by Anne Hope
Adrian’s cool, unperturbed veneer splintered. An old wound bled open, and he lapsed into silence. Marcus looked into his son’s troubled eyes and understood. There was one enemy even they couldn’t vanquish, and that was death. “I couldn’t save her,” he finally said. “Despite all my abilities, I was powerless against fate.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Regan busied herself making supper, trying to get her mind off Marcus, which was about as futile as depriving her lungs of air. Her thoughts kept shifting back to the kiss they’d shared, to the rough feel of his hands, to the sweet, musky taste of his mouth.
When she’d conceived her son, the experience had been brief and unmoving. She’d made love to David Cutler out of a sense of gratitude because he’d scraped her off the highway and given her a place to stay. She’d had no idea what she was then, that she could’ve killed him simply by kissing him. Her heart had been cold, her emotions numbed. It wasn’t until the Watchers found her—pregnant and alone—that she’d begun to feel.
Marcus had been the one to recruit her, and right away she’d known the Watchers’ complex was where she belonged. Now she wondered if maybe it wasn’t the Watchers that had triggered a response in her. What if it had been Marcus all along? Something about him had always made her feel safe, like she was exactly where she was meant to be. For some reason, they’d always fit. They worked so well together, in fact, that Cal had officially made them a team.
Now, so many years later, she came to a startling revelation. It wasn’t the Watchers’ cause that had attracted her. It was Marcus. She’d had nowhere to go, and by pulling her into his world he’d given her a home.
He was her home.
Beyond the windows, twilight slowly rolled in. A soft purple haze blanketed the sky. The sun was hidden from view, but its rays continued to throb, giving the clouds a pinkish glow. She wondered how long he was going to stay away.
She knew where he was—at Adrian’s house. She’d gone over there earlier to retrieve Ben, only to feel Marcus’s aura vibrating from within, so she’d promptly turned around and left. Something told her he didn’t want to see her right now, and that knowledge hurt more than it should.
As the pot of pasta boiled, she compulsively chopped vegetables. She’d already warmed the sauce, and the delicious aroma of tomato and basil filled the small kitchen. She hadn’t eaten anything since the burritos earlier that morning, but her stomach rebelled at the thought of food. The darn thing was clamped so tight, she could barely swallow a Tic Tac.
It was bad enough she’d sworn off souls, now she couldn’t even eat a bowl of spaghetti. All because of Marcus and his damn sweet lips.
The door finally swung open, and the man who’d dominated her thoughts for the past two hours sailed in with a pouting Ben in tow.
“I wanted to keep playing,” the boy whined. “Why’d we have to go?”
“Because I said so.” Marcus’s eyes met hers, and her erratic heart forgot to beat. The passion they’d shared earlier hung between them, as palpable as a touch.
“Supper’s almost ready.” She tried to infuse some levity into her voice to break the tension, but the stubborn thing refused to relent.
Ben scuttled into the kitchen, grabbing a carrot from her chopping block.
“Did you have a good time?” she asked him. The whole scene felt so domestic she almost laughed. Anything to relieve the persistent pressure that hovered in the atmosphere, fueled by Marcus’s commanding presence.
“I learned how to play video games!” Ben’s childish excitement reminded her that despite his powerful, potentially destructive soul, he was still just a little boy. “Adrian’s got tons of them. It was so much fun. When can I go back?”
Great. It looked like Marcus’s rogue son had a new fan. Ben practically ran circles around her. Regan almost lost her balance when he jostled her. “Whoa, take it easy there, kiddo.”
She pulled the pot of pasta off the burner and proceeded to dump it in the strainer. She wasn’t much of a cook. Back at the Watchers’ complex, the task of keeping the masses fed was assigned to those less gifted at battle. Regan’s days were normally spent in the training arena, not the kitchen.
Ben climbed up on a wooden stool to sit at the counter. “Is it ready? I’m hungry.”
“Almost.”
She could hear Marcus shuffling around the house, probably attempting to fix the console they’d nearly reduced to a pulp. He hadn’t said a word to her since he’d walked through the door, hadn’t even bothered to nod a hello. Frustration coiled within her. Would it kill him to acknowledge her existence?
She tried to fork the spaghetti into a bowl, but the strands were so clumpy, they remained bundled together.
Ben added insult to injury by laughing at her. “You cooked it too much. Now it’s sticky.”
Regan furrowed her forehead. “I did exactly what it said on the package, followed the directions to the letter.”
“Just rinse it and throw it back in the pot with some oil or butter.” The sudden sound of Marcus’s voice startled her, made her pulse sprint and her throat seal shut. “That should help some.”
She angled a glance over her shoulder to find him standing right behind her. Heat spilled off his body to seep into hers. “How do you know so much about cooking?”
“A guy learns a thing or two when he’s been around as long as I have.”
She fought the urge to turn and face him. Instead, she did as she was told, rinsing out the spaghetti, then tossing it back in the pot and sprinkling some oil over it.
“I never could picture you in an apron.” His breath flirted across the nape of her neck, where a few tendrils of hair had fallen loose from her ponytail.
“I’m not wearing an apron.”
“You know what I mean.”
Losing the battle, she pivoted on her heels to find herself trapped between the counter and his imposing frame. Her heart performed a series of backflips in her chest. “I bet there are lots of ways you never pictured me.” The taunt was meant to unsettle him, and she achieved her goal.
Briefly, his gaze trailed over her body. Then his jaw grew rigid and he backed away, securing a safe distance between them.
The pot began to sizzle, so she dragged it off the burner again.
They ate the soggy spaghetti in silence, looking anywhere but at each other. Only Ben broke the stillness by chattering incessantly about the games he’d played. She’d never seen him this excited. Every time he spoke of Adrian, his face lit up. Right there and then, she understood how Marcus’s son had accomplished the impossible feat of taming Rogues. The mind was a very powerful tool. If wielded properly, it could vanquish any weakness, even one imprinted in an individual’s DNA. Only hope could fight the darkness, and that was precisely what she saw in Ben’s eyes.
By the time dinner ended and they all cleaned up, Ben was exhausted. Regan took him by the hand and guided him to his new room, where she tucked him in.
“Can you stay with me a while?” he asked in a small, uncertain voice.
With a nod, she slid into bed beside him. Ben’s lids grew heavy, but he kept staring at the ceiling. “Close your eyes,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to. I’m too scared.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re safe here.”
He shook his head emphatically. “I’m scared of the dreams.”
She could protect him from a lot of things, but not his mind. Smoothing down his hair, she fought the helplessness that swelled within her. “Everything will work out. I promise.” She wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep that promise, but she voiced it anyway. Sometimes, even the illusion of hope was better than no hope at all. “Try to remember how things were before the visions started.”
“I can’t,” he confessed. “I don’t remember anything about the time before.”
There had to be something, one comforting memory, maybe of his mother rocking him to sleep or of his father swinging him up in the air.
Unless Marcus was right and Ben—this Ben—hadn’t existed before the moment he’d died on that operating table.
“When you woke up after your surgery, did you remember your parents?” Her fingers traced tender swirls across his scalp.
“No. Nothing. Nothing but the light.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“It’s fuzzy, like a dream. There was light everywhere. Light in the sky. Light on the ground. I was made of light, too. Then everything went dark. My chest began to hurt. I wanted to open my eyes, but I couldn’t.” He yawned. “When I woke up, the light was there again, only it was coming from the ceiling. There were doctors and nurses all around me, and my parents, too, but I didn’t know them. I didn’t know any of them.”
What Ben had just described sounded oddly like the birthing process, but she knew he spoke of the moment his soul had returned to his body. “And after, did the memories come back to you?”
“No,” he mumbled. “Never.”
“And when did you start dreaming of the man with the scary eyes?”
No answer. She looked down to find Ben fast asleep. She studied him for a few seconds, her heart overflowing with affection. It made no sense, the intensity of her emotions. Only someone with a soul could feel so deeply. For some reason, Ben had brought to life everything that had once been human inside her.
Careful not to wake him, she crawled out of bed and ambled downstairs, where Marcus sat on the couch examining the documents he’d sent fluttering in the air earlier. She angled a glance at the console, which he’d temporarily pieced back together. Looking at it, no one would guess that a mere few hours ago the ground had been swept out from under it. It appeared as solid as ever, but the cracks were there, tiny fissures that threatened the very foundation upon which it stood.
“Any luck?” she asked him, hoping to capture his attention.
He inclined his head her way but kept his gaze centered on the printouts. “Not sure.” He must’ve borrowed some clothing from Adrian, because he’d changed into a pair of gray jeans and a faded black T-shirt that was a touch too snug, outlining every splendid muscle on his broad chest.
The casual way he was dressed made him look relaxed and slightly more approachable. Boldly, she went to sit beside him. “Still want me to take a look at them?”
His eyes flashed to hers. “Knock yourself out.” He handed her the documents and stood, crossing the room to stand by the fireplace, his back turned to her, as though he couldn’t bear to look at her, let alone sit beside her.
“I don’t bite, you know.”
He slanted a sideways glance her way. “It’s not your bite that worries me.”
Like Ben’s dreams, the memory of the kiss they’d shared haunted her. Hoping to distract herself, she began leafing through the printouts. As Marcus had said, the dates coincided with events they suspected were Kleptopsych feedings. Same dates, same times. The disappearances had to be related somehow.
“Maybe Kyros has taken to draining humans while they’re still alive rather than instigating their deaths.” That was another thing that separated the Kleptopsychs from the Rogues. The Kleptopsychs willed people to kill each other or themselves, then proceeded to swallow their souls. They usually didn’t steal a life-force from a living host. The Rogues, on the other hand, were too impatient for that. They took what they wanted when they wanted, leaving a string of shriveled carcasses behind.
“I considered that,” Marcus replied, “until I had a talk with Ben.”
“What does Ben have to do with this?”
He finally gave in and made eye contact. “He took one look at the photos and had some kind of vision. Said these people were being held prisoner somewhere.”
Putting the papers aside, Regan stood and approached him. “Where?”
“Some building. He didn’t say.” Marcus looked like a statue, with his arm propped on the mantel, his features set in stone. “According to him, Kyros was there along with some nurse. Ben said her face was deformed—blue and bumpy.”
A thought struggled to unfurl in her mind, tickling her consciousness. She reflected, her bottom lip clasped between her teeth. Then it hit her. “Remember when Lia’s sister was held hostage? Didn’t Lia say she injected Diane with angel’s blood?” It had taken a while for the memory to return to Lia, but once it had, she’d promptly shared it with the others at the Watchers’ complex.
Interest sparked in Marcus’s eyes, and the frost melted from his limbs. “She did.”
“Angel’s blood always leaves scars. Do you think it could cause the kind of damage Ben described?”
“Possibly.”
“And Diane was a nurse.” For months they’d presumed the Kleptopsych dead, but they’d found no evidence to support this assumption. After the catacombs collapsed, they’d had no way of telling which of their enemies had perished and which had survived.
It was now Marcus’s turn to torment the bearskin rug. He paced across the living room, his thumbs hooked in his back pockets, his shoulders hunched forward as he contemplated her words. “She could’ve survived the cave-in, same as Kyros.” Stopping by the hearth again, he nodded approvingly. “And if she did and I manage to track her, she could lead us straight to him.”
Regan smiled. “It can’t hurt to try.”
His stoical expression cracked, and an affectionate grin curled his mouth. “I always knew you were more than just a pretty face.”
She rolled her eyes. “You sure know how to charm a girl.”
For a few seconds they just stood there, several feet apart, staring at each other. The distance that divided them came alive, resonating with energy. She fought the urge to go to him, to put aside her inhibitions and force him to put aside his. But her feet remained rooted to the ground.
With a gruff exhalation, he averted his gaze. “We should get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”
She nodded and forced a smile. Like the console, she couldn’t allow the cracks to show.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The last time anyone had seen Diane was when she’d accosted and killed Lia’s sister, Cassie. So first thing the next morning, Marcus and Regan set off for Portland. It was doubtful that, months later, Diane’s signature would be strong enough to guide him to her current location, but it was a starting point.
A little past noon, they reached their destination, an apartment building located a block from the Willamette River waterfront. They’d left Ben with Adrian again, for fear of putting the kid at risk.
“Think you’ll be able to pick up her trail?” Regan stared at the high-rise, with its tall windows and wide balconies. “It’s been so long since Diane was here.”
Marcus wanted to believe that he would, but he had to be realistic. The chances of tracking the Kleptopsych were slim at best. “There’s only one way to find out.”
They mounted the steps to the tenth floor and made their way to the unit they sought. The door was locked, but Marcus unlatched the bolt with a single concentrated thought.
“Didn’t you say we shouldn’t use our powers?” Regan entered the apartment first.
“We shouldn’t. But at the moment, it’s better than the alternative. If Cal gets wind of the fact that someone broke into Cassie’s old apartment, there’s a pretty good chance he’ll send the Watchers to investigate.”
“Too bad. I was kinda looking forward to seeing you kick in the door.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Marcus took several long strides into the unit. A new tenant had taken up residence here, either unaware of or unperturbed by the fact that the previous inhabitant had gone plummeting off the balcony to her death.
At the moment, the place was unoccupied. Marcus sloughed through mounds of shoes and dirty clothing carelessly tossed onto the floor. A half-eaten bowl of nachos sat on the coffee table, surrounded by several bottles of beer.
Regan scrunched her face in disgust. “What a slob.”
“At least he’s not here.”
&
nbsp; “Never know,” she quipped. “He might be buried under the laundry.”
Closing his eyes, Marcus ran his palms over the walls, where the slightest hint of energy pulsed. Mostly it was Cassie’s signature he sensed, but there were undertones of another—a dark current that could only belong to Diane. “It’s weak, but I’m getting something.”
He let his instincts guide him, following the flow of energy to the balcony, where it grew more powerful. Crouching by the door, he flattened his hands against the balcony floor. “This is where she fell after Lia injected her,” he told her. “She was in agony.”
Regan squatted beside him. “How can you tell?”
“The concentration of black energy is stronger. It has seeped into the wood, like a bloodstain.” Marcus might not be able to predict the future like Ben, but the past spoke to him. Every signature left behind told a story. “She was lying right here when she called Cassie’s soul to her. I can feel the power that flowed through her, the crazy high she experienced.”
He frowned as the impressions continued to swamp him. “No, it was more than just a high. I sense desperation, insanity. The angel’s blood did more than damage her face. It damaged her mind.”
“That’s not good,” Regan said, returning to an upright position. “Considering she wasn’t all that sane to begin with.”
Marcus stood and walked across the small balcony. “She knocked Lia out, then carried her inside.”
He entered the apartment again. The sinister current of energy led him to the door, where he paused. “Boris was standing right here when she killed him.” Boris was the Watcher Cal had dispatched to stand guard over Cassie. “She dragged him across the hall and down the stairs, with Lia still secured over her shoulder.” The three distinct energy patterns were unmistakable.
Retracing Diane’s steps, he led Regan out of the building to the waterfront, where a string of hotels and bars lined the street. The view was idyllic, with cyclists rolling down the meandering bike path, pedestrians strolling on the sidewalk next to the gleaming river, and people enjoying a cup of coffee at one of the numerous cafés that dotted the harbor. None was aware of the black energy contaminating the area. None suspected that just below the surface, an elaborate community of dark, immortal beings had once dwelled.