Soul Thief (Dark Souls)

by Hope, Anne

  Life. Chaos. Excitement. Under any other circumstances, Angie would’ve rejoiced. She loved Times Square. Loved the raw beauty of it, the commotion, the endless parade of people. It never failed to make her feel alive, as if time itself came to an abrupt halt, trapping her in a single electric moment.

  But tonight she had no desire to see time stop. She wanted to press the fast-forward button, to get the hell out of this nightmare she’d stumbled into.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Adrian leaned forward and spoke next to her ear again. “Everything will be all right. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  Bitter regret bubbled in her throat, but she tamped it down. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she whispered.

  “She will not save you. Nothing can.”

  Behind them, someone screamed.

  Chapter Six

  Fights began to break out through Times Square, like tiny explosions tainting the atmosphere. Negative energy rippled through the air until isolated squabbles culminated in a full-blown riot. Adrian hastened forward, even as the girl struggled to look back.

  “Keep moving.” He tugged on her hand, and she lost her footing, nearly falling. Looping a protective arm around her waist, he steadied her, then urged her forward again. “The riot only means they’ve followed us out into the Square. In case you haven’t noticed, my kind has a negative effect on people.”

  “Your kind?” She turned a pair of inquisitive eyes his way. Eyes so deep they threatened to suck him in and drown him. “Something tells me you’re not talking about hypnotists.”

  “No.” He could be honest with her only because he planned to erase her memory later.

  A shiver raced through her, resonating against the arm he had wrapped around her. “What are you?”

  A humorless laugh swelled in his throat until he had no choice but to release it. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. There’s no single term that can describe what I am.” Part Kleptopsych, part Hybrid and a Rogue to boot, he was an outcast both in his world and hers. All three factions were descendants of the Nephilim, the cursed offspring of fallen angels and humans. What distinguished them from each other was whether or not they had access to a conscience and whether they chose to listen to it.

  A horrific screech rent the night as two yellow cabs collided. The smell of burning rubber filled the air, followed by the angry curses of the drivers. Rage spread like a contagion, as it always did in the presence of a large number of Kleptopsychs. Overhead, clouds gathered to shroud the sky.

  “Damn, we better hurry. It’s going to start to rain.”

  She cast him a dubious look. “After everything we’ve been through tonight, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little water?”

  He hiked his shoulder in a belligerent shrug. “I hate the rain. Got a problem with that?”

  Water was one of his few weaknesses. After the Great Flood, his kind had developed an acute aversion to getting wet. The drops were always ice cold against their skin. Cold enough to burn. That was why Kleptopsychs, Hybrids and Rogues alike favored leather. It kept the rain from penetrating their flesh.

  The true irony was that his kind often brought on the storms. When several of them gathered in one location, the energy they released in the atmosphere produced small vortices in the air that ascended to the clouds, creating a chain reaction that more often than not resulted in rain. For that reason, as well as many others, the Kleptopsychs chose to live underground, hidden within a vast network of catacombs.

  The girl actually had the audacity to chuckle. “No, no problem. But unfortunately, I seem to have forgotten my umbrella.”

  He was glad she’d recovered enough to find humor in the situation. After what Kyros had done to her, he’d feared irreparable damage to her psyche. Over the years, he’d seen too many humans break under the mental coaxing of his race not to be concerned.

  “This way.” He pulled her around a corner toward an old, darkened theater.

  “It’s locked,” she told him. “There are no showings this late at night.”

  With a single concentrated thought, he unlocked the door and sent it swinging inward. “After you.”

  “How—” She shook her head. “Never mind.” She walked into the deserted theater, squinting as she scanned her surroundings. “I thought you said we needed to be somewhere crowded.”

  “Only long enough to throw them off our trail.” He led her farther into the building, across a thick velvet carpet. Unlike her, he could see perfectly well in the dark. “We should be safe here for a while. They won’t venture anywhere near this building.”

  “How can you be sure?” She shot a worried glance at the door.

  “This particular building is rich in copper. Everything, from the plumbing to the ventilation system to the copper-clad windows and doorknobs, acts as a repellent against Kyros and his army.” And him. He wondered how long he’d be able to stay here before the copper began to weaken him. Thankfully, his tolerance for the stuff was slightly higher than that of their pursuers because he wasn’t of pure Nephilim blood. Another gift he’d inherited from his Hybrid father.

  She crinkled her forehead, unconvinced. “How come?”

  “The Kleptopsychs are severely allergic to copper.”

  Her eyes rounded just as her lips parted. “Klepto what?”

  “Kleptopsychs. That’s what they’re called.”

  He could feel doubt creeping in, her all-too-human desire to close her mind to any reality that didn’t match the one she’d been raised to believe. “And what exactly are these Kleptopsychs?” She smirked. “Robots? Genetically altered soldiers? Alien invaders?”

  Adrian hesitated. Never before had he confided in anyone, least of all a human. Suddenly, the need to speak with somebody, to reveal a truth he’d kept hidden for far too long, reared within him. What would it feel like to share some of his burden, to not feel so utterly alone, just once?

  “None of those things.” He fingered the gold necklace around her neck. Ironically, the pendant was shaped like a pair of wings. “They—we are the sons and daughters of fallen angels, creatures once known as the Nephilim.”

  Her brows rode high on her forehead. “Angels? You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  She wagged her head, sending a wild riot of curls bouncing around her face. Her hair was a warm honey-brown and fell in soft waves to brush her shoulders. He hadn’t noticed how silky it looked until now. “This is crazy.”

  He lifted his hand and trapped one of her golden curls between his fingers, savoring the rich texture of it. “I’m a hundred and sixty-eight years old,” he confessed. “I don’t feel pain. I can’t burn or bruise or bleed. I can make you do whatever I want, take your soul if I so choose. Human life-forces fuel me. They strengthen me and allow me to experience emotion, if only for a brief lapse of time.”

  Disappointment clouded her features. “And what about your own soul? How can you do these things and live with yourself?”

  He released the strand he held. “I don’t have a soul. Not anymore.” His old soul now dwelled in her, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

  She parted her lips to question him further, but he cut her off. “Enough about me. I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Angelica. Angelica Paxton. But everyone calls me Angie. Everyone except my mom,” she tagged on after a brief pause.

  He examined her face—the stubborn tilt of her jaw, the pale, rosy skin stretching over her cheekbones, the velvet fullness of her bottom lip. “And why did you come back, Angie, after I specifically told you to leave?” What he really wanted to know was how she’d resisted his suggestion.

  She trapped the very lip he’d been contemplating between her teeth. When she released it, it gleamed pink with moisture. “I thought you needed my help. I was going to offer you some counseling.”

  A wry grin tugged at his mouth. “Do I look unstable to you?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” With a
wobbly smile, she dug into her purse. Seconds later, she handed him a brochure. “I volunteer for an organization called Reach. It’s a halfway house, a suicide hotline and a counseling clinic all wrapped up in one. The goal is to get kids off the streets, reform them and make them productive members of society.”

  Laughter echoed from his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed or even experienced amusement. “I told you I’m nearly two centuries old. I don’t think I qualify as a kid anymore.”

  “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? Anyhow, I had a back-up plan.”

  “Really, what’s that?”

  “If you didn’t want to get help for yourself, I figured I could ask you to volunteer. With those hypnotic abilities of yours, think of the difference you could make. No more gangs. No more drugs or prostitution. No more delinquents on the streets.” Her face lit up like a beacon, guiding him toward a redemption he’d never wanted and certainly didn’t deserve. “You, Adrian, could change the world.”

  “And why would I want to do that, when it’s perfectly corrupt as it is?”

  The expression on her face was so guileless, so open and trusting. “Because you cared enough to save me. And because I sense a spark of goodness in you.”

  “You sensed a spark of goodness in those thugs who attacked you, too. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

  “Yeah.” She stroked his arm, sending a current of energy rippling over his flesh. “Even you.”

  Warmth spread from her innocent touch, heating his blood. The way she looked at him, with hope and a glint of fascination, made him want to believe that she was right, that even a soulless creature like him could be saved.

  “Didn’t you say you were part angel?” she asked.

  “Fallen angel. They’re not the good guys. Quite the opposite.”

  “Still, they were good once.”

  He saw her clearly then. This girl was an idealist, and yet he sensed a growing shadow within her, one she fought with every breath to contain. She needed to believe good outweighed evil, that hope burned eternal. Without hope, she would wither away and die.

  “Why don’t you try to get some rest?” He indicated the plush blue sofa by the wall with a jerk of his head. “We’re going to be here a while.”

  He couldn’t risk going back out until he was convinced Kyros and his soldiers had retreated. Outside, lightning slashed the black velvet sky, and rain began to fall in sheets to curtain the windows.

  If the Kleptopsychs were still searching for them, they wouldn’t keep at it for long. The rain would eventually force them to return to the catacombs.

  Angie obediently made her way to the sofa and lowered her body onto it. Whether she did so because his power took hold or simply because she was exhausted, he couldn’t be sure. She curled up on her side, propping her head on the armrest.

  Adrian stood vigil over her, knowing sleep would claim her soon. A human couldn’t endure what Angie had endured tonight and not succumb to fatigue. The surge of adrenaline alone would’ve been enough to wipe her out once its effect wore off.

  She lay on the couch, her eyes closed, until Adrian became convinced she’d drifted off to sleep. Then her lids sprang open, and she asked him a question he couldn’t begin to answer, even if he’d been inclined to do so. “Tell me, if you’re as soulless as you say, why didn’t you just let them kill me tonight?”

  Chapter Seven

  When next Angie’s eyes fluttered open, the sun was just beginning to streak the streets pink. Adrian stood by the window, scanning the perimeter, a dark silhouette against the brightening day. The rain had stopped, and judging from the light streaming into the old theater, no clouds blotted the sky.

  She rose to a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “A few minutes past six a.m.,” he rasped without looking her way. His voice sounded strained, void of the strength and vitality she’d come to expect from him.

  “Are they gone?”

  “Yes. It’s time to take you home.”

  She parted her lips to tell him she was perfectly capable of making her way back on her own, but thought better of it. She needed more time with him. Time to figure out if any of the things he’d told her last night were true or if they were simply the delusions of a damaged mind.

  What shook her most was that his confession made an odd kind of sense. Hadn’t she seen him impose his will on others? Hadn’t she watched him take a bullet to the chest and remain standing? She’d bet her last dollar no bulletproof vest graced the inside of his jacket. And things had gone from strange to impossible when he’d flung a subway car at their attackers.

  A frigging subway car!

  Even stranger was the fact that the conductor hadn’t noticed. Adrian’s doing, no doubt.

  She stood and approached him, smoothing out the wrinkles from her clothes and patting down her unruly hair. The curly tufts never looked right after she slept on them, and for some stupid reason she wanted to look semi-decent when she faced him. If vanity was a sin, then she was as guilty of it as the next girl.

  “I can’t believe I stayed out all night.” Thank God her mom had gone to their place in the Hamptons. The pregnancy was taking its toll on her, and she’d needed a few days away from the hustle and bustle of city life. If Tina Paxton had been in town, she would’ve had the entire NYPD parked outside their house by now.

  Angie had been seriously thinking about getting her own place lately. She was twenty-three years old. It was time. But with her mother pregnant and her dad gone, she didn’t have the heart to move out. Not yet.

  “I couldn’t risk taking you out there again until I knew they’d retreated.” He turned to face her, and her heart bucked in her chest. He looked pale, drawn and depleted.

  “They’re not the only ones who are allergic to copper, are they?” He didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to. The flash of pain in his midnight-blue eyes was answer enough. “Let’s get out of here before I end up having to carry you.”

  “I’m fine. I just need some fresh air.”

  Angie followed him out of the theater, happy the nightmare was over but a little disappointed, too. Now that the threat had passed, Adrian would have no reason to stick around. Would she ever see her dark angel again? Did she want to?

  Common sense insisted it was probably best if she didn’t. The guy was a heap of trouble. But he’d also saved her life, more than once, with little thought to his own discomfort.

  Sunshine filtered through the clouds to spill over them. It was late spring, and the days were getting brighter and warmer. Trees unfurled their newborn leaves in the breeze, the grass donned its vibrant green coat and wildflowers entered full bloom, indisputable evidence that death was but a temporary state and that all things were eventually reborn. Out here in the heart of the city, however, concrete ruled.

  From the corner of her eye, Angie studied the enthralling man beside her, admiring the way the harsh morning light outlined his sharp cheekbones and powerful jaw while softening his mouth and eyes. The guy was a walking paradox, cold and expressionless one minute, fierce and protective the next. But most unsettling of all was that something inside her responded to him.

  You’re just being reckless again. It’s getting to be a habit with you.

  Her mother insisted she was a magnet for trouble. If there was danger within a one-hundred-mile radius, Angie was sure to find it. Only in this particular case, Adrian had found her.

  They stopped at the corner of 45th and Broadway, where Adrian hailed a cab. It was early so they had no trouble finding one, as opposed to later in the day when most cabs would be occupied.

  Angie gave the driver her address on the Upper East Side, avoiding Adrian’s curious glance. Some of the most expensive real estate in the country could be found on the Upper East Side. This section of the city boasted the most exclusive private schools and housed some of the wealthiest New Yorkers. Many famous families had resided on the Upper East
Side over the years, including the Rockefellers, the Kennedys and the Roosevelts. The area was home to movie stars and fashion designers, trendy restaurants and even trendier shops.

  Angie wasn’t a movie star or a fashion designer. She just happened to come from old money, and she refused to allow her address to define her. She was her own person, with a grassroots approach to life. She wasn’t content to sit in her ivory tower and watch the world unfold around her from her bedroom window. She wanted to be smack in the middle of it, getting her hands dirty, living life to the fullest, even if it hurt. Not only did she want to experience the world, she wanted to change it.

  Angie had inherited her idealism from her father. Frederic Paxton had given up a successful law practice to work as a public defender. For years he’d toiled to give disadvantaged members of the community second chances, only to see them stumble right back into lives of crime. Instead of becoming disheartened, he’d founded Reach, investing a great deal of his personal wealth into the nonprofit organization. His hope was to reform troubled teens and keep them off the streets by housing them, educating them and counseling them.

  When he died, the torch had passed on to her, and she had every intention of keeping it burning.

  The cabby stopped in front of the prewar mansion Angie indicated. Adrian paid the fare, then helped her out and escorted her toward the building, a French gothic construction with a canopied entrance.

  He studied the building, then turned a pair of befuddled, assessing eyes her way. “Who are you?”

  “I’m just Angie. This house once belonged to my grandfather. Years ago, he converted it to a condo complex, selling most of the units except the penthouse, which he kept for himself. Now it’s ours.”

  “And I thought I’d spent the night with royalty.”

  His words, coupled with his intense gaze, sent a strange quiver traveling through her limbs. “Sorry to disappoint you.”