Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (22 page)

“He’s looking a lot happier,” Marcus observed.

Regan secured a stray curl behind her ear. “I hate to admit it, but it’s your son’s doing. He’s got a gift. Considering what he is, that’s a goddamn miracle.”

She was right. Adrian should’ve brought out the worst in people. Instead, he fueled the light by banishing fear and doubt. “Maybe there’s more angel in him than the rest of us,” he mused.

“Or maybe he’s just learned to accept the part of him that was once human.” Her sparkling gaze locked on to his, brimming with meaning.

Marcus looked away. He had to. Withdrawing the photographs from the police file Eddie had given him, he settled back in his chair to study them. Emaciated limbs protruded from a skeletal female body swaddled in a fur vest. Her skin displayed the greenish tint of death and her eyes—once the windows to her soul—were black and empty.

He sent the snapshots gliding across the tabletop toward Regan. “What do you make of these?”

Regan stared at the shriveled carcass, her expression ripe with disgust. “Looks like a Rogue killing. Who was the victim?”

“A prostitute. A witness claims she saw the victim get into a silver Mercedes with some guy and another woman.”

A hollow chuckle resonated from her chest. “Rogues who like to travel in style apparently.”

He leafed through the report, halting when he came across a blurry photograph taken from a street cam. The image was grainy at best, the man only a shadowy silhouette in the encroaching blackness, but Marcus would’ve recognized him anywhere. “Or a firstborn drunk on his own power.” One who was testing the boundaries, precariously walking the tenuous line that had always distinguished the Kleptopsychs from the Rogues. Without Athanatos to lay the ground rules, it was open season out there.

He passed the photo to Regan, who scrunched her face up in uncertainty. “You sure it’s Kyros? It’s kinda hard to tell from this snapshot.”

Marcus studied the male figure, noted the arrogant tilt of his head, the thick crop of shoulder-length black hair, and resolve hardened in that toxic place within him where his guilt and hatred lay buried. “There’s only one way to know for sure. I need to visit the crime scene.”

Regan eyed him incredulously. “Are you out of your mind? Cal and the Watchers are going to be all over this one.”

He gripped her hand, and the energy he fought so hard to ignore surged between them again, but he didn’t let go. “I have to do this, Regan. It’s important.”

Gentle acquiescence smoothed out her features even as determination hardened in her eyes. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

Marcus opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed her finger to his lips. “If you think I’m going to let you do this alone, you’re crazier than I thought.” She withdrew her hand, and cold air swept in to replace the blistering warmth of her touch. “Looks like Ben’s going to get his wish, after all.”

Kyros’s quarters at the bunker consisted of a twelve-by-twelve cement cell equipped with a tattered old mattress, the putrid green armchair upon which he now sat, and a wooden cocktail table that had definitely seen better days. It was hardly a room fit for a king. Now that he could no longer be tracked, perhaps it was time for an upgrade. He could rent the presidential suite at one of Oregon’s finer hotels or a penthouse in Portland’s bustling downtown area.

Better yet, he could acquire a mansion in Lincoln City, mere miles from Cascade Head, where the Watchers’ complex was located. The facility was hidden from view, not to mention impossible to breach, thanks to Cal’s protective shields, but Kyros knew it was there, having escaped from within its steel walls only months ago.

The irony of living a life of luxury right under Cal’s nose pleased him tremendously. He wondered whether the Watchers’ leader had uncovered the message he’d left for him last night.

At first the hooker’s death had seemed like an unfortunate setback, despite the temporary thrill it had provided. Then Kyros had decided to turn the calamitous event into an opportunity to show the Watchers exactly how fearless and untouchable he’d become. The younger of the two prostitutes had survived, so he’d delivered her to the farm, where Diane could promptly see to her impregnation. All in all, things had worked out splendidly.

A hairline crack rent the atmosphere, jolting Kyros from his pleasant musings. Micah stood at the heart of the dingy room, looking as fierce as the avenging angel he was. “You shortsighted, witless fool. Whatever possessed you to pull that stupid little stunt last night?”

Kyros rose to his full height of almost seven feet, shoulders squared, chin angled defiantly. Angel or not, no one had the right to insult him or speak to him in that contemptuous tone. “What I do in my spare time is none of your concern.”

Micah ignored the dark warning Kyros infused in his voice. “Answer my question. Why did you kill that woman, then leave her there in plain sight? Do you not know the kind of mass panic something like this could cause? If the humans learn of your existence—”

“I am sick and tired of being confined to the shadows, of living in dank spaces while humans bask in luxuries they don’t deserve. And you, Micah, are in no position to talk, seeing as you ordered the execution of thousands of humans only days ago.”

“That was a means to an end, part of the overall plan. What you did was senseless slaughter. You’ve changed the chain of events. Now the plan I’ve worked so hard to put into motion is in jeopardy.”

Kyros circled his new business associate, scrutinizing him with the wariness of a deer in the presence of a hungry lion. “And what plan might that be?”

A calculating gleam came into the angel’s eyes. “To empower you beyond your wildest imaginings.”

That was the last thing Kyros had expected him to say. Interest dueled with mistrust, stiffening his spine. “How so?”

Micah’s voice reclaimed its conspiratorial quality. “What if I told you there’s a soul in circulation so potent, it could make you virtually invincible? If you were to acquire such a soul, you would be more powerful than your father. More powerful than all the Ancients combined.”

Thin filaments of greed unraveled within Kyros. To possess that kind of power, that kind of strength… The possibilities boggled the mind. Still, as appealing as the idea was, something elemental warned him Micah couldn’t be trusted. “Why are you telling me this? What is it you hope to gain?”

“My plans are of no consequence to you. You are merely one small pawn in an elaborate chess game. You need only play your part and follow my commands unquestioningly. If you play your role to my satisfaction, then and only then will you be crowned king. Cross me again and I’ll feed you to the wolves. Understood?”
 

Kyros hated being treated like a foot soldier. Even worse, he hated having a carrot dangled in front of his face only to have it snatched away. Still, if what Micah promised proved to be true, the reward would be well worth any slight he was forced to endure.

Swallowing past the bitter lump of his pride, he nodded. With great effort, a single word escaped from between his clenched teeth. “Understood.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The crime scene turned out to be a ratty motel on the outskirts of town, where rooms were rented by the hour and no one bothered to ask for ID. Regan followed Marcus up a cracked walkway bordered by a lawn that was overgrown with weeds, to a door secured by reams of yellow tape. Reluctant to use their powers of suggestion for fear of being tracked, she and Marcus had waited for the authorities to vacate the premises before venturing onto the property, lying low in the old Chevy Tahoe they’d borrowed from Adrian. Regan had offered to teleport them here using her own personal brand of magic, but Marcus had been adamant about taking the truck, insisting that every time they used their special abilities they increased their risk of being found.

Now, six hours later, they’d finally reached their destination.

“Think they’ll come back?” she asked as they tore the tape warning them to stay out.

“Eventually.” Marcus pried the door open, his expression as focused as it was grim. “With any luck, we’ll be done before they do.”

“What, exactly, are we looking for?” She surveyed the scene. She knew from the photographs she’d seen that the victim had been found on the bed, naked save for a matted fur vest. The body had been removed, but other than that, the bed had been left undisturbed.

Marcus approached the king-sized bed and laid his palm on the mussed sheets. If his stare had been focused before, it was downright incisive now. “Evidence that
he
was here.”

“He?”

“Kyros.”

If Kyros had been here, he’d left no trace of his black energy behind. The room felt clean. As clean as a place like this could feel. “Getting anything? ’Cause I’m not.”

His fingers fisted around a handful of sheets. “Why can’t I feel him? Who’s cloaking him?”

A frown yanked at the corners of her mouth. “Maybe he was never here. Someone else could’ve done this—”

“No.” His tone left no room for negotiation. “He was here. Unfortunately, our notorious firstborn seems to have gained himself a guardian angel.”

An oily sensation slid down her throat to settle in the pit of her stomach. “You think an angel is cloaking him? Why?”

Marcus’s dark, shimmering eyes snapped to hers. “Because whoever put this in motion needs Kyros alive. How else could he feed Ben’s soul to him and bring forth the end of the world?”

Her heart hardened to stone. “I thought you said Cal was wrong. Are you now telling me you think this latest prophecy of his is true?”

“I don’t know.” Marcus ran a rough palm over his face. “All I know is that Kyros has been cloaked, and only two creatures have the power to do that—an Ancient or an angel. Since Athanatos is dead, and I don’t know of any other Ancient who’d go through the trouble of cloaking Kyros, that leaves us with option number two.”

As much as she hated to admit it, everything seemed to point to the fact that Cal’s prediction was right on the money. The angels really were out to destroy the world, and Ben was the weapon they intended to use to do it. Now the question was, how did they stop them?

“So it’s a bust. We drove six hours for nothing.”

“Not entirely.”

She waited for him to elaborate, toeing an overturned chair out of the way and approaching him. Marcus didn’t disappoint.

“The witness claimed there was another woman with them. Her body wasn’t found, which means she’s still out there somewhere, and her energy is all over this place.”

A spark of excitement flared in her belly. “Think you can track her?”

“She hasn’t been cloaked. I see no reason why I wouldn’t be able to.”

Lust and admiration made for one potent drug. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to throw her arms around him. “Marcus, I could kiss you right now.”

His shoulders tensed. “Not sure that’s such a great idea.” Despite his words, his gaze fell to her mouth, and a lick of awareness passed between them.

“Don’t get your tighty whities in a twist. It’s just a figure of speech.”

He gave her a murderous scowl. “I don’t wear
tighty whities
.”

Regan bit back a smile. “Really? I always figured you for a briefs kind of guy.” She let her gaze trail down the magnificent length of him in a deliberate attempt to provoke him. “Personally, I prefer to go
au naturel
.”

“Are you done?” His voice held just the right combination of heat and menace.

After the way he’d trampled on her emotions last night, it seemed only fair to torture him a little. Maybe he didn’t believe he could love her, but he wanted her, that much was evident in the way his eyes raked over her body.

“Can’t a girl have a little fun?”

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the door. “This isn’t the time or place. We need to get out of here before the cops return…or worse.” He scanned their surroundings, and she knew he was seeing past the walls of the motel to the street that lay beyond. “The Watchers have been here—I can feel them—and there’s nothing stopping them from coming back.”

The witness didn’t hesitate to let them in. All Jace had to do was tell her they were cops and she bought it, no badge required. In the past few months he’d honed his skill to the point where planting a suggestion had become second nature to him. He no longer needed to speak or make eye contact with a human. He could influence people with a mere thought, from great distances away. So convincing this woman they were with the Portland police was no great feat. Her aura was damaged, her mind easy to breach.

She lived in a rundown two-bedroom apartment over a nightclub in Old Town, where vagrants huddled on the streets and drug addicts tried to hustle money out of passersby. Despite the city’s attempt to clean up this part of town, it continued to cling to the shadows. Located right over the catacombs, it had suffered from the ill effects produced by the thousand or so Kleptopsychs living just below the surface. Even though the Kleptopsychs were now gone, the catacombs sealed off to them, the kind of damage years of exposure to their kind had caused would take decades to undo.

The woman ushered them through a small living room to the kitchen, where the walls were as red as her lipstick. She indicated that they take a seat at the black lacquer table. “Look, I’m all torn up that Mandy went and got herself killed, but I already told the police everything I know.”