Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (13 page)

Despite his morbid mood, his mouth tingled with the urge to smile. “We could always go kayaking again.”

The color drained from her cheeks. “No thanks. I’d rather swing my sword at a bunch of badass Kleptopsychs.”

Flicking off the TV, he straightened his back and turned to face her. “So you
do
miss it.”

She met his gaze, and he caught a shimmer of regret in her eyes. “The life of a Watcher is the only one I’ve ever known, as far as I can remember.”

“Then consider yourself one of the lucky ones.” Guilt soured in his mouth. There were days he’d give anything to forget his past, the things he’d done, the lives he’d purposely destroyed.

She studied him, her features awash in curiosity, and he suspected he’d revealed too much. Her next question confirmed it. “What’s your story, Marcus?”

He stood and began to stalk the room, restless. “Nothing I care to rehash.”

“You’re two hundred and seventy years old, and that doesn’t include the years you were human,” she persisted. “From what I understand, Cal recruited you a hundred and ninety-three years ago, give or take. So what did you do all those years before you became a Watcher?”

His spine stiffened, tension coiling in his muscles, as it always did when he thought of that time. The first few decades after he’d turned were the blackest of his cursed life. “Things I’m not very proud of. Let’s just leave it at that.”

He dug into his pocket and whipped out his car keys. He’d rented a Ford Taurus when he’d gone out earlier, and the sedan sitting in the parking lot suddenly beckoned him. “I’m heading out again,” he told her. “Stay in the room. It’s safe here. The Watchers won’t be coming after us today. They have their hands full.”

She stood and followed him to the door. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t turn around to look at her. If he did, there was a good chance he wouldn’t find the strength to leave. “You want me to track Kyros, don’t you? I can’t exactly do that by sitting around here scratching my balls all day.”

“Nice,” she grumbled over his shoulder. “So eloquently put.”

Marcus did his best to adopt modern-day slang. It allowed him to blend in with humans and made him more effective at recruiting the Hybrids living among them. Some of the expressions he’d picked up over the years annoyed the hell out of Regan, which was one of the reasons he used them. He loved to see her cheeks flush with color and indignation spark in her eyes.
 

This time, however, he kept his gaze trained on the door. “You asked.”

Chapter Seventeen

It was nearly midnight when Marcus returned. The sky was a deep navy splattered with stars, and moon shadows swayed like drunken ghosts on the streets. He entered the hotel through a side door and used the stairwell instead of the elevator. He was in no hurry to get to the room.

With any luck, Regan was already asleep. The last thing he needed tonight was to have to tell her that he’d failed in his attempt to get a lock on Kyros. If only he had a physical object, something that had once belonged to Kyros, maybe… But he didn’t, and that made tracking the bastard all the more difficult.

He’d visited different spots where he suspected Kyros had been, tried to latch on to his signature and pinpoint his location. Over the past few months, the Kleptopsychs had led him on a wild goose chase, vacating the premises before Marcus could track them down.

Today, he’d hit a brick wall. For the first time since Athanatos’s death, he couldn’t pick up Kyros’s trail at all, which led him to believe the son of a bitch had been cloaked. Now, the five-million-dollar question was by whom? As far as Marcus knew, only the Ancients possessed that kind of power, and although Kyros was the first of his kind to be born in the New World, he was no Ancient.

Marcus exited on the twelfth floor, not the slightest bit winded. His kind didn’t tire easily, so it wasn’t physical weariness that plagued him. The lethargy he felt was one of the mind. Too many questions bounced around in his head, heavy enough to make a headache pound behind his eyes, which was impossible because he hadn’t had a headache since his human days.

A long, darkened corridor greeted him. The almost imperceptible smell of smoke coupled with the overriding scent of pine permeated the air. When he reached their suite, he had to remind himself to use his keycard instead of willing the door open. Acting human took a little getting used to, but he had to do everything in his power to stay off the Watchers’ radar.

The room was steeped in darkness, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Regan
had
gone to bed. He peeled off his jacket, pried the boots from his feet, happy for the temporary reprieve.

“Any luck?” His heart punched violently at his ribs at the unexpected sound of her voice. She’d been lying on the couch, concealed by the backrest. Upon hearing him enter, she’d raised herself to a sitting position. At the moment, she peered over the back of the sofa at him, her hair a wild tangle of curls framing her face, her eyes two expectant pools in the dark.

So much for delaying the inevitable. “Not yet. It’s going to take some time. The bastard knows how to cover his tracks.”

Regan stood and circled the couch, propping herself against it, her elbows folded behind her in a semi-crab stance. She wore an oversized T-shirt, her glorious legs exposed from the thighs down. Before his brain kicked in, he allowed his gaze to wander over her, to appreciate the soft, shapely perfection of her. His ability to make out details even when the room was pitch-black proved both an asset and a liability at times.

Tearing his eyes from her half-nude body, he nodded toward the blackened television screen. “Did they get the situation in Eugene under control?”

“Hours ago. The perpetrators suddenly came to their senses and surrendered. They claim they don’t know what got into them.”

Bitterness lumped in his throat. “I bet no one believes them.”

“You bet right. The authorities have them in custody. I don’t think they’ll be getting out anytime soon.”

Over the years he’d learned to accept collateral damage as an unavoidable consequence of war, but never before had he felt so damn angry about it. Those poor kids were as much the victims as the hostages. Now, their lives were pretty much over. And for what? So Kyros and his soul-thieving buddies could get their kicks?

Regan was right. Kyros had to be stopped, one way or another.

“Did
Ben
have any more visions?” He placed particular emphasis on the kid’s name, so Regan couldn’t accuse him of purposely neglecting to use it.

“No, he calmed down the second things at the university got settled. Went out like a light. The last few days have been pretty rough on him.”

He approached her, drawn to her for no reason he could explain. There was something about Regan that attracted him, a magnetic pull he was unable to resist. “How come you’re still up?” He leaned against the back of the couch, sliding in beside her until their fingers almost touched.

“Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts in my head. So I figured I’d wait up for you.”

She smelled like spring, like flowers after a rainfall. “Miss me?”

Her muscles stiffened. He didn’t have to touch her to feel the tension vibrating through her bones. “Like a toothache.”

He leaned closer in a deliberate attempt to unsettle her. He still couldn’t believe she’d nearly kissed him today. The way she’d gripped his shirt, the naked desperation with which she’d pulled him to her, was forever etched in his mind. The unmistakable flare of desire in her honeyed gaze would serve to taunt and torment him till the end of time itself. What would’ve happened if Ben hadn’t screamed? Would he have made love to her?

“You do wonders for a guy’s ego,” he said.

With a sassy tilt of her chin, she met his intense stare, trying really hard to look unaffected. “Your ego doesn’t need any help from me. It’s perfectly inflated as it is.”

He gave her a wicked grin, dropped his voice to a seductive rasp. “Maybe so, but it could still use a little stroking once in a while.”

That did it. The room was too dark to know for sure, but he could’ve sworn her face flushed. She averted her gaze, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then changed the subject altogether. “How long do you think it’s safe to stay here?”

“My best guess? Another night at most. We need to keep moving.”

“Where are we going to go? We can’t leave the country. Not if we want to take Kyros out.”

He reflected for a few seconds. “I think I may know of a place.” His gaze fell briefly to her mouth. Once again he thought of the kiss they’d nearly shared, wondered how sweet it would’ve been to finally taste her. “But you’re not going to like it.”

The sun had barely risen when Marcus shuffled them into the car the next morning. They’d packed their meager belongings, then hit the road toward yet another unknown destination—at least as far as Regan was concerned. Marcus seemed to know exactly where they were headed.

“So, are you going to tell me more about this mystery place I’m not going to like?” They drove on another empty highway, the road ahead unfurling like a gray ribbon. Ben was quiet and subdued in the backseat, playing with the mini-figures from his construction set.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

The tall trees lining the street cast ghostlike shadows on the blacktop, stealing the brightness from the day. “Because I don’t want you to fly off the handle before you see it for yourself.”

Regan bristled. “You really have a way of getting under my skin, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She tossed a glance at the digital clock on the dashboard. “How long will it take to get there?”

“Six hours, give or take.”

Her eyes rounded in surprise. “Six hours? Six freaking hours?”

“Unless you wanna try teleporting us again.”

Regan’s shoulders drooped, and she settled in for what promised to be a long, uncomfortable ride. “What’s the point? I don’t even know where you’re taking us.”

Marcus grew serious. The humorous glint faded from his eyes, and his mouth turned hard. For a few seconds, silence hung thick and heavy between them. Then, keeping his gaze riveted to the road, he finally spoke. “Last night you asked me about my past. Are you still interested in hearing about it?”

The last thing she’d expected from him was some kind of confession, but now she perked up. “You know I am.”

He didn’t appear the least bit thrilled by her reply, even though he’d been expecting it. His countenance was stiff, his jaw square and rigid. Whatever Marcus was about to share with her, he did so not because he wished to unburden himself but because he felt he no longer had a choice.

“When I first turned, I was out of control. I had no idea how to harness my newfound abilities, nor did I have the strength yet to fight my dark nature. I was driven by something I couldn’t explain, a black rage deep within me that craved death and pain. The only time I felt a moment’s peace was when I ingested a soul. Souls became my drug, and I was totally addicted.”

She could tell how hard it was for him to admit this. Marcus was the poster boy for self-control. He’d always put them all to shame.

Still refusing to look at her, he went on. “Cal preached about the error of my ways, tried to recruit me, but—like your hotheaded son—I told him to stuff his offer. I didn’t like his terms. They seemed too
restrictive
. And the darkness inside me was too powerful. I didn’t believe I could subdue it even if I tried.”

Her mouth slackened with understanding. “You went rogue.”

He shook his head. “There was another choice back then. One that allowed me to feed the beast inside me, while still giving me the illusion of control. Athanatos still hadn’t learned of the prophecy that claimed a Hybrid would someday kill him, so he welcomed Hybrids among his ranks. He didn’t think much of us. I’m pretty sure he just recruited us to stick it to Cal.”

“You were in league with the Kleptopsychs?” She tried to keep horror from seeping into her voice, failed. “No way.”

“What’s a Kleptopsych?” Ben asked, knocking his toy figures together with unmasked zeal.

“Not now, kiddo, the grownups are talking.”

He pouted but thankfully went back to his make-believe battle.

“That’s why you know so much about Kyros.”

“I was his first lieutenant, his star tracker.”

A blade of sunlight knifed across the windshield, obstructing Regan’s view of the road. Still, she kept her eyes focused ahead because she felt it might make it easier for Marcus to bare his errant soul if she wasn’t looking directly at him.

“Before the prophecy, my role wasn’t much different than what it is now. I would track down Hybrids so Athanatos could recruit them. Then, after the prophecy, things changed.”

Dread pooled in Regan’s stomach. “You tracked them down so Athanatos could execute them.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

He didn’t need to say anything. The bitter guilt darkening his features confirmed it.

“How many?” Sadness clawed at her throat. “How many did you track down?”

He finally angled a glance her way, and the look in his eyes struck her like a fist to the chest. Naked anguish glimmered in their depths, as powerful as any emotion she’d ever experienced. Something told her that, in that fleeting moment, she glimpsed straight into Marcus’s hardened heart. “Too many. Hundreds. I lost count.”