Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (20 page)

“I thought we agreed not to use our special abilities,” he grunted.

“Guess we’re even now.”

He shook his head in exasperation. The woman never could grasp the meaning of the word
risk
. If anything, she seemed to get off on it.

The basement was just as dingy as the stockroom, with stacks of boxes lining the walls and colonies of spiders spinning elaborate webs along the gray ceiling. The overpowering stench of mold lay heavy in the stale air.

“I don’t think anyone’s been down here in years,” Regan said.

“No human, at least.” Diane’s tainted aura was as prevalent as the smell of mildew and grime. It clung to the walls and ceiling, rose like a foul mist to enshroud them.

At the other end of the subbasement, another door loomed. Trusting his instincts, he marched across the room and pried it open. Clumps of moist dirt spilled over his boots, and he staggered back. A wall of earth rose from the floor to the ceiling, blocking what had once been the entrance to the catacombs.
 

“This is where the trail grows cold,” he begrudgingly admitted.

Regan walked up behind him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her warmth pierced the thin barrier of clothing to brand his flesh, and all the feelings he struggled to suppress threatened to inundate him.

“You gave it your best shot,” she said. “It’s a wonder we made it this far.”

He shook her hand off and headed to the ladder, only to stop abruptly. A powerful current of familiar energy congealed around him. “Shit. They were closer than I thought.”

Marcus had barely finished the sentence when a horde of Watchers leapt into the black hole to surround them. They must have picked up their trail at the apartment building. Backing away from the entrance, he reached for his dagger, shielding Regan with his body.

The Watchers whipped out their blades, a smug Thomas in the lead.

Crumbled dirt carpeted the floor. With the catacombs sealed, the only exit was the trapdoor they’d used to enter. The very trapdoor the Watchers guarded all too diligently.

“I’ve got you now,” Thomas gloated. “There’s no way out.” He studied them like a wolf eyeing its prey. “The hunter has become the hunted. Talk about ironic.”

Failing to appreciate his efforts to protect her, Regan shoved past Marcus to face their pursuers head-on. “The real irony is that a creep like you actually became a Watcher. Why the hell did you ever recruit this tool, Marcus?”

“Guess I was having an off day.”

Thomas took a few steps forward. “Insulting me isn’t going to get you out of here.”

Marcus tightened his grip on his dagger, itching to swing it, but the coward stopped several feet away.

“Your only hope is to hand over the boy.”

“Well, as you can see, Ben’s not here.” Regan had a knack for stating the obvious. “So what do you say we postpone this little
tête-à-tête
for another time?”

Thomas didn’t look amused. He slid his blade from his scabbard, a menacing grimace twisting his boyish face. “Tell me where he is, and I might decide to let you live.”

“How ’bout this?” Regan countered. “Move out of the way and I won’t slice your head off.”

In a flash she vanished and reappeared next to Thomas, sliding her sharp blade across his arm. Before Thomas could react, Regan folded space and stood beside Marcus again.

Thomas screamed in pain and fury. “Bitch.” He gripped his bleeding arm, crumpling to his knees as the angel’s blood contaminated his system.

“Just returning the favor.” She swung her blade around, pointed it at the others. “Who’s next?”

The Watchers charged. Daggers furiously slashed the air. Standing back-to-back, Marcus and Regan labored to hold them off. Marcus swiped the legs out from under one of their attackers. Regan kicked another in the head, sending him reeling backward.

In a fight, they made one hell of a team. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d move this well together outside the battlefield. If the kiss they’d shared yesterday was any indication, fighting wasn’t the only area where they were shockingly in tune.
 

Undeterred, the Watchers came at them again. Boxes flew from the rack on the wall, sending dust-encrusted tumblers raining down on them. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the small space as blades cleaved the air only inches from their noses.
 

Regan muttered a curse. “What do you say we blow this pop stand?” In a flash, her arms encircled his waist, and the world folded onto itself, sending Marcus toppling into the dark void of space, with the delicious feel of her body stamped on his skin.

Chapter Twenty-Four

When the world sprang up to enfold them again, Marcus lay sprawled on his back, with Regan lying on top of him, her soft curves digging into his flesh. Every rational instinct he possessed told him he should get up, inspect their surroundings, ensure they were safe. But something primal kept him rooted to the spot.

Regan overloaded his senses and filled him with a yearning that vibrated in the very marrow of his bones. He gripped her waist. He couldn’t help himself. Instinct took over, and his hands explored the gentle slope of her hips, the little dip at the base of her spine, stroking as they wandered over her delectable shape.

He had no idea where they were, if the Watchers were gone, if they were still in one piece, and he didn’t care. In this suspended breath, when reality ceased to exist and time stood still, all that mattered was touching her.

“I like having the upper hand,” she whispered.

Wrapping his fingers in the sinful web of her hair, he spun her around and blanketed her body with his. “Who’s got the upper hand now?”

Her gaze went from sparkling to smoky. “I like it this way, too.”

His pulse raged out of control. His hand shook as he brought it to her face. He angled her chin up, aching to taste her again, to kiss that enticing mouth of hers.

She squirmed beneath him, and his body instantly reacted. Fire erupted in his veins. Violent need flared in his gut. Forgetting where he was, who he was, he let his head fall forward. His lips brushed her chin, her cheek, the velvet-soft area behind her ear.

“What else do you like?”

She nuzzled his neck. “The way it feels when you kiss me.”

Her words proved more seductive than a touch. Somewhere beyond the wild haze of desire that had swept in to swaddle his brain, a warning chimed.

Stop now, while you still can.

He willed himself to roll off her, but his traitorous limbs refused to obey his command. He was trapped in an adrenaline-infused euphoria, the rush of battle still pounding in his bloodstream, only heightening his desire.

Regan raked her fingers through his hair, trailed them down the nape of his neck to trace the curve of his spine. Marcus groaned. The blasted woman had no intention of making this easy for him. Her caresses were sheer agony.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped.

“Good.” She kissed his chin, her lips carving a determined path toward his mouth. If he allowed her lips to cover his, he’d be done for. He’d lose control, and they’d end up naked on the cold ground in the middle of God knew where.

He didn’t know how he found the strength to pull away, but he did. Wrenching his body off hers, he pushed himself to his feet.

He took in his surroundings, determined to ignore the potent flush on her cheeks, her swollen lips, the biting disappointment in her eyes. He chuckled in disbelief upon noticing the hundreds of headstones squatting around them, organized in neat rows.

“A cemetery? You brought us to a goddamn cemetery?” At least she’d kept them together this time. He figured it was easier to move two people instead of three. The fact that she no longer suffered from the stab wound probably helped. But her aim still left a lot to be desired.
 

A mournful breeze whistled through the bristly firs in eerie welcome. The harsh sun glared down at them, casting a bonelike gleam over the tombstones.

 
Regan stood and belligerently swiped the dirt from her clothes. “I was aiming for the townhouse. But hey, if you don’t like it, I could always send you back.” She shrugged, her eyes blazing, either from anger or the kiss they’d nearly shared. “It’s your funeral.”

How appropriate. He’d almost made love to her in a cemetery. If that wasn’t a cosmic warning, he didn’t know what was. There was no doubt in Marcus’s mind—the woman was going to be the death of him.

Tunneling his vision, he searched for some clue as to their location. A sign at the opposite end of the cemetery claimed they were at the Riverside Memorial Park. “I know where we are. This place is just a few miles north of the townhouse development.”

“We left the car back in Portland.” Regan came to stand beside him. “Looks like I’ll have to teleport us again.”

“You’ve got enough energy left in you to do that again?”

“Yup. Moving us barely took anything out of me this time.”

Marcus frowned. He still didn’t trust this newfound ability of hers. “How are you doing it? And why did you develop this skill now? What’s changed?”

She shrugged. “Wish I knew. One second I was sitting in the car holding your hand and Ben’s. The next, my mind cleared and I knew exactly what I had to do. At the risk of sounding corny, I had some sort of epiphany.”

Marcus didn’t believe in dumb luck. He never had. Some greater force was at play here. The question was, could it be trusted?

Regan extended her hand, palm up, and waited for him to take it.
 

For a second he was tempted to merge his fingers with hers, to silence his doubts and let her have her way with him. Then common sense kicked in. “Forget it. With your aim, you’re liable to land us in the river. I prefer to walk.”

“Suit yourself.” Sunlight briefly glanced off her body before she melted into the blinding day.
 

Marcus shook his head and sighed in frustration. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” he muttered to the dead.

Regan sat on the couch, tapping furiously on the laptop Adrian had loaned her when she’d dropped by to pick up Ben a short while ago. The townhouse development was equipped with a Wi-Fi network, which allowed her to conduct her research from the comfort of the house that now served as home. She’d already looked into the disappearances and found nothing beyond what Marcus had told her.

The door slammed open and Marcus barreled in.

She felt his piercing stare on her back. It took all her willpower not to look at him, but she succeeded. Her gaze remained riveted to the small screen. “Enjoy your walk?”

He didn’t bother to answer her question. “Where’s Ben?”

“Upstairs in his room watching TV.”

She heard the keys clink as he tossed them on the stand by the door. “Guess I should call the car rental company and tell them where to find the Taurus.”

Regan ignored him. After the way he’d brushed her off, the silent treatment was the least he deserved. The man was driving her crazy, burning hot one moment only to grow ice cold the next. It was bad enough having to deal with the sudden awakening of her hormones. Trying to make sense of his was damn near impossible.

“What are you doing?” She felt him hovering over her shoulder.

A slide of heat swept through her belly, and she fought not to grit her teeth in frustration. She didn’t want this crazy attraction, hadn’t asked for it. But there it was, as undeniable as Marcus’s suffocating presence. “Research.”

He came to sit on the couch beside her, and her blasted hormones raged out of control. Refusing to acknowledge them, she continued her futile search.

“Find anything?”

“Nope.” The laptop slipped from her grasp. “Bloody hell.” She grabbed it before it hit the floor and repositioned it on her lap.

“Why don’t you give it a rest?” He touched her arm, and everything inside her resonated in response. An unvoiced scream rose to obstruct her windpipe. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Why did he have to keep touching her that way, looking at her with those stormy eyes? Eyes that threatened to suck her in and keep her trapped within them forever.

“Because we’re running out of time. The Watchers are closing in on us. If they get their hands on Ben—” Unexplainable panic strangled her, as though her very existence was tethered to Ben’s, as though his destruction would mean her own.

“I won’t let them get to him. I promise.” When had his doubts morphed to conviction?

Regan finally ventured a glance in his direction. “Yesterday, you were ready to hand him over to Cal. Why the sudden change of heart?”

His dark blue gaze consumed her as his hand fell away, and it was an effort not to break the eye contact. “Adrian reminded me of something I’d forgotten.” The sharp slant of his mouth and the hard set of his jaw told her he’d reached an unsettling conclusion. “Cal’s been wrong before. And so have I.”

Despite the medley of disturbing emotions dueling within her, the corners of her lips curled up. “Wait a second. Did you just admit to being wrong?”

“It’s been known to happen on occasion.”