Authors: Shiloh Walker
Tags: #Vampires, #Paranormal, #General, #Romance, #Witches, #Erotica, #Fiction
Heart and Soul (12 page)
It is not your dream. It is a falsehood, a lie . . . an attack. Wake up.
WAKE UP
.
.
Wake up—
The words circled through Leandra’s mind, but she couldn’t force aside the heavy blanket of sleep. She knew she was dreaming now, and she could even feel the alien magick that kept her trapped.
She hammered against it, but it was like that blanket of sleep had become some sort of prison, keeping her locked inside it. Fear, nausea, disgust, rage—it all roiled inside of her gut.
A falsehood, a lie. An attack.
An attack. She could fight an attack, but where in the hell was it coming from?
AGNES COULD FEEL LEANDRA BATTLING AGAINST THE dream. But she didn’t have time to help her.
Morgan turned on Agnes with a scream, and Agnes braced herself. She was tired, though—
The bitch had fed from Leandra just enough to build some power. That power slammed against Agnes’s shields with hurricane force.
Agnes fought to retain her consciousness. If she went under, Morgan was the stronger. Even though Leandra’s dream was shattering slowly around her, Morgan still had the power there. Dream thieves—Agnes hated them. They could drain a witch dry, leaving nothing but an empty husk, and the witch would never understand what was happening until it was too late.
You will not have her
, Agnes told Morgan, her voice completely confident. Morgan’s power had been weakened by Leandra’s struggles and the cold cocoon that had wrapped itself around the enclave dissolving.
, Agnes told Morgan, her voice completely confident. Morgan’s power had been weakened by Leandra’s struggles and the cold cocoon that had wrapped itself around the enclave dissolving.
Then I’ll fucking take you—and you won’t survive. She might have.
Agnes just laughed.
Oh, I know your kind well enough. You don’t leave survivors. Dead bodies can tell no tales.
She’d only crossed a handful of dream thieves in her entire existence. They were even more rare than true psychics. But sadly, something about the nature of the power to invade dreams warped a being, and even if they weren’t intentionally trying to harm, nothing good came of it.
Oh, I know your kind well enough. You don’t leave survivors. Dead bodies can tell no tales.
She’d only crossed a handful of dream thieves in her entire existence. They were even more rare than true psychics. But sadly, something about the nature of the power to invade dreams warped a being, and even if they weren’t intentionally trying to harm, nothing good came of it.
Dying was all right and fine, if that’s what this came down to. And Agnes knew it would. But she had to take Morgan with her.
MIKE’S BARE FEET MOVED IN SWIFT SILENCE OVER the floor as he raced toward Sarel and Eli’s room. He always moved so fast that he sometimes took it for granted. So why did it seem like it was taking forever now?
It had only been seconds since he left Leandra’s room, but it seemed like the world had shifted.
A darkness had moved in; he’d felt it the moment he left the room. A heavy, oppressive weight that sucked the air from his lungs. He could
feel
it. Why didn’t the others?
feel
it. Why didn’t the others?
Or maybe they just hadn’t been able to feel it, like he had. He had been totally unaware until Agnes had glared at him with worried, angry eyes.
“Know you the same things a witch does . . .”
That was when he started to worry. And when he started to worry, it was like the air splintered and went from clear to black.
“Know you the same things a witch does . . .”
That was when he started to worry. And when he started to worry, it was like the air splintered and went from clear to black.
Black with evil and choking on it.
NONE OF THEM HAD ANY CLUE JUST HOW
TOO LATE
it was.
TOO LATE
it was.
Agnes lay slumped on the floor in Leandra’s room, right by the bed. Her eyes were wide open, locked on the wall across from her. Her heart beat rapidly inside her chest, too fast, too hard.
That was how Sarel found her when she stumbled into the room. Damn it, it felt like her brain was wrapped in cotton. Leandra was unconscious, but her heartbeat and breathing were normal. Agnes though . . .
Sarel knelt by Agnes’s side, but nothing she tried woke the witch.
The old woman didn’t blink, didn’t move, hardly even breathed.
Sarel stubbornly refused to acknowledge the sinking suspicion in her gut. It simply wasn’t happening. Not with Agnes. She was like the mountains, stable, enduring, always there.
So Sarel was simply wrong.
Lori came in, Jonathan’s arm wrapped her around her waist, keeping her upright. She was pale and looked every bit as weak and unfocused as Sarel felt. If her husband hadn’t been holding onto her, Sarel suspected Lori would have fallen to the floor.
Sarel looked at Jonathan and saw the same confusion in his eyes she’d seen on her own husband’s face. Eyes dark with fear and worry.
“What’s going on?” Lori asked, her voice rough and hoarse.
Sarel shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her voice didn’t sound much better than Lori’s.
Lori reached out to touch her hand to Leandra’s, but before she made contact, Leandra’s entire body bucked. Her eyes flew open, and then she sat up. She sucked a desperate breath of air, and she looked at Sarel, then she slowly leaned forward and saw Agnes lying sprawled on the floor.
Her lashes closed.
And then she was gone.
She didn’t go far—Sarel could still feel her. And the rage that boiled out of her . . .
“
YOU CAN’T SAVE HER
.”
YOU CAN’T SAVE HER
.”
Leandra felt as though she was being pulled into two separate yet joined people. She could see her hand, wrapped around Morgan’s young throat. Could feel Agnes—it was like they were joined. Although they were separated by walls of wood and plaster, Leandra could feel Agnes’s heart faltering, skipping, slowing.
Dying . . .
But then she blinked, and it was like she was trapped in another reality. It was Morgan that held Agnes by her throat, her bloody nails digging into fragile, crepelike skin.
Agnes was dying. Morgan fed off the pain and the fear that flooded the air, and when she was done with Agnes, she’d reach for Leandra.
And Leandra was frozen with fear. Petrified by indecision, unable to decide what to do.
“She’s already dead, and when I’m done with her, none of you will be able to stop me.”
Already dead.
Already dead.
Already dead.
Those words echoed through Leandra’s head, and guilt and horror choked her.
Then the reality fractured again, and when it realigned, it was Leandra that was choking the life from Agnes’s throat.
“It’s your fault. You killed her . . . because she tried to save you. I would have been happy with just you. You killed her . . .”
“It’s your fault. You killed her . . . because she tried to save you. I would have been happy with just you. You killed her . . .”
Agnes’s heartbeat slowed; Leandra could feel it, weak and faltering.
Then it stopped.
And Leandra screamed out in denial. Reality shifted, and then Leandra had Morgan pinned to the wall. She tightened her hand. She felt flesh break. The hot wash of blood. But it wasn’t enough; she shoved herself toward the black maw of power that surrounded Morgan.
There was a scream.
Then there was darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
There were two witches lying in a room seldom used in Eli’s house.
It was a hospital room, complete with adjustable beds and plenty of beeping machines. It was rare that any of the Hunters had need of this kind of room. Even though injuries were common among them, between their own accelerated healing and having Healers like Lori around, they usually didn’t need any kind of intense medical care.
In all the years Lori had been with Eli’s enclave, this room hadn’t ever been used.
Until now.
One woman, pale from blood loss, had a thick bandage wrapped around her neck.
The other had no obvious injuries, but she hadn’t moved a muscle for three days.
Lori stepped inside the room and nodded to Brianna. Brianna had been a trauma nurse before she’d been attacked by a werewolf years earlier, and she still worked two nights a week at Cabell-Huntington Hospital. Brianna claimed it was to keep her skills fresh and up-to-date, but Lori suspected that Brianna missed her former life.
The nurse had been the one to help Eli update the room for the rare case that one of the Hunters might need medical care that a Healer couldn’t handle.
It was a damned good thing she had.
“Any change?”
Brianna nodded toward Morgan’s bed. “She’s nearly healed up. Nearly. Should have healed quicker than this.”
Lori had a feeling she knew why Morgan wasn’t healing at a normal rate. Or at least, part of it. Sarel had run to Leandra’s side; Lori hadn’t been there. But she had felt it.
An explosion of power. She felt it at the same time that Agnes’s heart beat the last.
Something had happened between the three witches, Agnes, Leandra, and Morgan, and that was what kept Leandra locked in a coma and this witch healing so slowly.
There was no doubt in Lori’s mind that Morgan was responsible for the old woman’s death.
It would be best for Morgan if she never woke up; Lori couldn’t even count the number of people who wanted to be the ones to gut the beloved Hunter’s killer.
Agnes’s body had gone back to England. A Hunter that Sarel knew only vaguely had arrived shortly after, and after, speaking with Malachi, Eli had let the female vamp and her mate take Agnes away. Kendall had been accompanied by nearly the entire Enclave as she escorted Agnes’s body back to England for her funeral.
Malachi had gone with them, but he had returned just a few hours ago. He hadn’t spoken to anybody.
Lori had glimpsed him from her window; he was sitting on the balcony outside the room Agnes had been given. She’d glimpsed tears rolling down his face in silence.
They had been close, Mal and Agnes.
Moving to Leandra’s side, she reached her hand out and touched the smooth mocha skin of Leandra’s cheek. “You going to wake up any time soon?” she murmured.
Leandra was in turmoil. Lori could feel the fear, the pain, the guilt—a morass of emotions that wrapped around Leandra like a shroud, hiding her from the world, hiding the world from her.
Sighing, Lori asked, “What’s going on inside your head, my friend?”
“Eli brought a doctor out here. His mother’s a Hunter—he knows magic. He can be trusted.” Brianna looked at the notes in front of her and sighed, shaking her head. “There’s no physical reason for Leandra’s state. He suspects an emotional or psychological trauma of some sort.”
Lori met Brianna’s eyes in silence. Neither of them had to say it to know that the trauma was somehow related to Agnes.
“This one . . .” Brianna’s lip curled in a slight sneer as she glanced at Morgan. “This one, just has blood loss.”
There was an IV pole next to Morgan, feeding a clear solution into her veins. “Witches recoup from injuries, including blood loss, better without much medical intervention, but she does need fluids, so we’re keeping her on Lactated Ringer’s.”
Lori just nodded absently as she moved over to study Morgan.
Distaste rolled through her as she reached out and covered one of Morgan’s hands with hers. She’d felt the evil in this girl; she didn’t really want to feel it again.
But—there was nothing. Her mind was like a mirror, a smooth surface that Lori couldn’t break, couldn’t see behind. But there was nothing of evil. “None of this makes sense,” she muttered, reaching up to rub at weary eyes.
Agnes was dead.
Leandra was catatonic.
And this . . . monster—why was she alive? What was she doing here? Lori had felt that massive blast of power. She didn’t know if it had come from Leandra or Morgan, but it should have killed one of them.
Lori could admit it freely—she was too honest to try to hide from how she felt. She wanted this bitch dead. And Lori couldn’t even find it in herself to be ashamed.
How could she? This little bitch had cost them Agnes, may yet cost them Leandra. Yes, she wanted Morgan dead.
But Lori also knew she couldn’t do her job with this much rage pulsing through her. And she’d be damned if she let Morgan cost this enclave any more than she already had.
Pulling her hand away from Morgan, she closed it into a fist, her nails biting into her skin. “I’ll be back in a little while,” Lori murmured, striding away from the door without looking toward Brianna.
YOUR FAULT
.
.
Leandra stood at the lip of a grave, staring down at the small, frail body lying still in the dirt. There was no coffin. Horror flooded Leandra as dirt started covering Agnes’s lifeless body. It wasn’t being shoveled in; it was simply forming around her out of thin air, like water rising in a well.
She started to leap down into the hole in the earth, but she couldn’t. Something kept her from jumping in, no matter how hard she tried.
Rage had her breathing raggedly, and she was quivering with it by the time she realized she wasn’t alone anymore.
Morgan was there. Hatred flooded Leandra as she turned to stare at the innocent-looking girl that was responsible for them being there.
Morgan cocked her head as she studied Agnes’s body. “She’s just an old woman. Don’t be so sad. Better her than you, right?”
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