Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (34 page)

If Kyros were to get his hands on the boy…

He dialed Thomas’s cell phone. With Marcus down for the count, the young tracker was the only hope they had of finding Ben. When the phone call went unanswered, a foretelling chill skated down his back. Something was wrong. He sensed it in the very fabric of his composition.

Burying the phone in his pocket, he headed toward Marcus’s room to check on his progress. He didn’t want to have to rely on Marcus to find Ben, not after everything that had transpired between them, but he was well aware that he might not have a choice.

He’d barely walked five paces when the air splintered. Lillith stood before him, her eyes flashing fire, her waxen face set in a tenacious frown. “I was too late,” she ranted. “He’s got him.”

Cal scanned the corridor to ensure they were alone. The last thing he needed was for one of his recruits to catch him conversing with an angel. “Who’s got him? What do you know?”

“Micah,” she screeched, her voice echoing off the steel walls. “He got to Spokane first. He took the boy. Now he’s going to hand him over to Kyros, and all will be lost.”

“Calm down, Lillith. How do you know it was Micah?”

A tremor shook her bone-thin body. “I sensed him. Sensed his energy.” She made a high-pitched keening sound deep in her throat, and Cal tossed another furtive glance over his shoulder, hoping no one approached. “We have to stop him!”

“We won’t accomplish anything by panicking. We need to think, to come up with an action plan.”

Lillith couldn’t have looked more stunned had he slapped her. “Haven’t you wasted enough time already? You’re to blame for this. Had you acted sooner, we wouldn’t be in this wretched situation.”

Cal labored to remain calm. “Casting blame isn’t going to help us find the boy.”

“Nor is standing around coddling the very people who stole him in the first place. Tell me, Cal, if you’re such a fierce leader, why are the traitors still breathing?”

“Because we need them. Marcus is the best tracker we’ve got.” The only tracker, he amended, assuming his suspicions about Thomas were correct. He met her virulent stare, ignored the contempt sizzling within it. “If you want to do something, Lillith, I suggest you pray.” He exhaled a slow string of air. “Pray that Marcus recovers in time to lead us to the boy.”

“I stopped praying the day my wings were clipped,” she spat, looking appalled that he’d even suggest such a thing. “I was wrong to come to you, Cal. You’ve grown tolerant, weak. All these centuries living among the humans have corrupted you. If I didn’t know better I’d say you’ve become one of them.” She studied him with an odd blend of curiosity and disgust, as though she didn’t know what to make of him. “I refuse to listen to your platitudes any longer. I’ll find the boy myself.”

Lillith vanished as quickly as she’d appeared, leaving Cal with a sinking feeling in his abdomen and a sour taste in his mouth. Everything had snowballed out of control.

His cell phone chimed, and he fished it out of his pocket. Unfortunately, the caller only confirmed what Cal had already predicted. Thomas was dead, which meant Marcus was the only decent tracker he had left.

Marcus lay on the narrow bed, his eyes closed, his face pale and expressionless. A cold stiffness invaded Regan’s lungs at the sight of him. She’d never seen him look so meek and defenseless before. The image was so fundamentally wrong, it robbed her of both breath and thought.

His torso was stripped bare, revealing several thin red scars, which glistened in the light. His clothes had been shorn off and lay in a bloody heap by the door. A flash of color caught her attention, and she bent over and picked up the object that had fallen out of Marcus’s pocket. It was one of Ben’s mini-figures. She cradled the toy in her hand and closed her eyes against the sharp stab of pain that assailed her.

Pocketing the figure, she approached the bed and sat on the mattress next to Marcus, tenderly touching his cheek. “It’s me. Regan. I’m here.” She traced the sharp angle of his jaw, let her hand glide down his throat to settle over his heart.

The door creaked open. Convinced Lia had returned to check on her patient, Regan didn’t bother to look up, her attention fastened to Marcus.

“How is he doing?” Cal’s voice shook her out of her stupor, and she directed a startled glance his way. He stood in the doorway, tall, blond and oddly deflated.
 

“Sorry to disappoint you, but Lia says he’ll live.”

Her biting comment hit home, and Cal’s mercurial gaze darkened, taking on the quality of a thundercloud. “Despite what you believe, I never wished either of you any harm.”

Regan laughed, a dry, brittle sound that scratched her throat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He approached the bed. Worry had taken a toll on him. She saw it in the deepening shadows on his face, the tired lines around his mouth, the concern straining his eyes. For a second she almost believed he’d been telling the truth when he’d said he hadn’t wished to see them hurt. Then she remembered the relentless troops he’d continuously sent their way, armed and ready to kill.

“If you care so damn much about our well-being, why’d you put that asshole Thomas on our tail?”

“Because with Marcus gone, he was the only tracker I had at my disposal, the only one who could find you.” Beneath that marble veneer, an undercurrent of regret marred his picture-perfect features. “And I needed you found.”

“What about the order to kill us if we resisted?”

“You left me no choice.” His tone shook with disappointment and a trace of indignation. “Mutiny cannot be condoned, regardless of who is committing the act. I kept hoping you’d come to your senses and return of your own free will, but sadly that didn’t happen.”

“How could we, when you refuse to listen to reason?”

He sighed, the fight going out of him. “I’ve existed for a very long time, Regan. I’ve seen things. Things you can’t even fathom. My tactics may appear heavy-handed at times, perhaps even cruel, but believe me when I tell you, they’re necessary.”

“What are your plans for us now?” She couldn’t help it. She had to ask. “Are we to be made an example of?”

“It all depends.”

“On what?”

“On how willing you are to cooperate.”

She scrunched her forehead, confused. “Cooperate how?”

“I need you to help Marcus get back on his feet. You and he have always had an impressive ability to heal each other. That’s why I made you partners. I want you to use that ability now.”

“Why the sudden rush?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaled a laborious breath. “I think I know who took Ben.” His piercing gaze met hers, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Micah, the angel of divine intervention,” he explained. “If my source is correct, he plans to deliver the boy to Kyros.”

Till now, Regan had harbored the delusional hope that Adrian had Ben. Suddenly, even that small measure of comfort was gone. “We have to stop him.”

“We finally agree on something,” Cal said. “But before we can stop Micah, we have to find him. The only way to do that is for Marcus to track Ben.”

That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Why would Cal turn to Marcus for help, a man he now considered a traitor? “What’s the matter? Did the
golden boy
let you down?”

Cal’s face crumpled. “I just got a call from Spokane. Thomas was murdered. Based on the description I was given, I’d say Adrian committed the act.”

Marcus’s son was growing on her by the minute. “Can’t say I’m heartbroken.” Her only regret was that she hadn’t gotten the chance to kill the bastard herself, after what he’d done to Marcus.

An idea suddenly sparked in her mind. “Adrian! He’s Marcus’s son. From what I hear, he’s a pretty good tracker.”

“He’s also quite gifted at evasion. Believe me, if he doesn’t want to be found, we won’t find him. The Watchers have combed every inch of the woods surrounding the townhouse development. There’s no sign of him. After what happened today, it may be a while before he surfaces again, if ever.”

“What did you do?”

“
I
didn’t do anything. I specifically instructed Thomas and the others not to use force unless they absolutely had to. But it appears several of Adrian’s recruits were killed.”

Regan closed her eyes against the bitter regret that expanded within her. “What did you expect, putting Thomas in charge?”

Cal didn’t answer. He was too busy gazing down at Marcus, who remained completely unresponsive. “I hope he awakens soon.”

“I’m not sure how to help him,” she voiced honestly.

“Just sit with him. Right now, you’re his best chance at recovery.”

“Why is that?” That question had harassed her for years, but she’d never mustered up the courage to ask it before today. “What makes us so effective at helping each other heal? I always thought it was the Watchers’ bond, but now I’m not so sure.”

She ran her hand down the length of Marcus’s body, allowed her fingers to merge with his. The second their palms met, familiar heat flared between them, and her skin prickled in response. “There’s this energy between us,” she confessed. “It flows whenever we touch.”

Cal stared at their joined hands in silent contemplation. “You two share a compatibility the likes of which I’ve never seen among my recruits. Whenever you’re together, the Watchers’ bond is amplified, and the links to your lost souls grow stronger.” Cal’s expression was that of a father watching over a sick child—drawn and expectant, full of quiet worry. “Let’s hope it’s enough to speed up the healing process. Otherwise, humanity may cease to exist altogether.”

“You’re wrong.” She squeezed Marcus’s hand, willed him to open his eyes. “Ben is not what you think he is. His purpose isn’t to destroy the world. It can’t be. There’s something we’re missing. I feel it in my gut.”

“I hope you’re right.” Cal’s eyes went from silver to a lethal gunmetal gray. “Because if Marcus doesn’t wake up in time, we’ll all have the opportunity to see Ben fulfill his
purpose
.”

Now that the fire had gone out of him, her leader didn’t look nearly as formidable as she remembered. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked beaten, and a seed of guilt took root deep in her belly. She’d done this to him. She’d broken his spirit, forced him to swallow the bitter pill of defeat.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” The apology chafed her throat like sandpaper. “I didn’t enjoy going mutinous on you. I hate that I came between you and Marcus.” Her thumb traced the Watchers’ mark on Marcus’s wrist, a perfect mirror of her own. “It killed him to defy you.”

“Why did he do it then?”

She brought her hand to Marcus’s face, let it linger for several heartbeats, her fingers lovingly stroking his cheek. Cal’s ardent stare drilled a hole through her, and she snatched her hand away, a little too quickly perhaps. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“There’s no need,” Cal said. “There are two things that can compel a man to go against everything he stands for. One is hatred. And the other—” He directed a knowing glance at the hand she’d used to caress Marcus, his brows narrowing in understanding. Regan clenched her fingers self-consciously, but it was too late. Cal had seen all he needed to see.

“And the other is what?” she prompted, knowing full well she’d regret it.

“Love, of course.”

Chapter Forty-Two

The dreams came as snapshots, lightning-quick flashes of things Marcus had once known and forgotten. Regan figured prominently in all of them. Her hair color was different, more brown than red, and her eyes were flecked with green, but he knew who she was, recognized her on an instinctive level, the way one recognizes the familiar scent of home. She went by a different name, but he couldn’t think of her as anyone other than Regan.

In one dream she lay on a plaid blanket spread on the prickly grass, gazing up at the fickle sky, her arms crossed over her middle. For the most part, the day was bright, the clouds thin ribbons unraveling overhead. But every so often the sun would disappear behind a cloud, and cool gray light would spill upon her. She wore a bright green striped gown, adorned with bows and lace, the bodice cut low to reveal the tops of her breasts.

She reached out and caressed his arm lovingly, her eyes sparkling with affection. The picture unfurling in his mind was so vivid, Marcus actually felt the heat of her palm on his flesh. He bent down, and her warm breath feathered across his cheek. Her touch grew bolder, her hand exploring his body, sliding beneath his shirt to trace the muscles on his chest.

Fire ignited in his blood, and he captured her mouth in a hot, languid kiss.

Abruptly the landscape shifted, and he found himself sitting on a hard cot in a cold dank cell that smelled vaguely of mud and piss. Thick stone walls encased him, and the only illumination came from a small window adorned with iron bars. Quivering strips of sunlight striated the grimy stone floor, and strange noises issued from blackened corners.

The iron door creaked open and Regan stood in the threshold. Her presence instantly warmed the room, chasing the chill from Marcus’s bones.

“You have five minutes,” the guard said. He left them alone in the cell, slamming the door in his wake.

Regan ran to Marcus, propelling herself into his arms, her face streaked with tears. “You’re safe now,” she whispered.