Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (53 page)

“What is this?” The disgust carried thick in her voice.

“This is what will prolong the inevitable.”

“Alexi?”

“The only blood strong enough to sustain the organism.” He glanced back and brushed his finger against the naked thigh of the soldier hanging beside him. “Though I’ve found even its effect weakens with time.”

“I am an Alexi. Why must I feed on them?”

Ryke smiled. “Silly girl. You think it’s
you
feeding on the blood? It is the beast inside that feeds, and should you decide to deny it’s craving, you will find yourself at the mercy of its destruction. It’s parasitic. It has no conscious thought of managing resources. It tells your brain what it wants, and you supply what it needs to thrive. It will feed on you without remorse, or thought for its own mortality. Perhaps you should take a cue and do the same.”

“You said they wiped themselves out. Did they feed off of one another?”

“Smart girl. Like every species, the demand for power overruled their survival. What was a mutual arrangement, a balance, soon turned to greed.”

“What about their … not being able to reproduce.”

“It consumes the blood cells required to sustain a baby.” He glanced down toward her stomach. “I suspect your uterus is a fucking warzone right now.”

“I don’t mean … female Sang. I mean males. And human women.”

His eyebrow kicked up and the smile across his face tugged at her hairs. “Enough talk. It’s time to feed.”

She caught a glimpse of the hanging Alexi. “I won’t.”

“You will, or you’ll die.”

“And what makes you think I want to live like this?”

“Because you’re more valuable to me alive than dead. And that alone should give you reason to live. I assure you,”—he leaned into her, his forehead touching hers—“this could get worse.” The bands on her throat tightened as he spoke.

CHAPTER 41

It’d been a few weeks since Logan had last felt anything, as if someone had stripped away his senses entirely. Being awake and conscious offered only the painful truth that Calla was still gone, out of his life. Which in turn, meant he couldn’t breathe.

Logan sat on the edge of his bed and tapped his arm; finding an unaffected vein had become as chanceful as stumbling across a four-leaf clover in a field of horseshit. “C’mon!” He tapped it again, each new tap a little sharper than the last.

At the first hint of a blue line, he snatched up the needle and released the poison into his bloodstream. Within seconds, that familiar warmth, like an old friend, crawled beneath his skin and spread to every part of his body.

Instantly calming. Relaxing. Escaping. Deep.

Deeper into the nothingness, he fell.

Calla.

His mind called out to her in the one place where he could almost touch her again.

Calla
.

Blackness swarmed him, so thick his eyes couldn’t see past it.

No Calla appeared.

Logan pulled his knees into his chest, gritting his teeth and trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut so hard, a zap of agony shot up through his skull.

He beat at his temples.
No, no, no. Gotta see her
. His body ached for even the imaginary caress of her fingertips beneath the intensified effects of the bonding.

Maybe he needed a heavier dose, but Logan barely had a few cc’s left in his vial. He rolled to the side, and the crack of the nightstand jostled his brain as he kissed the floor.

“Damn,” he mumbled, setting his hands flat against the tiles.

Shaking his head, he pushed himself up and stumbled across the room, trying to ignore the shifting of the walls.

Blinding light pierced his eyes through the window.
What the hell time is it?

Lifting a hand as a shield, he staggered out to the landing, toward Zayne’s room, bumping into walls along the way.

His heavy fist thwacked against his brother’s door. “Zayne!” His hoarse voice bounced back at him, penetrating his skull. “Open up!”

The door swung inward, and Logan fell into Zayne.

“What the hell?” Zayne dragged him across the room and threw him into a chair. “How much shit’d you get into?”

“I need more.” Logan looked around the room, always so dark. Only the steel strings of Zayne’s guitar lying on the bed caught Logan’s attention. His eyes made a slow trail back to Zayne.

The wide grin across his brother’s face taunted Logan’s punch-happy fist. “I don’t think so, my man.”

“I’m not asking you, Zayne.” Logan gripped the arms of the chair. “Don’t make me take it over your dead fucking body.” He scanned the room again. “Scratch that. You’d probably welcome death. I’ll just get the shit myself.”

A hard thrust to his chest sent him back in the chair. Logan growled, muscles tensed, ready to swing at his brother—if not for the Abyzz he’d shot up making him see double.

Zayne knelt before him. “I know this pain.”

“I never said I was in
pain
, asshole. On the contrary. I’m feeling hella good, right now.”

“Right.” Zayne cocked his pierced brow. “More like you can’t breathe. That you’re just existing while you’re straight and sober. One dull moment after the next, until you can see her again. Your soul feels translucent, an empty void on display for everyone to gawk at. Sound about right?”

Logan’s lips parted before he tightened them into a frown. “No.” He curled his fist and struck Zayne in the jaw, snapping his brother’s head back. “Quit your soul-seeing bullshit and give me the goddamn drug!”

“Stubborn bastard.” Zayne flexed his jaw. “What do you want it for? Ask yourself that.” He dabbed a finger at the blood coating his torn lip that’d already begun to seal. “How deep do you want to fall? She’s not on the other side. You know that much.”

“And how would I fucking know that?”

“Look at you. Because you still feel her. You still hold hope that you’ll find her. That’s the shit of a bonded male.
Love
. It’s real. And you know damn well she’s alive.”

An ache in Logan’s chest made it hard to breathe. His eyes burned with an urgency to break down. He choked it back, though. No way would he cry like a pansy in front his brother. “It’s not real. I gave her a chance and she backed down.”

“Bullshit. Females only back down so you’ll man up.”

“Goddamn, Zayne, I can’t stop thinking about her. If she’s okay. I feel like a sick, obsessive, stalking bastard. I could feel all the places she touched me. Her smell used to be so strong, all over me. Now it’s fading. Little by little, she’s slipping from me.” He shook his head and sat back, staring up at the ceiling. “Can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“It’s the words we fear to say that hold the most truth, Brother. Your bond with her grows each day. There isn’t a drug in the whole underworld that can replace the touch of your taszhla.”

“She’ll never be my taszhla. I can’t be with her. I wish … but if she knew ...” He clutched either side of his head and tucked into his knees. “Gods, she deserves someone better. Stronger than that.”

“Calla isn’t perfect.”

“She
is
fucking perfect.” Logan snapped his head up and he snarled. “In every way.”

“Easy, killer.” Zayne chuckled. “Because
you
see her that way. That’s what it’s about. You don’t see all that stuff going on. Whatever baggage she’s got. I’d bet my soul she’d give two shits about your past.”

“I didn’t bond with her, Zayne. Her blood was put into me. What if … this is only temporary? What if it’s not a true bond?”

“Doesn’t matter how she
becomes
your taszhla. She’ll never be temporary, and you know it.”

Yeah, he did. There’d never be another female who could touch him,
really
touch him, the way Calla did. She got him in a way no other being on earth ever would.

“Shit. If my female were out on the streets right now, it’d take a whole hell of a lot of walls to punch through before I’d let her slip away.” Zayne sniffed. “Even then, I’d break through bricks until my knuckles bled.”

Logan nodded, casting his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. With Shey … damn. I don’t know … sorry, man.” Words usually had a way of flying out of Logan’s mouth but, suddenly, he seemed at a loss for them.

Zayne scratched his thumb against his cheek. “I’ll see her again.”

Logan’s lips formed a hard line. Only one way he’d see her again, and Logan just didn’t want to think about that. Leaning forward, he gave Zayne a quick hug with a hard pat on the back. “Thanks. And, uh … sorry for clocking you in the jaw.”

“You hit like a girl, anyway.” Zayne smirked. “And you’re welcome. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

Thoughts tangled into a mess as Logan stumbled back the way he’d come. Hell, yes, he planned to do exactly as Zayne said—find his female.

Yeah, he’d have to go through some shit to be with Calla. Admit his former bond in front of the Orcosii Council and pray that Calla would stick with him in spite of it all.

For her, though, he’d walk through hell’s fire and back. For her, he’d face the shadows of his past—even if it meant possibly losing her in the end.

He had to try.

First, though, he needed to sober up. Quick.

CHAPTER 42

Logan punched his fist through the milky white skull and ripped the spongy brain from bone, focusing on the blood and ichor dripping down his arm. He glanced around the empty staircase, at the walls covered in graffiti and the broken glass scattered all over the floor.

How many of the paleskin fucks had he killed in the last few weeks?

He’d lost count.

None of them had valued their lives enough to give him answers. Had they seen Calla? Was she alive?

Almost a month had passed since he’d last seen her in the alley at Moonshines and Logan had hit the downward spiral into madness. He’d been a fool to think he could drown her touch in the Abyzz. A bonded male could never forget his female’s touch—a realization that’d finally knocked him upside the head.

Calla was his mate.

He straightened from the gore and wiped blood on his leathers. First Alexi camp he’d come across and every one of them had been mutilated by the Sang. Only a matter of time before the news picked up on the string of deaths. Though, in most cases, the bodies had been left so unrecognizably human, any coroner would be at a loss trying to figure out the cause.

For the time being, they remained grisly secrets tucked in Detroit’s abandonment.

Logan froze at the sound of a cough echoing through the staircase from the direction of the lobby. After tossing the bloodsucking bastard’s organ to the ground, he headed that way.

A sturdy desk still stood, amid the crumbling walls and exposed wiring, the busted slots behind the desk with fading room numbers. Avoiding the paper scattered all over the floor, he rounded it to find two bodies struggling on the floor.

As Logan crept closer, he realized the body beneath only lay rotting.

The white beast on top rolled onto its back.

Draven.

His hair had fallen out, leaving him bald. Blood-red had seeped into his eyes, just like with the others, and faint veins peeked through his translucent, bloated skin.

Draven’s eyes widened like he’d just been issued his pink slip from the reaper. Only a scant amount of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, and a lazy swipe of his tongue told Logan the fucker’d become weakened since he’d seen him last. What the hell kept him alive, Logan could only guess. The kid had some serious kind of drive to survive.

Crossing his arms kept Logan from strangling the little shit. “Where is she?”

“Stay … away … from her.”

Or not.

Logan lurched forward and gripped Draven’s mushy throat. “You want her to die? Like you?”

A shine coated Draven’s eyes. “She’ll … die.”

“She can be saved. Penwell—”

“Created … this. Brought it back.”

Logan’s lips tightened for a moment, before he said, “I’ll get you some blood to hold you over. And you will help me, or I’ll kill you myself.”

* * *

Calla bit down into the arm of the Alexi hanging from the ceiling.

God, the room had begun to smell. Had she noticed it before? Like death.

Had one of the Alexi died?

She glanced up at male she fed from, whose skin had begun to mottle as veins moved closer to the surface with its thinning.

Don’t look at them.

A knot twisted in her stomach for having done so.

She’d gone weeks feeding on them. Mindlessly. Heartlessly.

Only one upward glance messed with her conscience.

She released herself from the body. A spasm jerked his arms and legs.