Soul Thief (Dark Souls) (6 page)

Marcus had spent nearly two centuries believing Adrian’s soul was dead, his conscience nonexistent. It was the only way the man could justify hunting his own son down like some rabid animal. To reveal the truth to him now seemed almost a cruelty. But Angie’s safety depended on it.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Adrian was well aware that once Marcus learned the truth, the Watchers would stop at nothing to recruit him. The last thing he needed was Cal and his faithful brethren hounding him endlessly to join their crusade, but he’d run out of options. Marcus would never agree to help him unless he knew everything.

Adrian drew a mouthful of polluted air into his lungs. Air that felt thick and grimy and was peppered with the bitter taste of neglect. “My soul still lives, and I’ve found it.”

The shock that glazed Marcus’s features was almost worth the risk of fatal injury. Marcus wasn’t usually one to miss these things. He was at the helm of Cal’s recruitment program. It was his job to identify Hybrids and have them join the Watchers before they gave in to their dark nature and went rogue. The fact that he’d failed to identify his own son as a potential recruit must have dealt a serious blow to his ego. The Watchers needed all the soldiers they could get in their fight to eradicate the Kleptopsychs and the Rogues.

“You’re lying. Kyros stole your soul. I was there when it happened.”

“Really?” Adrian challenged. “Did you actually witness the act or hear about it secondhand?”

The color leached from Marcus’s face. “Kyros bragged about it. I thought—”

“You didn’t think,” Adrian spat back. “You assumed.”

The battle raging within Marcus was evident. As much as he wanted to believe his son wasn’t a total lost cause, another part of him had trouble shaking the misconceptions he’d harbored since the day of Adrian’s birth. “How?”

“My soul escaped him. It was too powerful. Kyros couldn’t hold on to it. That’s why he’s been hunting me. I’m a living, breathing reminder of his greatest failure.”

Marcus ran his wide palm over his face. He shook his head, even as he accepted what Adrian had just told him as truth. “This changes everything. You can come back with me, join the Watchers—”

“That’s never going to happen.” Adrian had no intention of joining his father’s cause. He fought for no one, took orders from no one. “There’s too much water under the bridge. You know that.”

“People can change.” Marcus pinned him with a meaningful stare. “You can change, like I did.”

“I don’t want to change. I like my life just fine. All I have is my freedom, and I intend to keep it.”

Disappointment could cut as deep as any blade, and Marcus’s broken expression was undeniable proof that he had fallen victim to it. “So why did you bring me here, if you don’t want to become one of us?”

“I need Cal to cloak someone, a woman. Kyros is after her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s the carrier.” Adrian’s hands fisted at his sides. The thought of Kyros hurting Angie tore angry strips in his gut. “My old soul lives within her, and all Kyros has ever wanted is to see it destroyed.”

The overpowering desire to protect one’s errant soul was something Marcus understood well. Without a soul to anchor him, a Hybrid was no better than those of pure Nephilim blood—creatures with no conscience, who fed at will and spread corruption as easily as they breathed.

Marcus’s interest was fully engaged now. “Who is she, the carrier?”

“Her name is Angelica Paxton.” Adrian handed Marcus a piece of paper, upon which he’d scribbled her address. “She lives on the Upper East Side.” Marcus cocked a sardonic brow, and Adrian shrugged. “Don’t look so surprised. The rich have souls, too.” This was as close to friendly banter as he’d ever come with his father.

Marcus pocketed the paper. “You know the best way to ensure Cal’s cooperation is for you to join our ranks.”

“I can’t do that.”

The Watcher leveled an assessing stare on him. “Not even to save your soul?”

Adrian didn’t answer, and an unsettling pause ensued.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Marcus released a long string of air. “I’ll see what I can do.” His gaze took on the bleak quality of a midnight storm. “But I can’t make any promises.”

Chapter Ten

Angie decided to help out at the soup kitchen today, despite her pounding headache and the unsettling sensation that she’d forgotten something major. She’d had this type of feeling before, like the time she’d left her curling iron on or the time she’d neglected to lock the front door. But never before had it been so sharp, so persistent.

She’d gotten home at six thirty that morning with no memory whatsoever as to what had transpired the night before. Exhaustion had clung heavily to her, and she’d fallen into bed and slept for hours. Her dreams had been restless, riddled with discordant images of a blade pressed to her throat, followed by flashing lights, flying subway cars and a dark-haired stranger she almost recognized.

When she’d awakened, she’d been more confused than ever. She’d showered and dressed, then left for Reach. Before heading to the subway station, she’d stopped briefly by Turtle Pond. She’d stood on the bank, gazing at her shivering reflection in the water. Then something extraordinary had happened. The reflection in the pond had morphed to that of a man. The man she’d seen in her dream.

Her dark angel
.

She didn’t know why she thought of him this way, but the name felt right.

Now, hours later, she still couldn’t chase his compelling image from her head. It taunted her, made her skull ache and whispered of forbidden secrets.

“Hey, lady, I’m waiting.”

The words snapped her out of her daze. A brooding teen stood before her, indicating his empty bowl with an annoyed scowl. He wore a tattered pair of jeans and a Motley Crew T-shirt beneath a torn, washed-out jean jacket. His head was shaved, save for the Mohawk that ran down the middle of his skull like the angry bristles of a broom, and several metal studs pierced his left ear.

Angie quickly ladled soup into his bowl, focusing her attention on the task at hand, turning her thoughts away from the enticing mental image of a man who didn’t exist.

She finished serving the soup, happy when everyone was fed. Removing her apron, she prepared to walk to Reach headquarters, where she could man the phone lines.

She remembered how pleased her dad had been the day she’d told him she wanted to volunteer at the charity organization he’d founded. His face had shone with pride. It was only a few months later that his heart had given out, completely devastating Angie’s family. Tina had retreated further into herself, and her ever-escalating concern for Angie’s health and safety had stolen whatever peace of mind her mother had once possessed. Angie had taken on a supporting role at home, while struggling to cope with her own feelings of guilt and grief.

The only way she’d survived the loss of her father was by channeling all her energy into Reach. Every time she grew tired or discouraged, she pictured the look of pride on her dad’s face, and her drive and faith were instantly restored.

The two-block stroll to the main office was pleasant and uneventful. Traffic roared all around her, but she ignored it, choosing to focus on the people instead, on the animated chatter of the pedestrians, on the click of heels striking the pavement, on the occasional laugh or cry emitted by a child in a stroller. Car exhaust mingled with the foul air rising from the sewers, but Angie didn’t mind. This was the smell of home, as familiar and dear to her as the scent of her own perfume.

She arrived at the building that housed Reach and pushed open the glass doors, only to stop dead in her tracks. The illusion of peace shattered as effectively as a crystal vase striking the floor. The ground beneath Angie’s feet tilted.

Standing at the threshold, tall, striking and undeniably real, was none other than the phantom from her dream.

Adrian felt her before he saw her. Angie’s energy traveled through the air and wrapped itself around him. He turned to meet her gaze, his heart pounding, his blood warming even as he willed himself to remain unaffected. He took a step toward her, froze when he saw the look on her face.

There was shock in her multi-flecked eyes. Shock and a hint of recognition.

Impossible. He’d wiped her memory clean. Last night should be nothing but a drunken blur to her. But apparently, some hidden part of her remembered him.

He never should’ve come here. He should’ve kept his distance as he’d initially intended. But until he knew for a fact that Cal had cloaked her, he couldn’t risk leaving her exposed. She was too vulnerable to Kyros, especially without her memories to warn her of the danger his uncle posed.

Too late now. She’d seen him. All he could do was make the most of a dicey situation.

He approached her and flashed his most disarming smile. “Hi, the name’s Adrian.” He reached out his hand to her.

She looked at his outstretched palm as though it were an alien object, the limb of a ghost or a figment of her imagination. After an uncomfortably long pause, she finally met his handshake. Energy instantly resonated from their joined palms.

“Angie,” she croaked.

Adrian dug into his pocket and pulled out the flyer she’d handed him last night. “I got ahold of one of these,” he told her, “and I have to say, I’m impressed. You’ve got quite an operation here. I’d like to volunteer.”

“Why?”

That one simple word took him off guard. “I’ve got my reasons.”

She seemed to regret the question. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just— Forgive me, I’m not myself today. Let me get you a form to fill out.”

She hastened behind the unoccupied reception desk and rummaged through the drawers. “Patricia is usually the one in charge of applications. I don’t know where she’s disappeared to.”

Adrian did. He’d willed the receptionist to take a really long lunch break so he could hang around the reception area and wait for Angie.

“Aha, here it is.” She pulled out a white sheaf of paper and handed it to him. “Just write down all your information, and I’ll make sure Patricia gets it.”

“I was hoping I could get started right away.”

“That’s not possible. All potential volunteers are carefully screened. We need to check your references first. But if everything pans out, you could start tomorrow.” She stared at him, and the undisguised wonder on her face delivered a well-aimed blow to his chest.

For one halted breath, he couldn’t find his voice to respond. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her again, to lose himself in the heat of her arms and the floral scent of her hair. Since he’d made the mistake of holding her, he couldn’t chase the delicious feel of her from his skin.

It was she who finally broke the silence. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I doubt it,” he lied. “I think I would’ve remembered you.”

Angie blinked, clearing her throat as though his words had embarrassed her. She handed him a pen, which he studied dumbly. “So you can fill out the application,” she reminded him.

“Right.” He got right to it. None of the information he provided was true, but it didn’t matter. As soon as Patricia returned, he would convince the woman that he was a stellar citizen and that all his references checked out. Then he could get down to the business of protecting Angie.

He handed her the form, his fingers grazing hers. A wave of pure heat lapped through him at the touch. He knew right there and then that this woman would push him to the breaking point and inspire him to learn temperance and control even as her very presence threatened to steal every pathetic ounce of willpower he possessed.

“I have to go man the phones. See you tomorrow?” She gave him a smile so radiant he damn near choked on his own heart.

“Sure. Tomorrow.”

Adrian watched her walk away from him, knowing full well she wouldn’t escape him that easily. He had no intention of letting her out of his sight, even if he had to follow her around like a deranged stalker.

Somehow, the thought wasn’t as unpleasant as it should’ve been. In fact, the darkest, most forbidden part of him looked forward to the task.

Chapter Eleven

Adrian arrived at Reach bright and early the next morning, eager to get started. He knew Angie would be there because he’d spent the night crouching in the shadows, watching her. He still hadn’t heard back from Marcus, but thankfully Kyros had yet to make an appearance.

Maybe his uncle was losing his touch. The longer it took for the Kleptopsych to track Angie down, the greater the probability the trail would grow cold.

Patricia sat behind the massive reception desk, waiting to greet him with a welcoming smile. “I didn’t expect you in so early.”

“I’m anxious to learn everything I can about the program.”

“Good. If you’re going to do this, you’ll need a truckload of enthusiasm and motivation. This isn’t an easy job. I’ve seen it take its toll on a lot of well-meaning people. Sadly, not everyone’s cut out for this.”

Adrian nodded. “I get that. But I can handle it. I don’t succumb to emotion easily.”

Patricia scrutinized him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, deciding he was up to the task, she nodded. “I’ll get Lydia to show you around. She’s the one who trains the new volunteers—”