Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (29 page)

Her body arched to receive him, growing hot and molten, her legs a tight clasp around him. The strength of him, the delicious heat of him inside her, robbed her of the ability to form a coherent thought. She was lost, adrift, carried by an unrelenting tide toward a destination where intense pleasure walked hand in hand with heartache.

His body stiffened, and he broke the kiss with a harsh groan. He clenched his teeth, slowly rocked his hips against hers, sliding in and out of her, every glorious inch of him as smooth and rigid as a marble statue.

“What is it about you?” he rasped in her ear. “Why am I drawn to you so completely? Why do I have the feeling my world starts and ends with you?”

Even if she’d been capable of thought, she wouldn’t have been able to provide an answer. Not when she’d been asking herself the very same questions about him.

She matched the rhythmic pulse of his hips, her voice buried beneath thick layers of emotion, her mind drowning in a cloud of sensation. Her skin thrummed, her spine tingled, and a ravenous fire raged deep within her belly.

Then his movements grew more urgent, wild and desperate, only fueling the uncontrollable blaze inside her. His fists clenched the sheets next to her head. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. His feral expression mirrored hers, pinched with a pleasure that bordered on pain.

Then the world exploded around them, and time ceased to matter. Only the two of them existed in a universe that stood determined to tear them apart.

Moonlight streamed through the window, silvering everything in the room and making Marcus gleam like the marble statue she’d compared him to. Regan held him close, feeling his heart hammer against hers, and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see the moon eventually surrender to the sun. Everything was so much simpler at night, when shadows ruled and reality lost its sharp edges. In the dark, she could pretend tomorrow would never come and this moment was all that mattered.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cal called an emergency meeting several hours after news of the fire exploded across the media. He’d wanted to do some digging, get his facts straight before he briefed his troops. He’d phoned a few of his trusted contacts, who’d confirmed his suspicions. This was no random fire. It was arson, and he knew exactly who’d committed the deed.
 

The Watchers filed into the conference room and took their seats, their expressions blank and somber.

“I’m sure you’re all aware by now why I’ve called you here. In the middle of the night, no less.”

The Watchers exchanged knowing glances. Jace, who sat at the far end of the scuffed table, reached for Lia’s hand.

Cal stared at their joined palms, hoping to impart his disapproval. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the open display of affection. Every Watcher in the room was aware of Jace and Lia’s special affiliation and openly resented it. But Jace made no effort to withdraw his hand.

“A few hours ago someone set fire to the Rivershore Hospital,” Cal continued. “At first, I thought it was a random accident. The building has been abandoned for months. It only makes sense to assume a group of vagrants took up residence there. They could’ve left a fire burning, failed to properly extinguish a candle or cigarette. But then, I got my hands on this.”

He pulled out the photograph he’d received from one of his contacts a few minutes ago and passed it around the table. “This was taken from the street cam a block away.”

Surprised murmurs traveled through the room. Only Jace and Lia remained quiet, their expressions impassive, their palms still fused together.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jace finally said, “but that could be anyone. Regan’s not the only redhead around.”

The photograph depicted a dark-haired man carrying a woman with long, flame-red locks. Marcus’s head was bent forward, so his features were indiscernible, but Regan’s fiery curls were a dead giveaway.

“I’ve known Marcus and Regan long enough to recognize them when I see them.” Cal directed a blistering glare Jace’s way. “They were there. They set that fire.” He scanned the faces of all those who surrounded him. “What I’d like to know is why. But more importantly, I’d like to know where they went after they left the hospital.”

The door suddenly burst open, and Thomas strutted into the conference room. “I think I may have the answer to that question.”

“Come join us, Thomas,” Cal invited. “Tell us what you’ve uncovered.”

Jace visibly tensed as the tracker took a seat across from him.

“While I was in Portland working on tracking Regan and Marcus I heard about the fire. It sounded suspicious, so I decided to check it out. When I got there, I hit the jackpot. The place reeked of Marcus and Regan’s signatures.” Satisfaction contorted his features. “And theirs.” He pointed an accusing finger at Lia and Jace.

Lia’s features stiffened, but Jace’s expression remained blank. He glared at Thomas, shrugged. “It’s no secret we were in Portland earlier today. Lia used to work at the hospital, and she wanted to drop by and see the place. Last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”

Cal struggled to read Jace unsuccessfully. The man had one hell of a poker face. “Did you notice anything suspicious while you were there?”

Jace shook his head. “We weren’t there all that long. The building was still standing when we left.”

Cal turned an assessing stare Lia’s way. “How about you?” he asked. “Is there anything you think I should know?”

Her gaze flitted to Jace, who gave her a reassuring nod. “No,” she replied. “It’s like Jace said. I just wanted to see my old workplace.”

“They’re lying,” Thomas accused, the self-importance and indignation of youth straining his voice. “Their energy was everywhere.” That was the beauty of the Watchers’ bond. Cal’s cloaks protected his recruits from their enemies, while the special connection they shared allowed them to sense and track each other.

“Prove it.” The chair screeched as Jace shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

Thomas followed suit, standing to accept Jace’s challenge, his shoulders taut with tension. “Why are you defending them? They’re traitors.”

“Enough.” Cal silenced them with a raise of his hand. The last thing he needed was for a brawl to break out in his conference room. “Thomas, you said you may know where Regan and Marcus went.”

“I was able to track their energy patterns,” Thomas told him with a hint of pride. “My instincts led me north, all the way to the Washington border. I lost them a few miles from Spokane.”

Cal’s insides suddenly hummed with excitement as the truth dawned on him. Of course, why hadn’t he realized it sooner? There was only one person Marcus could turn to for help, one person reckless enough to harbor Rogues.

He sighed, shook his head in self-reproach. “Thank you, Thomas. That will be all for now.”
 

That night, for the first time in two hundred and seventy years, Marcus dreamed. The images were dull and faded, like a black-and-white photograph that had yellowed with time. He stood at the back of a crowd, fighting his way through a swarm of rowdy onlookers, driven by a frantic sense of urgency. He didn’t know why his heart beat with brutal force, didn’t understand the violent pain that shredded his insides with the efficiency of a freshly sharpened cleaver. He knew only that he had to get to the front of the mob, had to stop whatever was making the masses cheer with insane glee.

An overcast sky stretched above him, a fine mist carpeted the ground, and the air glistened with the promise of rain. Ahead of him, at the heart of a marketplace still under construction, a horde of bodies gyrated with excitement, boxing him in. They suffocated him, wicked anticipation rising from their combined flesh to taint the breeze. Anger bubbling in his veins, he shoved his way through, not caring when he sent a screeching old hag crashing into the damp grass.

He hated them. Hated every last one of them. They’d taken everything from him, were about to destroy the only thing in his life worth living for. He couldn’t let that happen. He would stop them, or he would die trying.

Sunlight cut a swath through the clouds, and a slash of burning light fell to divide the crowd. It was only an illusion. The bodies still formed a seemingly impenetrable barrier before him, but the bright ray was like a beacon, beckoning him forward. Somewhere beyond the rowdy throng, he recognized the unmistakable whoosh of the ocean.

He finally made it to the front, pushed the last spectator aside and broke free from the hysterical crowd. His gaze rose to settle on the woman standing on the platform, her hands and legs bound, her delicate neck secured in a noose. A blindfold covered her eyes as sunlight spilled from above to crown her head. A golden patina of light glazed her skin, as though she were no longer of this world, as though the angels had already claimed her.

“Stop. She’s innocent. She was only protecting me.” But his plea went unheard.

The trapdoor opened with an ominous creak, and she fell through, just as a light drizzle began to fall. The sound of her neck snapping rent the air like a cannon blast. Darkness spread to engulf him, and for the first time he welcomed it.

He rushed to the platform, struggled against those who fought to stop him, punched the executioner until the massive guy collapsed in a bloody heap. He pulled out his dagger and cut the woman loose, cradling her in his arms as he dropped to his knees. With a choked sob, he tenderly stroked her cheek, slid the blindfold from her eyes…

The shock jolted Marcus awake, and he jackknifed in bed, cold sweat springing from his pores. Regan’s lifeless eyes filled every corner of his vision, and his fingers tightened around an invisible dagger, his blood imbued with the frightening desire to commit violence.

A hand touched his shoulder, and for a second he was disoriented. Then the dream disintegrated, and he was yanked back to reality.

“Are you all right?” Regan watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her hair tousled, her cheeks pink with the lingering glow of sleep.

The sight of her took his breath away. “Yeah,” was all he managed to squeeze out.

“What just happened, Marcus? You looked miles away.”

“Miles and years.” He couldn’t remember what it had felt like to dream, wondered if it was customary to react this way. Even now, the tightness in his chest persisted, as did an unsettling echo of pain and rage. “I’m not sure, but I think I just had a nightmare.”

Regan attempted to tame her wild riot of curls by raking her fingers through them. “Great. I make love to the guy, and he ends up suffering from night terrors.” She let her body collapse onto the bed again. “What’s worse is that, technically, our kind can’t even dream.”

He turned on his side to face her, his body propped on his bent arm. “I don’t understand it any more than you do. All I know is that it felt too damn real to be a dream.”

Indignation morphed to interest. “Wanna tell me about it?”

The sight of her lifeless eyes, the feel of her broken body lying limp in his arms, returned to pummel him. Probably his subconscious struggling to come to terms with everything that had transpired tonight. Or maybe it was simply the residual effects of the souls he’d allowed to pass through his system. “I can’t remember,” he lied.

She studied him for a few seconds, her unflinching gaze struggling to penetrate his defenses and delve into his guarded mind. Normally, he would’ve found her stare intrusive. Tonight he welcomed it, overwhelmed by giddy pleasure at the knowledge that she was alive.

He hooked his free arm around her neck, stroked her nape lovingly. Then he bent forward and kissed her throat, intoxicated by the glorious feel of her pulse throbbing against his lips. “Promise me something.” Remnants of the desperation he’d experienced in the dream still resonated within him. “Promise me you’ll never do anything reckless again.”

She hesitated, a shadow passing behind her eyes. Then she surprised him by smiling. “I can’t promise you that, but I can promise to let you in on the fun next time.”

It wasn’t what he’d hoped, but it would have to do. He spread her out beneath him, his mouth mating with hers, and the dream faded from his mind. All he cared about was feeling her warm body merge with his, letting her heat melt away the splinters of ice that had invaded his bloodstream, losing himself in the blissful cadence of her heartbeat.

Regan wrapped herself around him like a blanket, sheltering him, chasing away the loneliness. Completeness washed over him, and he was overcome by the insane urge to keep her folded in his embrace forever, where nothing could harm her.

He felt the shadows closing in even as dawn crept forward to slowly peel away the layers of night. He made love to her a second time, with a passion he didn’t believe himself capable of, with the same kind of urgency that had driven him in the dream. It made no sense, but something inside him was half convinced that if he marked her as his, no one would be able to rip her from his arms again.
 

Marcus didn’t know much, but he knew one thing: he’d be damned if he allowed fate to win. This time, when the storm came, he’d be ready for it.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Kyros heard about the fire on the news. The Rivershore Hospital had gone up in flames, taking everything he’d painstakingly built with it. His first reaction was disbelief, followed by numbness. There had to be some mistake. He’d made sure the hospital was well guarded, an impenetrable fortress. Dozens of his men stood stationed at all entrances, and several of them policed the perimeter.