Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (17 page)

After he’d reinstated the utilities, renovated the fourth floor and filled the abandoned hospital with the equipment he needed, Kyros had moved in his prisoners, planting a suggestion in each of them to dissuade them from contemplating escape. They were now all docile creatures, willing to do anything he asked of them, patiently awaiting the slaughter once they’d served their purpose.

Just in case, he’d left strict orders that the facility be kept locked at all times, had even gone so far as to post guards at each door. No one could get out, and no one could get in. If any human grew suspicious, the guards used their powers of suggestion to convince them otherwise.

The place was staffed by doctors and nurses, all Kleptopsychs. One of them was Diane, who’d once worked within these very walls and whom his father had attempted to execute and failed. Diane was both powerful and unpredictable, but her skills as a nurse and her impressive medical knowledge proved infinitely useful. Her ability to control water was also an asset. It was ironic. She was the one who had flooded the hospital, only to now help restore it to its former glory.

“How are the prisoners faring?” he asked her. “I trust the breeding program is well underway.” Using a cocktail of fertility drugs, he hoped to produce litters of four or five humans at a time. The faster they populated the place, the quicker they could all start feasting. Kyros envisioned a world where all humans were imprisoned, kept alive only to breed, after which they could be relieved of their souls.

Diane’s ink-black hair caught the light emitted by the buzzing fluorescent tubes overhead. Long, pin-straight strands glimmered with blue sparks. “Yes. Three of the females have already conceived. One appears to be infertile. We’ve only just begun working on the other eight.”
 

Her eyes were as dark as they were shallow, yet hatred still churned in their depths. She’d been beautiful once, his father’s mistress for a brief time. Sadly, Diane had been too sure of herself. Her ambition had caused her to lose focus and had ultimately cost her everything. Thanks to Lia Benson, her face was now irrevocably scarred, lined with blue veins and unsightly bumps, a result of the angel’s blood Benson had injected into her system.

Because of that unfortunate incident, Diane’s hatred for humanity was only surpassed by her hatred for the Hybrids, particularly the Watchers.

“Increase the fertility drugs if you must. I want results.” Kyros frowned. At the rate these humans aged, it could be decades before they had an adequate supply of souls at their disposal. If he had his way, he would’ve doubled the number of prisoners, perhaps even tripled it.

Unfortunately, he had to be patient and bide his time. The last thing he wanted was to tip off the Watchers as to his plans.

“There are side effects,” she warned. “If we’re not careful, we could lose them.”

“An unavoidable risk.” If one of the subjects were to die, it would be regrettable but hardly catastrophic. For every human in this facility, there were millions of replacements out there, waiting for their chance to serve his cause.

Diane smiled icily, the black cesspools that were her eyes glistening with greed. “And if some were to die, can I help myself to their souls?”

Kyros realized Diane walked a tightrope between subservient obedience and the staggering desire to go rogue. That was why his father had decided to terminate her. If Kyros didn’t need her services, he would have used some of the angel’s blood Micah had provided to put her out of her misery. Looking at her face disgusted him.

“No.” Had his answer been different, he suspected all of his subjects would suddenly meet an untimely end at her hand. “Those on the verge of dying are to be transferred to the extraction chamber.”

He’d enlisted the help of some of the greatest scientific minds—albeit against their will—to devise a method that would allow them to store souls for later consumption. A human’s essence was pure energy. If energy could be stored, then it went to reason that souls could be preserved as well. Kyros would soon revolutionize the way the Kleptopsychs fed. This was the twenty-first century, after all. The time had come for old ideals to merge with current technology so as to bring forth a new world order. Athanatos had held the Kleptopsychs back. Kyros had every intention of leading them proudly into the future.

He left Diane to her work and returned to his shiny new Mercedes. If he could no longer journey via the catacombs, then he would ensure he traveled in style.

Regan had left him alone with the kid again. As if his old job hadn’t been challenging enough, now he was reduced to babysitter. As long as Ben was upstairs in his room, glued to the television set Regan had hauled up there, Marcus could easily pretend the boy wasn’t there. But the second the child ambled downstairs looking for someone to entertain him, Marcus’s self-delusions evaporated like water boiling over an open flame.

“I have nothing to do,” Ben squeaked. “Can we play a game?”

Marcus put the printouts he was studying aside, trying not to look annoyed. “I don’t play games.”

Ben cocked his head, eyeing him curiously. “Then what do you do for fun?”

“I—” He faltered. Fun wasn’t a concept he entertained often, if ever. “I have more important things to worry about than fun and games.”

The boy visibly deflated. “Grownups are so boring.”

Marcus had been called many things, but boring had never been one of them. He didn’t understand why, but the accusation got under his skin. “Believe me, kid, there’s more excitement in my life than I can handle.”

Ben seized one of the printouts, looking at it, unimpressed. “Is this a story?”

“Think of it more as a puzzle, and I’ve gotta piece it together.”

The boy grimaced. “Puzzles are too hard. I like stories better.”

“Then make one up in your head. That’ll keep you busy for a while.”

Sitting down next to him without being invited to do so, Ben continued perusing the page. “I want you to tell me a story,” he whined. “Tell me a story about them.” He pointed to the pictures of those who’d gone missing.

Marcus sighed. “If I do, will you return to your room and let me get back to my work?”

A hundred-watt smile lit up the kid’s face. He nodded and huddled closer. The act nearly stunned Marcus speechless. Affection was as foreign to him as the idea of fun, and yet here it was, spiraling through him, as disturbing as the feelings he’d been having about Regan.

He tried to remind himself that Ben was a liability, that he could potentially obliterate the world, that attempting to keep him alive was about as futile as trying to stop the sun from setting. But his efforts were in vain, because as much as he tried to stay rational and unattached, his old humanity kept rearing up within him. For the first time he admitted the truth to himself. He wanted Ben to live, to have a future, whatever that future might be.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he grumbled in frustration. “Fine, here goes nothing.” He searched his mind for something to say that would appeal to a seven-year-old. “Once upon a time,” he improvised, “there was this evil warlock who craved power. He wanted to rule the world, but to do that he needed human souls. Lots of them. So he kidnapped humans and locked them in a dark tower—”

“It doesn’t look like a tower,” Ben interrupted. “It looks like an old building, with yellow bricks and a crooked sign.”

“Why would you say that?”

The boy squeezed his fingers until the page crackled in his hand. “I can see it. In my head.” He pointed to one of the photos, the picture of the young woman abducted from the university in Eugene. “She’s there, in a dark room with no windows.” Confusion drew his thin brows together. “No, that’s wrong. There is a window, but it’s covered with wood. She’s scared, but she can’t move. Her brain won’t let her.”

Ben pointed to another picture. “This one feels very sick. They gave her bad medicine, and it’s making her tummy hurt.”

“What else do you see?” Marcus probed. He wasn’t sure if Ben’s rambling was the product of an overactive imagination or an actual vision, but he was nonetheless intrigued.

The boy suddenly went pale. “I don’t like this story anymore. It’s scary.”

“Please, Ben,” he encouraged. “It’s important that you tell me everything you can about this place.”

“I see a nurse. She’s holding a needle.” He shivered. “She’s so ugly. Her face is all wrong, blue and bumpy. She looks like a witch. No, a zombie.”

Ben stiffened. His breathing grew ragged, and Marcus could hear the boy’s heart raging out of control. “He’s there.” All color leached from the kid’s face.

“Who?”

Ben raised two frightened, imploring eyes Marcus’s way. “The man who’s going to kill me.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Regan returned an hour later with an armful of groceries and a swarm of frenzied butterflies fluttering in her stomach. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake the feelings Marcus’s near kiss had elicited within her. The tightening sensation in her chest persisted, as did the electric hum in her blood.

 
She took an emboldening breath and entered the townhouse the old-fashioned way—through the front door, which Marcus hadn’t bothered locking. She found him standing by the window, next to a console blanketed by a wild scatter of pages, his back turned to her. She didn’t have to see his face to sense the tension snaking through his limbs. Dropping the bags she held, she swallowed her unease and ventured farther into the house.

“Where’s Ben?” she asked, when she failed to sense the boy’s aura.

Marcus kept his back turned to her. “I dropped him off at Adrian’s so we can talk in private.”

Panic gushed in to drown the butterflies. “You did what? Are you out of your freaking mind?” She marched up to him, her spine straight, her gut gathered in a painful snarl. “I don’t care if he’s your son, he’s still a Rogue. And Ben’s soul is pretty darn compelling.”

He spun around to face her, his expression grim, rage sizzling in his eyes. “He’s safe. Which is more than I can say for the rest of humanity.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Regan. The boy’s been having visions of Kyros pressing a knife to his throat, and you don’t deem it important enough to tell me?”

Crap. She should’ve known better than to leave the two of them alone together. Now the cat was out of the bag, and she had no clue how Marcus would react.

“It was just a dream,” she said, averting her gaze even as she willed herself not to.

“Who are you trying to fool? Me or you?”

“Nothing is certain,” she argued. “We can’t predict the future.”

“But Ben can, and he’s convinced Kyros is going to kill him.” Muttering an oath, he stalked away from the window. “We fucked up, Regan. Royally. Cal was right. By choosing to protect Ben, we’ve all but damned mankind.”

She gripped his arm, felt his muscles flex beneath her palm, as unyielding as a spool of braided wire. “We don’t know that. The future isn’t set in stone. We can still change it.”

He turned on her. “And what if we can’t? What if everything we do, every choice we make, leads only to one possible outcome?”

“Then we’ve got nothing to lose. Either way, the world is screwed.” If fate truly couldn’t be altered, then their actions didn’t matter, not one goddamn bit.

The fight went out of him. He rubbed his eyes, sighed. “Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to do the right thing.”

“And what is the right thing? How do we ever really know which path to choose?” That question had been harassing her a lot lately. She was conflicted, torn between reason and instinct. Her gut told her one thing, her mind another. Which of the two should she trust?

He captured her gaze with his, and emotion all but obliterated thought. “Wish I knew.”

She noted the reluctance in his gaze, the faithful shadow of doubt. Ignoring caution, she raised her hand to his cheek. “Please don’t bail on me now, Marcus.”

His sharp intake of breath should’ve warned her. She should’ve known better than to touch him, to allow him to see her so vulnerable, but the truth spilled from her heart before she could stop it. “I need you.” Not only for Ben’s sake, but for her own. The thought of going on without him left her raw and bruised and aching inside.

Another oath, then his hands whipped up to bracket her face. He yanked her close, and his mouth crushed hers with a hunger that stole her next breath and made the butterflies rage out of control again. His kiss was like nothing she’d ever known, tender and brutal, all fire and desperation, yet graced with a reverent temperance that made her feel cherished.

Energy swept through them, consumed them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to her. The feel of his hard body pressed against hers, the gentle roughness of his fingers as they combed through her hair to cup her scalp, the sweet, intoxicating taste of him made her knees buckle. If she hadn’t been holding on to him, she might have fallen.

With a violent sweep of his arm, he sent the pages flying off the console and lifted her onto it. He wedged himself between her legs, his mouth assaulting hers in a way that banished every last thought from her head.
 

Those maddening hands of his traveled down her back, sent a pleasant shiver skittering along her spine. He flattened her breasts against his chest as he continued to drink from her mouth.