Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (7 page)

“Regan may be a Watcher, but she’s still a woman.” Lia glided her palm down his arm and sought out his hand. “A woman who’s had a child and feels guilty because she wasn’t there for him when he needed her.”

He clasped her fingers like a lifeline. “Yeah, I kinda got that impression, too. So is that what Ben is to her? Her ticket to redemption?”

“It’s more than that. She genuinely cares about him.”

Jace pivoted on his heels to face her, gripping her other hand as well. “How is that possible, when she’s got no soul?”

“You cared about me when you were soulless. I care about you, even though my soul is no longer inside me. It’s the benefit of being a Hybrid.”

“But we’re soul mates,” he countered. “We share one essence. Regan’s got no connection to this kid. And what about Marcus? He’s been Cal’s right-hand man forever. A few months ago he was ready to beat me to a bloody pulp just for disrespecting the guy. And now he’s gone and betrayed him?” He released her hands, took a step back, his body taut with anxiety. “Something’s not right here, Lia. I need to be out there, figuring this thing out.”

Cal had purposely excluded Jace and Lia from the hunt because of their obvious allegiance to Regan. Although he had no idea that Regan was Jace’s mother, he was aware that she was the one who’d trained him and that Jace owed her a debt of gratitude.

“And what would you do if you found them?”

“Convince them not to put up a fight.” All descendants of the Nephilim possessed the power to influence humans, but Jace was blessed with a rare gift—the ability to plant suggestions in his own kind. He didn’t particularly like the idea of using his persuasive powers on Regan, but he’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her from getting herself killed.
 

“Yeah, maybe. But do you think Regan would ever forgive you if you did?”

Jace reached for her again, bracketing her face with his palms. Touching her anchored him, emboldened him and sharpened his resolve. “I don’t give a damn if she hates me for the rest of her existence. As long as she’s alive.”

Chapter Ten

The scream yanked Regan from a dreamless sleep, minutes after the sun had risen to pulse faintly behind a thick mantle of clouds. She shot out of bed, grabbed hold of the footboard to steady herself because she had yet to recover fully. When the room stopped wobbling and the floor settled, she started toward the door.

A second scream, spiked with agony and terror, pierced the newborn day. Urgency snowballed within her, and she forgot about her dizziness and sprinted across the corridor leading to the bedroom opposite hers. The bedroom within which Ben slept. The bedroom where the scream had originated.

Normally, she would’ve folded space, but given her weakened state she had no choice but to do things the pedestrian way. A million and one frightening scenarios hopped through her head in the few seconds it took her to cross the small hallway. When she finally burst into Ben’s room, she found him lying in a tangle of sheets, his body drenched with sweat, a pillow bunched beneath his tiny fists.

The day was gray and drab, but the clouds momentarily parted, and blades of light swept down from the skylight above Ben’s bed to cleave his face. Distress contorted his features. His lips were pulled back, exposing pearl-white teeth, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Small whimpers issued from his throat, stretched thin by anguish.

Hastening to him, Regan gently shook him awake. “It’s okay, baby. Wake up. It’s just a dream.”

His lids parted abruptly. He shot up in bed, scuttled against the metal headboard and drew the pillow to his chest, a frightened, disoriented look in his eyes. She reached for him, but his arms began to flail wildly, pushing her back. “Stay away. Don’t touch me!”

“Take it easy, kiddo. It’s just me, Regan.”

His gaze finally focused on her face, and relief chased the fight from his limbs. “Don’t let him get me,” he pleaded.

“Who?” She didn’t know much about dreams. She hadn’t had one since her human days. But she knew how powerful they could be, how the events unfolding in Ben’s mind could feel real enough to reduce him to tears.

“The man with the scary eyes,” he sniffed. “He’s after me.”

The clouds returned to shroud the sky. It looked like it was going to rain again. “It’s just a nightmare, Ben. It’s not real.”

He shook his head in frantic denial. “It
is
real. All my dreams are real. Everything I see happens.”

Foreboding iced her spine, but she fought to ignore it. This wasn’t the time to lose herself to superstition. Getting sucked into Ben’s vivid fantasies would be nothing but counterproductive. Still, she felt compelled to ask, “Can you describe the man for me?”

With another terrified whimper, Ben reluctantly nodded. “He’s got black hair, down to here.” He indicated his shoulders. “And his eyes—I think they’re blue—but they look almost white. He has a sword and he talks funny, like they do in those old movies.”

Regan’s stomach muscles gathered in a painful clasp. Ben had just described Kyros with frightening accuracy. Coincidence? She wouldn’t bet on it. She’d been hoping Cal was mistaken, that his prophecy was nothing but a bunch of bull, and that hope had spurred her into action. Now, doubt crept in to duel with conviction. “Why do you think he’s after you?”

“I saw it, saw it happen in my dream. I’m in a cave—a cave with jewels in the walls. The man with the scary eyes is standing behind me, and he’s got a knife. I feel it here.” He brought his palm to his throat. “It’s cold.” A shudder shook his body. “I start to run, but someone grabs me. Then there’s this flash and everything goes bright. So bright I can’t see anything.” Tears pooled in his eyes, and the hopelessness she caught within them squeezed her heart into a handful of rubble. He was too young to know such fear, such desperation. “I’m scared, Regan. I’m so scared.”

Something thick and sweet lumped in her throat, laced with an unfamiliar sorrow. She stretched awkward arms toward him and pulled him hard against her chest, where she could keep him safe for as long as it was possible to do so.

The sky suddenly thundered, and the boy shivered. “I don’t like it here,” he sobbed. “I want to go home.”

A rough sigh scraped her throat. “You are home.” She smoothed back his damp hair, lovingly brushed it off his forehead. “I’m your home now.”

Marcus returned just after ten in the morning to find Regan standing on the rickety front porch, scoping the surrounding woods. She didn’t need to physically scour the forest to identify a threat. Like him, she could tunnel her vision and see past the boundaries of space, catching glimpses of what hid behind curtains or walls or, in this case, trees.

She must have seen him coming because she didn’t react when he peeled around the corner in the hunter green Jeep he’d “borrowed”. He screeched to a stop on the dirt road in front of the cabin and exited the vehicle, dragging a couple of bags out with him. The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the ground was still damp, and his boots sloshed in the mud as he advanced toward the house.

Anger blazing in her eyes, she tore down the faded wooden steps toward him. “Where the hell have you been? I thought you ran out on us. I would’ve called you but I can’t seem to find my phone.”

“I threw it out along with mine.”

“Why’d you do that? Last I checked our cells were untraceable.”

He gave her a pointed look, surprised at how clueless she was. “Not to Cal they aren’t.” Marcus tossed a bag her way, and she caught it effortlessly. “We needed supplies…and a ride. Unless you want me to carry you again.” His gaze trailed over her body, lingering long enough to be suggestive. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he couldn’t help it. Regan always managed to bring out the worst in him.

A blush dusted her cheeks, and she bristled to hide her discomfort. He’d always loved the way she did that—used anger to mask her vulnerability, as though it could somehow shield her, not only from others but herself. “No thanks. Can’t picture you lifting both me and that huge ego of yours.”

“I managed all right yesterday.” He grabbed another bag, cut a path toward the house. “Where’s the kid?”

“In his room drawing. I found some paper and an old box of crayons, figured he could use the distraction.”

She followed him into the kitchen, where she placed the bags on the counter and began rummaging through them. Arching a brow, she pulled out a loaf of bread and a couple of cans of Spam. “Is this your idea of gourmet dining?”

“Best there is when you’re on the run.” He got to work emptying the other bags. “The Jeep has a decent amount of trunk space, but you can’t exactly fit a fridge in there.”

Deep grooves lined her forehead. “So we’re leaving?” Her voice tinkled with a note of regret.

His hands stilled. “We can’t stay here, Regan. As fun as it’s been playing house with you, we’ve got to keep moving if we don’t want the Watchers to track us down.”

The sun’s silvery rays slashed through the window, brightening one side of her face. Half in the shadows and half drenched in sunlight, she painted an ironic picture. The Watchers were creatures of both righteous integrity and pervasive darkness. Each day they fought their dark nature to remain in the light. Some succeeded, many failed, but Regan was undoubtedly one of the purest among them. She’d never ingested a soul, maybe because her link to her own soul was so strong, which would explain her uncommon ability to feel.

“You’re their best tracker. Without you they’ll be hard-pressed to find us.” She turned sideways, and the shadows greedily swallowed her.

“Thomas shows promise. With me gone, he’ll finally get the chance to test his wings.”

“We can’t run forever.” The grim reality of the situation was finally sinking in, and hopelessness dulled the confident lilt he was accustomed to hearing in her voice.

“No, we can’t,” he agreed. “But until we figure out our next move, there’s little else we can do.”

Chapter Eleven

After they’d all had a quick bite to eat, Ben returned to his room to finish his drawing while Regan remained in the kitchen to clean up. As for Marcus, he disappeared in the bathroom, only to return minutes later a changed man. He’d abandoned his customary black-on-black in favor of an army-style shirt, a pair of blue jeans and tan-colored construction boots.

Regan’s lips tingled with a smile. “Love the new getup.”

He pinned her with a scalding stare, which only made her stifle a laugh. “Wait till you see the outfit I picked out for you.”

All her amusement vanished. “Was that really necessary?” She still had her backpack, where she’d tucked a few T-shirts and an extra pair of jeans.

“Only if you want to stay alive.”

She rinsed out a couple of plates in the sink as quickly as she could, then put them aside to dry. “How is a new look going to keep me breathing?”

Marcus eyed her incredulously. “You really don’t know a damn thing about how Cal works.” He shook his head in silent reprimand. “By now he’s sent out our descriptions to every human contact he’s got. The second someone spots us, that person will immediately report back to him. We need to change our appearances, blend in as best we can.” He bridged the distance between them and handed her a plastic bag, which she grudgingly accepted. “Knock yourself out.”

She peeked inside, and the sight that greeted her chilled her worse than the water gushing from the faucet. “Are you serious? A dress? You got me a goddamn dress?”

“I told you, we’ve got to change our appearances.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.” Especially this one. It was a bright cornflower blue, with big, fat flowers on it. Flowers, for God’s sake!

“Which is precisely the reason I picked it.”

“How on earth am I supposed to wield my blade in this?”

“I’m confident you’ll figure it out.”

She wanted to hit him. Badly. “Okay, hotshot, tell me this, where the hell am I going to put my weapon? In my bra?”

His gaze lowered to her breasts, and heat suffused her. She felt the warmth of his glance like a touch. “Look in the bag. There’s more.”

She channeled her vision, saw past the folds of the dress to the item that lay beneath it. “You gotta be kidding me.” Reaching into the bag, she retrieved a leather garter adorned with metal studs.

“Just loop your scabbard around it and you’re set to go.” The wide grin on his face told her he was enjoying this way too much.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people.” He gave her a sheepish smile that almost made her forget how angry she was at him. “So are you just going to stand here arguing with me, or are you going to get this over with so we can hit the road?”

With a final glare directed his way, she shoved past him toward the bathroom.

“And do something about your hair,” he tossed over his shoulder. “It’s very conspicuous.”

Biting back a retort, she left him standing in the kitchen, looking entirely too smug.

“I look like Mary Poppins.”

Marcus pivoted on his heels to find Regan standing on the threshold of the kitchen, her taut body wrapped in flowing blue fabric, her hair pinned neatly back. True, it wasn’t her usual spitfire look, but there was something sweet and wholesome about it. Something that spoke to the man he’d once been, back when girls actually favored dresses.