Soul Chase (Dark Souls)

by Anne Hope

  Eddie shrugged off Adrian’s concern. “We had some good times. Now it’s over. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Adrian wasn’t buying Eddie’s flippancy. True, the soulless didn’t normally experience love the way the humans did—Adrian was one of the exceptions because he’d forged a connection with his lost soul—but that didn’t mean they couldn’t form bonds or mourn the loss of a friend. Eddie was hurting, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  “I’m sorry I failed you. I should’ve done a better job protecting the community, but—”

  “Your human side won out, again. Tell me, how many times are you going to put this community at risk? How many times are you going to expose us to the Watchers and the Kleptopsychs? How many of us have to die before you start giving a damn?”

  The accusation struck Adrian like a slap. “I do give a damn. This community means everything to me.”

  “Then prove it,” Eddie challenged. “Send her away. Put us first for once.”

  Adrian couldn’t believe what Eddie was asking of him. He might as well have asked him to tear out his own heart. “No.” His spine hardened to steel. “Emma stays.”

  The light went out of Eddie’s eyes. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

  An odd blend of guilt and irritation plucked at Adrian’s nerves. “She’s counting on me to keep her safe. I can’t turn her away. I won’t.”

  “We all have to do what we need to do.” The cop’s tone betrayed no emotion.

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “I understand. Perfectly.” Eddie turned his back to Adrian. “The question is, do you?” For a few seconds, he stood unmoving on the porch, his shoulders stiff. Then he lumbered down the stairs and tore across the street, leaving Adrian to wonder what exactly his old buddy had meant.

  Emma sat on the bed in the guestroom, legs crossed, stacks of outdated clothing scattered around her. She examined every item, hoping to jog her memory. The only thing that came close to triggering a vision was the pink shirt she’d worn that first time Adrian had kissed her. Images pulsed in her skull, threatening to bring on a headache, but they melted away before they had the opportunity to coalesce into anything meaningful.

  She hugged the shirt, and a feeling of contentment and well-being washed over her. The same feeling she’d had when she’d awakened in Adrian’s arms that morning.

  “What are you doing?” The sudden sound of Adrian’s voice snapped her back to reality.

  “Trying to remember.” She flung the shirt over one of the discarded piles on the bed. “But it looks like I’m wasting my time.”

  He entered the small room, dominating it so effectively it appeared to shrink in the space of a heartbeat. Dragging his feet, he came to sit beside her. Whatever he and Eddie had discussed had left him drained and weary.

  “That top is the only thing that came close to triggering a memory,” she confessed.

  Adrian reached for the shirt she’d just tossed away, pain knifing across his face. “Because it’s significant.”

  “How?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, just stared at the garment like it meant the world to him. She almost resented it. “Angie was wearing this,” he finally told her, “the first time we made love.”

  Her windpipe clamped shut.

  God, she was messed up. How could she be jealous of the woman she’d once been? If that wasn’t the definition of insanity, she didn’t know what was.

  “That explains it.” She put her irrational feelings aside, tried to wrap her brain around the fact that it was really she he spoke of. “Why it brings me comfort.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I took her—you—to my place underground. I’d built my home in an abandoned corner of the Manhattan subway system, where I could be alone. But that day, I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be with you.”

  “The lair.” A memory bubbled to the surface, a vision she’d had many times before. “There were columns and chandeliers and priceless artifacts.” Her gaze cut to his. “A statue. I remember a marble statue.”

  He nodded, but kept silent. She could see how difficult it was for him to discuss the past. In a way, he was as much a prisoner of it as she was. Maybe it was time to put those old memories to rest once and for all.

  “How did I die?” The question popped out, unbidden. Before she could bury the past, she had to make peace with it.

  “Meningitis. Angie had a weak immune system. She couldn’t afford to get sick.” He kept his expression blank, but again she saw how much it cost him to share this with her. “We were living in Washington when it happened. It was a wet, miserable fall. She came down with the flu.”

  He kneaded the delicate silk, crushing it in his wide palm. “It didn’t look like much at first, just a cough and a runny nose. Then, in the space of a day, she was burning up. Her condition deteriorated so fast—” His voice cracked. “There was nothing the doctors could do.”

  That was what she’d seen in her dream the other night—her past incarnation lying in a hospital bed with Adrian slumped in a chair beside her. “You stayed with me till the end.”

  “Yes.”

  Her heart ruptured. “I begged you not to let me go.”

  He didn’t say anything. Then again he didn’t have to. The guilt he carried was written all over his face.

  “That was a very unfair thing for me to say.” There was nothing he could’ve done. How could she have asked that of him? “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I should’ve done a better job protecting you.”

  Emma pried the shirt from his grip and put it aside, covering his hand with hers. “I can see that you’ve got broad shoulders. God knows I’ve admired them often enough. But that’s a whole lot of responsibility to place on them.” She squeezed his hand. “Life happens. Death happens. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

  She was familiar with the bitter taste of failure. She’d sampled it often enough. If she could give him one gift, she wanted to set him free.

  An idea struck her. “How invested are you in all this stuff?” She indicated the mounds of clothing around them.

  He studied her with a curious, guarded expression. “Why do you ask?”

  “I want to know if you’re willing to let them go.” Her pulse sped up, small spirals of excitement erupting within her. “Let the past go and move forward,” she urged, nervous and scared out of her wits, but unable to stop. “With me.”

  Confusion crinkled his forehead. “How?”

  The talk show host’s advice didn’t sound all that ridiculous anymore. If fact, it made perfect sense. “Let’s pitch them. Every last one of them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Adrian couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this. Packing away Angie’s old things was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. In fact, he’d been so determined to preserve Angie’s memory, he’d risked going back to the townhouse development in Spokane to retrieve her belongings after the Watchers ransacked the place.

  And now he was tossing everything out. Like it meant nothing. Like it was trash.

  “You’re doing the right thing.” Emma touched his arm reassuringly, smiling up at him. “You need to make peace with the past. We both do.”

  He knew there was truth in her words, but he couldn’t see it right now. He was too busy holding back the pain, trying to keep it from cutting into him. He worked efficiently, ramming the clothes into bags, tying the clasps and placing them by the door.

  His jaw hardened when he got to the pink shirt. He picked it up, his fingers closing around it, refusing to release it. He could still see Angie wearing that top, her multi-faceted eyes sparkling with nervous anticipation as the chandeliers bathed her in warm, golden light.

  A silent curse expanded within him. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t let the memories go. He was nothing without them.

  “It’s just a shirt.” Emma covered his hand with hers. “It doesn’t mean anything.”


  You’re wrong. It means everything.

  “Adrian?” She watched him expectantly, and he saw her then, saw the girl he’d once known. A girl whose gaze always shimmered with quiet understanding and who was wise beyond her years.

  “I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” he admitted.

  “Letting go is never easy, but it’s necessary.” She sat on the now-empty bed. “My mother couldn’t bring herself to do it, and it destroyed her life. For years I stood by and watched pain and regret eat away at her. I saw her spirit wither before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do to help. Every time I tried, I only made things worse.

  “Eventually, I realized she wanted to be miserable. I think she was afraid if she stopped hurting, there would be nothing left but emptiness.”

  He could relate to that. He knew better than most what it felt like to be empty. Before Angie had come into his life, he’d been no better than a machine, focused and efficient and programmed to kill.

  Maybe deep down he feared if he let go of the memories he’d revert to his old self. But that fear was unfounded. He had Emma to tether him. Emma to fill the emptiness. Emma to warm his bed at night.

  With a ragged breath, he flung the shirt in the bag. “That’s the last of it.” The last of the things he kept in the guestroom, at least. The stuff he had stashed in the trunk at the foot of his bed was off limits. Those items were sacred, and he’d be damned if he parted with them. If she had an inkling of what they’d once shared, Emma would understand.

  He plopped on the bed beside her, feeling like he’d just had the daylights pummeled out of him.

  Emma ran her palm across his back and over his shoulders. “I’m sorry I put you through that.” Her expression was earnest, void of accusation. “I just don’t want the past to stand between us anymore. I want us to be free.” She flashed a wobbly smile. “Free to start over.”

  He liked the sound of that. Lowering his head, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

  Her incredulous laugh tinkled through the room. “Like you have to ask.” Her arms swept around his neck, her mouth closing over his, warm and moist and sweet enough to make him ache all over.

  A groan shook his chest, and he flattened her against him. He could never get enough of that mouth, in any lifetime. It made him forget everything but the wild rush of his blood and the persistent throb in his body.

  “You always could get me to do anything you wanted,” he rasped between kisses.

  “Anything?” Her tongue swept across his lips, teasing him, torturing him.

  He stretched her on the bed, his arms flanking her face. Blanketing her body with his, he settled between her legs and allowed her heat to welcome him home. “Anything,” he whispered before silencing her with his mouth.

  The prisoner wasn’t looking too good. Her features were drawn, her skin pale and clammy. Even if Diane hadn’t been a nurse, she would’ve realized the woman was gravely ill.

  Time was running out, for both of them.

  “Are you ready to talk to me yet?”

  The woman sat curled in the corner of her dank cell, shivering. “Go to hell,” she spat.

  Diane sighed. Even half dead, the old hag insisted on being quarrelsome and uncooperative. “If you answer my questions, I may feel inclined to get you some medicine.”

  The woman’s only response was a grunt of pain as another shudder shook her frail body.

  Remembering Kora’s advice, Diane circled the prisoner in a slow, even gait and said, “How will your daughter feel if you die protecting her?”

  Pain and regret dug deep grooves on the captive’s face.

  “The guilt will eat away at her,” Diane taunted. “Day after day, year after year, until her soul loses its luster and despair sets in.”

  “Stop talking. Go away.”

  Diane ignored her. “I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count. Humans are weak that way. There are many things that can ravage the human spirit, but none more effectively than guilt.”

  The prisoner gathered in a tight ball, her arms wound around her knees, her back hunched.

  “They say survivor’s guilt is the worst.”

  The woman moaned, and Diane sensed the first crack in her armor. She’d touched on something significant, something that could finally tear down the wall and grant her access to the bitch’s mind. “Tell me, what does it feel like to outlive a loved one? A mother? A husband? A child?”

  The prisoner winced in agony. Bingo. “So which one was it? Which of the three did you outlive?”

  The woman’s broken gaze reflected a lifetime of pain and remorse. “All of them.” Her voice cleaved the gloomy air, no louder than a rough sigh. “I outlived all of them.” Then illness and exhaustion won out, and she collapsed on the grime-encrusted floor, out cold.

  Diane huffed in exasperation. She’d gotten so close to breaking the skank. Now she had to wait till the woman regained consciousness to continue her interrogation.

  She exited the cell and secured the door in place, satisfied by the reassuring click it made when it locked automatically. Negotiating the narrow, winding path to her lab, she went to check on her last surviving embryo. The specimen had yet to display the telltale glow of a soul, but it was still alive, which gave her hope.

  Again, she got the eerie feeling that the fetus watched her, beady black eyes trained on her damaged face. She caught sight of her reflection in the glass tank and whipped back in fury and disgust, desperation fisting inside her.

  She had to get her hands on that girl’s soul. No matter what it took. No matter how many of her troops she had to sacrifice.

  Failure wasn’t an option.

  “I knew I’d find you here.” Kora’s intrusive voice echoed off the steel walls, like metal clanging against metal.

  Diane veered around to face her partner, all thoughts of anger and self-loathing forgotten. “Is it safe to assume you looked into the matter we discussed?”

  “Of course. Have you ever known me to be remiss in my responsibilities?”

  “No.” Kora wasn’t negligent like Kyros or arrogant like Athanatos. She got the job done, pure and simple. “Did you learn anything?”

  “I can’t say for certain if my son lives, but I have learned of a secret coalition. It appears a group of Rogue Hybrids have banded together and formed some kind of community.”

  Diane’s heart gave an involuntary jolt. “Like the Watchers?”

  “Not exactly. These Hybrids have no interest in war. They’re not soldiers or missionaries. They wish only to be left in peace.”

  If that was the case, why were they going around murdering her troops? Assuming this group was behind these recent Rogue attacks. “Where is this community?”

  “Their last known location was in Spokane, Washington. Unfortunately, the development was sold approximately a year and a half ago by an organization that went by the name of Reach.” Kora’s skirts rustled as she stalked the room. “That same organization was then disbanded, but my sources tell me the assets were transferred to another corporation.”

  “Which one?”

  “A foreign investment firm called Angelica Inc., owner unknown.”

  Diane frowned. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

  “Really, Diane, after all the time you spent with Kyros, I would think you would’ve heard of his exploits in Manhattan.”

  “Kyros liked to brag,” she said in her own defense. “He said a lot of things.”

  Kora flashed an icy smile that brimmed with self-satisfaction. One that said, “I know something you don’t.”

  Irritation sparked in Diane’s veins. She really should cut down on her feedings before her emotions got the better of her. “How long do you plan to keep me in suspense?”

  “Not long,” Kora teased. “Ever since my son’s soul escaped him, Kyros was obsessed with finding it and consuming it.”

  That much Diane remembered from her time growin
g up in the catacombs. She’d heard talk of Kyros’s most epic failure, whispered throughout the tunnels when Kyros wasn’t within earshot.

  “Then, about a quarter of a century ago,” Kora continued, “he got his wish. My brother finally crossed paths with the woman who harbored Adrian’s lost soul. Her name was Angelica Paxton.”

  Diane remembered now, where she’d heard that name before. “She drowned in the East River along with Adrian.”

  Kora’s calculating gaze cut to hers. “Or so we thought.”

  “You think they survived? How?” Drowning was one of two ways to kill their kind. Kyros had seen Adrian take a nosedive off the Manhattan Bridge. There was no way Kora’s son could’ve walked away from a fall like that.

  “I don’t know,” Kora admitted regretfully. “But I do know this—when my son was a babe, in those few seconds I held him before Kyros took him away, I noticed a birthmark above his breastbone.” The Kleptopsych’s icy blue eyes glittered with meaning, and Diane knew exactly what the firstborn’s next words would be. “Oddly enough, it was shaped like a heart.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Adrian sat at his computer surfing the Web, searching for a mention of the incident in Maryvale. He’d already scanned several newspapers and watched every newscast he could find, but so far there was nothing about the fight or subsequent fire.

  The Watchers must’ve run interference, altering memories and deleting records. That was what they did best—clean up after his kind. If they weren’t on opposite sides, Adrian would’ve called up Marcus and thanked him. Attention was the last thing the Rogues needed right now.

  Emma walked up behind him, running her palm over his shoulder and down his back. Her touch soothed him instantly, chasing the tension from his limbs and filling him with a fleeting sense of peace. “Did you find anything?”

  He shook his head. “Everything’s been…erased.”

  “The Watchers?”

  He’d told her his suspicions earlier, and his fruitless Internet search had only served to confirm it.