthfuls of air, as Megan’s panic flood
through him.  At times like this, when she was this scared, it felt as if her
emotions were actually his.  It was as if her terror was coursing through his
body, and the urge to run and hide was overwhelming.