by Anne Hope
All the Watchers were Hybrids. Unlike the Kleptopsychs, who were soulless from birth, Hybrids were born human and only came into their powers much later, when they died and their souls left their bodies. Sometimes, however, there were signs before their transformation, like the ability to read someone’s mind or move an object with nothing more than a concentrated thought.
“Possibly.” Cal hoped the boy was indeed a Hybrid, because the alternative was far more dangerous. “But there’s a far greater chance he’s a seer, or a clairvoyant, as they are known nowadays.”
“A fortune-teller?”
“Not like the ones you’re thinking of. Seers today are just that—see-ers. They merely catch glimpses of the future. Their souls are too weak to do much else. But a very long time ago, before souls were divided, seers had unimaginable power. The power not only to glimpse the future but to shape it.”
Jace exhaled a long stream of air. He pulled Cal aside, far enough away from the boy so he couldn’t hear them but close enough to keep an eye on him. “So how’d he fry his parents?”
“All it takes is a vision. He saw it in his mind’s eye and made it happen. Usually the visions come at times of great distress. Fear or pain or sadness can trigger them. Seers were once used as prophets. Through them, the angels shaped the future by making them see whatever destiny they hoped to will into existence.”
Jace shot a curious look the boy’s way. “But that was ages ago, when souls were whole. How can one of these seers be living today, in a cottage in Newport, Oregon, no less?”
Cal angled a glance at the heavens, their mysteries locked behind tall, gilded doors that were now forever closed to him. “Interesting question. But even more interesting is why?” He had a theory, but he couldn’t voice it. Not until he was certain. “Why now?”
Back at the Watchers’ complex, Regan stood guard as Ben slept, curled in a ball, a flimsy blanket drawn all the way to his chin. After they’d burned down his house, along with all evidence of his parents’ death, they’d decided to bring him here to Cascade Head, where—at the heart of a sprawling metal construction once rumored to be a secret military base—the Watchers had set up their headquarters a year and a half ago. Reinforced with numerous shields meant to keep their enemies out, the complex was the safest place for Ben.
For the time being, anyway. She knew he couldn’t stay here forever. Regardless of how pure his essence was, he was still human, which meant prolonged exposure to the dark energy her kind emitted would eventually corrupt him.
The thought depressed her. Now that his parents were gone, he was all alone in the world. What would become of the child?
Careful not to wake him, she smoothed down the wild locks of his hair. The uneven tufts felt soft and rough at the same time, like coarse silk. He looked so tiny, so harmless, it was hard to imagine him causing the kind of damage she’d witnessed in that kitchen today.
But he had. He’d admitted as much himself.
He turned sideways in the makeshift bed, an old cot she’d set up in her stark, no-nonsense room. Hardly a room that would appeal to a child. For the first time, she regretted the lack of decor, the lack of warmth or personal detail. The only thing that added a splash of color to the place was the forest green chenille throw she’d draped over his thin body. His small hands fisted around the blanket, drawing it against his chest the way he would a shield. Emotion pooled in her throat, and she swallowed to wash it away. She’d always had the ability to feel, but never with such vivid intensity. Something had changed in her today. The part of her that had once been human had come alive again.
All because of this lost little boy.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to give yourself away.”
Marcus’s voice startled her, and her gaze shot to the door, where he stood leaning against the doorjamb. Black jeans hugged his long, sinewy legs, and a dark T-shirt stretched over his wide, muscular chest. An uneasy sensation blossomed in her chest, and she looked away. Her partner painted a compelling picture. The kind of picture that could make a woman forget who she was and all the promises she’d made.
But most unsettling of all was the glint of shrewd intelligence she always caught in his eyes. Marcus had a way of looking at her that made her feel vulnerable and entirely exposed.
“I have no idea what you mean,” she lied.
“You’ve been wearing your heart on your sleeve all afternoon. If you keep it up, the others will notice and start wondering if you’re feeding on the sly.”
The most common way for their kind to experience deep, unadulterated emotion was to ingest a human soul, something the Watchers were loath to do. That was the very thing that set them apart from their enemies—the Kleptopsychs and the Rogues—who had no such qualms.
Regan resented the accusation. “That’s a load of bull, and you know it. I’ve never taken a soul. Ever.” Her link to her lost soul was strong, always had been, especially after she’d taken the blood vow. As long as that soul remained in circulation, free to be reborn, she could fight the dark urges that perpetually plagued her kind.
She met Marcus’s penetrating stare in blatant challenge. “Can you say the same?”
“We’re not talking about me.” Swaggering into the room with an arrogant confidence that annoyed the hell out of her, he dragged a chair next to the bed and folded his tall, lean body into it. “What’s going on with you, Regan? I’ve always suspected that you feel a little more than the rest of us, but you’re usually pretty good at hiding it. Lately, though, you’ve grown careless. First there was that whole business with you training Jace behind Cal’s back, and now this.”
She closed her eyes, released a tremulous sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I can’t.” Concern swam in his dark blue gaze.
“Why? Why do you care?”
He reached out and clasped a strand of her hair, rubbing it between rough fingers. “Because we’ve been partners for over thirty years and I’d hate to see your pretty little head end up on the chopping block.” Briefly, his eyes fell to her mouth, and her stomach clamped in painful response. “That would be a terrible, terrible waste.”
She swallowed her discomfort and fought to ease her galloping pulse, certain he could hear it. “Yeah, you’d have no one to boss around anymore.”
The crooked smile he gave her made her forget how aggravating he was. “I do enjoy that. Not that you take orders very well.”
He released her hair and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers as though struggling not to touch her again. Regan wasn’t sure if the sensation that traveled through her was relief or disappointment.
“So what do you make of the boy?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“There’s no darkness in him. I’m sure of it.”
“We didn’t sense the darkness in Lia either until she died. A twin soul can mask these things. Especially one so powerful.”
“No.” Her tone was adamant. “He has no tainted blood in him.” She realized she was clenching her fists and forced herself to relax.
Marcus eyed her reproachfully. “You’re too invested in this. You’re not thinking clearly.”
He was probably right. Ever since she’d pulled Ben out of that pantry, her emotions had been in a tailspin. She wasn’t used to this, didn’t know exactly how to handle it.
“I know what I feel.”
“That’s the problem. You’re feeling.” Deep grooves lined his forehead. “And so am I.”
“What?”
“You heard me. There’s something about this boy. Something different, potent. And it scares me.”
His confession stunned her. Marcus rarely admitted to feeling anything, let alone fear.
Ben stirred again, and briefly his eyes sprang open. He gave her a tentative smile, his cheeks dimpling, and affection blossomed in her once-withered heart. She fought the urge to stroke his hair again, to let her palm linger on his face.
When she w
as certain Ben had drifted back to sleep, her attention shifted to Marcus. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered. “He’s just a boy.”
Chapter Four
Marcus lumbered into Cal’s office without bothering to knock. “Tell me the truth. Is the kid a threat?” He’d come straight here after leaving Regan’s room, driven by the overriding compulsion to get some answers.
Cal sat at his massive wooden desk, staring vacantly at the wall. At the sound of Marcus’s voice he jolted to awareness. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
Marcus had always admired his leader’s ability to anticipate future events, but right now it served only to irritate him. Feeling like a belligerent child about to be scolded, he did as he was told, dropping into the welcoming lap of the black leather chair facing Cal’s desk.
“I want answers,” he insisted. “What did you and Jace discuss that you didn’t want me to hear?”
Cal leaned back in his chair with deliberate slowness, studying him with piercing gray eyes. “You’ve often challenged me, Marcus, but I’ve never known you to be impertinent.”
“And you’ve never shut me out before. I thought we were a team. What changed?” He didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. If there was anything Cal deserved, it was respect. The man had literally saved his life. He’d taken in an enemy, absolved him of his crimes and ultimately turned him into his most trusted soldier. He’d given him purpose, a mission, a home.
But even gratitude and respect had their limits. If Cal had decided to replace him as his second-in-command, he sure as hell was going to tell him why.
“Nothing’s changed.” Beyond the window, clouds began to gather, stealing the light from the stark, utilitarian room. “There’s no one I trust more than you.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
Cal sighed and rubbed his eyes, looking suddenly weary. “I wish I knew.” He stood and walked over to the tall window, gazing past the cliffs at the unpredictable sky. “The only certainties are that the boy’s soul is whole and, like Lia’s, it was forged by an archangel.”
Marcus couldn’t say he was surprised by Cal’s assertion. He’d surmised as much himself. “How is this possible, when it was decided ages ago that no human would be granted a full soul again?”
“That is the question that has tortured me since the moment I laid eyes on the child.”
Uneasiness tightened in Marcus’s gut, and he couldn’t help but frown. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that there hasn’t been a twin soul since the Great Flood, and all of a sudden we’ve come across two in the same year, both of archangel descent?”
Cal’s mouth hardened, and he nodded. “The thought has crossed my mind.”
For years Cal had preached about the end of the world, the Apocalypse, the final showdown. He firmly believed that, if left unchecked, their enemies would someday trigger a cataclysmic event that would obliterate humanity, and he considered it his duty—his destiny—to prevent that from happening.
The clouds thickened, completely suffocating the sun, and gray shadows swept in to blanket the concrete floor. Marcus stared at his leader’s back, anxiety rippling across his nerve endings. “It’s starting, isn’t it?”
Cal walked away from the window and returned to his desk, his features grimmer than the impending storm. “Quite possibly. And if it is, we have to do everything in our power to stop it.”
It rained for two days straight. Thick, boiling clouds kept pouring in from the west and unleashing their fury. After being cooped up for days, Ben had grown restless and belligerent, especially given the countless tests Cal insisted on performing on him.
“Concentrate on the metal, see it bending in your mind.” Cal clasped a tablespoon between his thumb and forefinger, while Ben sat across the desk from him, looking bored and glum.
“I don’t want to do this anymore. Can I go play?”
Regan placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder and aimed a beseeching glance at her leader. “He’s tired. Can’t we give it a rest?”
Cal had been at it for hours, trying to get Ben to mold his surroundings with the power of his will alone, whether it was to displace objects, influence the outcome of a coin toss or bend a spoon in half.
“I can’t.” Cal’s tone was adamant. “I refuse to make the same mistake I made with Lia.”
“We need to understand what he’s all about.” Marcus leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching the scene with aloof curiosity.
Regan bristled. “What you mean to say is that you’re trying to determine if he’s a Hybrid.”
If the boy passed Cal’s medley of tests, he’d kill him in order to turn him, the same way he’d once threatened to kill her unborn son. Only when a Hybrid died and his soul left his body did he uncover his true potential, and only then could he live among the Watchers. As long as Ben had a soul, the negative energy the Watchers gave off risked damaging it.
“If he is, then he’s better off here with us. No matter how hard a Hybrid tries to fit in, he can never belong out there.” Marcus gestured to the world beyond the windows.
On a cognitive level, she knew he was right. The human world could be a devastating place for a Hybrid child. Hybrids, like Kleptopsychs, gave off a negative energy that brought out the worst in people. Before they turned, these children were often bullied and abused, even murdered, sometimes by their own parents. If Ben was indeed a Hybrid, the best thing they could do for him was rid him of his soul and keep him here at the complex, where he’d be safe.
Why then did some visceral instinct tell her that turning him would be a mistake? Why did she feel this child’s soul was important, that it needed to be preserved?
“Focus,” Cal urged the boy. “I know you can do it.”
Ben’s mouth curled into an impressive pout. “Leave me alone.”
With an exasperated huff, Cal dropped the spoon on his desk. “The kid refuses to cooperate.”
Marcus, who’d spent the better part of the day as a simple observer, finally left his perch by the wall and came to retrieve the spoon, rolling it between his fingers. “Hey, kid, think fast.” With impressive speed, he flung the utensil at Ben.
Ben lifted his hand in a defensive gesture that was purely instinctive. The spoon stopped midair, then plunked onto the concrete floor. Marcus bent at the waist and picked it up, a wide smile tugging at his sensual mouth. Satisfied, he raised it for all to see.
A slow slide of dread rolled through Regan. The metal was bent beyond recognition.
Chapter Five
Marcus found Regan standing at the top of one of the numerous cliffs that barricaded the Watchers’ complex, staring down at the sea, her features pinched with concentration. The rain had finally stopped, but dampness still hung in the salt-laden air. A thin mist hugged her feminine figure, making moisture bead on her skin. She looked intangible, as elusive as the fog encompassing her. Regan was so strong and capable, he sometimes forgot how delicate she was.
The sight of her standing so close to the edge triggered all his protective instincts, and something else—the forbidden desire to touch. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said, burying his fists in his jacket pockets, where they wouldn’t be tempted to stray.
She smiled but didn’t turn to look at him. “Is that all they’re worth?”
“You drive a hard bargain. How ’bout a quarter?”
She laced her arms across her chest as the sun slowly set behind red-hued clouds. “What’s going to happen to him, Marcus?”
He didn’t have to ask her who she meant. Ever since they’d found Ben cowering in that kitchen, the boy had dominated her thoughts, maybe even her heart. Marcus had never believed it was possible for their kind to love, but recently he’d been forced to revisit that assumption. He’d seen it firsthand with Jace and Lia, and now he was seeing it again with Regan. Maybe one didn’t necessarily need to have a soul in order to love. Maybe just the echo of it was enough, similar to a ph
antom limb that continued to throb long after it was severed.
“Cal hasn’t come to any decisions yet,” he told her.
A brisk breeze blew, sending her curls rioting around her face. Again, he was seized by the urge to reach out to her, to smooth back her hair, to run the pad of his thumb across her mouth.
A mouth meant to be kissed.
He gave himself a mental kick, focused his attention on the churning waves below. He had no business kissing Regan. No business even thinking about it. When he’d taken the blood vow, he’d made a conscious choice to swear off sex, same as all those who bore the Watchers’ mark.
Only Jace and Lia seemed exempt from this oath, and Marcus couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He’d seen Cal punish his followers for far less a crime. If there was one thing his leader demanded, it was absolute loyalty.
Regan picked up a pebble, then flung it over the cliff into the restless ocean. “Do you believe in destiny?”
The question took him off guard. “I’m not sure. I know Cal swears by it.”
“I didn’t ask about Cal. I asked about you.” She ran her fingers through her hair, exactly as he’d imagined himself doing. “Cal’s always preaching about fate, and for the most part, I believe him. But deep down, there’s this inkling of doubt, and it gets me thinking sometimes. If everything really is preordained, what happens to free will? Does it even exist or are we just being strung along?”
“When did you go all philosophical on me?”
She inhaled deeply, drawing his attention to the gentle swell of her breasts. Ignoring the kick beneath his ribs, he looked past her, fixing his gaze on the rocky shore again.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve been having this feeling lately, like there’s something I’m supposed to do, but I’m not sure what that is. I only know it involves Ben. He’s important somehow.”
He’d been having the same feeling, but he refrained from telling her. The last thing he wanted was for her to grow even more obsessed with the boy. In their world, obsession and impulsiveness often spelled disaster.