Souljacker (2 page)

I grind my teeth against the Need. It’s like
a freaking drug.

I’ve always been able to do this—steal soul
from people, enough to energize me and keep me safe. Soul is the
stuff that keeps you alive. Energy. Life force. Everyone has it
and, like blood, it replenishes. If I only take a little bit, my
victims will never know that it’s missing. When they sleep, it
grows back.

It’s when I take too much, too soon…that’s
when I regret it. When I surge, it rips the life from their bodies
with one jerk—sure, they still have a spirit, but not enough juice
to keep their hearts pumping. I frown. My hands are full-on burning
now.

I glance up to the front of the class. Mr. W
has his nose buried in a tablet, turned away from this side of the
room. I slide my hand over and lick my lips, my fingertips
caressing Jale’s wrist. He doesn’t wake, just snorts softly in his
sleep.

I close my eyes and will the energy through
my fingers. It reacts like a wildfire, flaring up and bolting down
my arm, soaking me in heat. I bite my tongue to keep from gasping
out at the pleasure that spikes through me. The bitter taste of my
own blood fills my mouth. I let the feeling ripple through me.

Jale jerks awake suddenly. Warning bells
chime in my head and I pull away, closing my hand in a fist. He
blinks blearily up at me, his hair disheveled, and he’s almost
cute…for a snob.

“You dropped your pen,” I say, pointing to
where it rolled off onto the floor. He regards me for a moment,
shrugs, and flops back down on his desk, stylus forgotten.

I pull my hand to my chest, feeling the burn
ease away. My heart is racing—too close. Did I take too much? Did
he feel it? I nibble on my lip and settle back in my seat. Sync’s
too-large eyes watch, but she’s not judging me. She knows this is
how it has to be. She saw what I did to Sophia…

I shake my head at the memory of my once-best
friend. No. Sophia’s in the past and she’s the reason I don’t do
friends. Getting close to people just hurts too bad when you lose
them, especially when you’re the reason they’re gone. I slump in my
seat and lay my head on my desk, my hair spilling around me.

No one tells me to finish my assignment.
That’s just the way life works.

Chapter 2:

Iofiel

My earliest memories are of a woman in a
white lace gown, her hair dark and wild around her porcelain face.
But it was her eyes that drew me in—wide and ocean blue and filled
with so much warmth that I just cuddled in. She was the only one of
the Nursemaids who actually held me with care. The rest of them
were distant, frigid, holding the pups at arm’s length because we
were merely specimens.

I haven’t seen my Nursemaid since I was given
over to the Pack to raise. Leaving her behind tore into my heart,
leaving it a wound that the older males rubbed dirt into. Don’t get
me wrong, I love my Pack. They’re my family. But I quickly learned
to hide my wants and desires from them, especially from Lylan. Some
things should just be kept secret.

Like this.

I stare down at the shriveled corpse of the
Wraith I’d just killed, dust specks floating above it as it began
to decompose. I shudder and shake myself, as if I could get the
feel of its icy fingers off my skin, or get the rotten taste of it
out of my mouth. Garbage tastes better than Wraith.

Still, not a good thing. Just because Wraiths
are evil, they’re still Unseelie Projects. And we cyberhounds are
supposed to protect the Projects.

People don’t stop or even slow down. If
they’re driving in their fancy little hover cars, they just whiz
past. If they’re walking, they give me and Mr. Death a wide berth.
One look at my molded cybernetic leg and the eerie red glow of my
left eyeball and it has them running like scared little mice. I
huff and shake again. Let them fear us. Pack Rule #1: Don’t get
close to humans.

Which sucks hardcore eggs when you’re drawn
to the girl you just saved from being eaten by a Wraith.

I glance over my shoulder, taking in a
breath. Her scent still lingers, like blueberries and warm sugar,
and it makes my heart twist in my chest. There’s something about
girls—forbidden, beautiful girls—that makes me just melt inside. I
don’t know, that sounds sappy, especially coming from someone who’s
supposed to be a boss cyborg. But this girl…she’s different than
the others. She just feels different, like there’s something about
her I should know, that I should figure out.

Suddenly, there’s a creaking sound and the
Wraith contorts into a position that shouldn’t be possible. It
writhes for a moment, letting out a low hiss of air, and bends in
on itself. Then it poofs, leaving a pile of black dust particles
that the wind picks up and carries into the street.

I flick an ear and watch it, unmoved. Too
beautiful a death for such a creature, if you ask me. Not that
anyone’s ever valued my opinion much.

I start off across the street, following the
girl’s scent until I reach the cement slab steps of a large
building. I blink my left eye and the scanner zooms into focus,
sliding across the school, picking up heat signatures from the
populace of teenagers studying away inside. I turn, tracking back
to the alley I’d followed her through. Why didn’t she use a Portal
like everyone else? The streets were dangerous with the Wraiths
lurking, ready to pick off humans like spectral vultures…

But my queen requires harvested energy, so
the Wraiths continue to exist.

Technically I’m not on duty until tomorrow.
Just a hound dog, joyriding the streets on four paws instead of my
typically human two feet. With a soft chortle of canine laughter, I
slide across the cement on my belly, pressing up against a large
dumpster. I lay my muzzle on my paws and watch the traffic fly by
the mouth of the alley.

Secretly, I hope the girl comes back this way
on her way home, despite the Wraith scare.

I’m content to wait for her.

***

I hear the familiar click-scuff of boots
parading down the sidewalk, jerking me awake mid-snore. I scramble
to my paws, wavering there for a moment as I compose myself. If I
go bolting out there, I’ll scare her. Cyberhounds are the sentries
of the city. I’m not some oversized Labrador without a home wanting
a scratch behind the ears. She won’t see me as one. I drop my head,
watching her from the safety of the shadows as she passes my
alley.

She’s beautiful. Unique. Long legs clad in
tight pants and knee-high boots. I can’t help but notice the soft
curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts showing off a little
cleavage in the blue nylon corset top she’s wearing. Her hair pools
around her shoulders in black and blue curls, the rubber-coated
cybernetic extensions bobbing with each step she takes, making her
look like a futuristic Medusa. Despite the sassy appearance, she
looks…sad. Her lips are cast down in a frown.

I wonder what she’d look like smiling.

As she passes, I wait a few breaths, then
slink out after her. She stiffens and risks a glance behind her. So
I stop and wag my whipcord tail in greeting. I prick my ears and
let my tongue loll out of my mouth like a good, happy puppy. She
flicks her tongue over her lips and turns away, picking up speed. I
follow her.

This goes on for several blocks: Walk, stop,
tail wag; lather, rinse, and repeat. Finally she stops and spins on
me. Our eyes meet and lock, hers spitting defiance. She clenches
her bag to her stomach and stares at me. I tilt my head.

Oh, I’ve played the part of the happy stray
before. I know the moves to melt girls’ hearts. I want her to run
her fingers through my fur, want to feel the electric tingle where
our skin touches. That first connection is what makes or breaks it
for me, what makes me decide whether or not to pursue her as a
human. Maybe that makes me selfish, to keep secret girlfriends,
human girls who could easily be endangered if Lylan ever found out.
But I can’t help it.

But usually by now, the girl’s dropped to her
knees and is clucking me over to her, hands outstretched with a
tasty morsel.

Not this chick. She stands, splay-legged,
arms crossed over her cleavage as she regards me. “Go away.” Her
voice is husky, like she’s been screaming or crying or both. Her
fingers twitch. I inch closer. She narrows her eyes. “Go the hell
away, you Unseelie freak—” She stops then, stricken.

I take two more steps and add in another tail
wag for good measure. She’s close enough that her scent envelops me
in a cocoon of heaven. I plop my rump down in front of her, tail
swishing up dirt like a street sweeper. The girl presses her eyes
shut and drops one shoulder. “Freak-dog,” she says, softer. “Join
the club, I guess.”

I take that moment to scoot the rest of the
way to her, bumping my nose up against her waist. She’s so small up
close, petite and feminine. She drops her arms, her long fingers
touching my muzzle. She runs them down my face, burying them in the
ruff of black fur around my neck, sending sparks down my spine.

She cups my head in her hands and our eyes
meet and I’m almost knocked backwards with my want for her. It
grips my heart in a painful vice, throbbing and burning and aching,
and I
want
her, not just for a couple of days, but
forever—her body, her kisses, her affection. I want to wake up in
bed with her. I want to kiss those sad lips and I want to—

No.

I jerk out of her touch and it startles her.
She stiffens, what little bond we just formed broken. She doesn’t
say anything, just worries her bottom lip between her teeth. I drop
my head, butting against her hip once before lumbering away.

I can’t have her, not now, not ever. I’m a
foolish, stubborn boy. This is the reason Lylan’s outlawed love
from the Pack. Love only gets in the way of duty and want is just a
stepping stone to falling for someone.

But damn if it doesn’t hurt.

I duck down an alley to watch her. She
bunches her shoulders up, sliding her bag off her arm. She unzips
the flap and a little round robot hovers at about shoulder height,
its antennae casting a glow across the brick wall. They walk in
silence for a few minutes and then, just as they pass my alley, I
hear a soft Brit voice: “So where are you headed tonight,
Luce?”

My heart flutters.

Luce. Her name is Luce… Short for Lucy?

And Lucy—the girl I want so bad it
hurts—says: “Cosmo.”

I know where I’m going tonight.

Chapter 3:

Lucy

Since when are cyberhounds friendly? I wrap
both arms around myself, chilled despite the fact that the air is
still warm from the lingering sun, and trudge down the street. I
can still see the hound’s eyes—one a dimly glowing red and the
other almost human in its expression.

Sync floats along behind me, babbling about
how I should go home or at least check in with my foster family
before heading to Cosmo. I ignore her. She’s like a wanna-be
shoulder angel, trying to get me to do the right thing all the
time. Sometimes it comes in handy, just not right now when my mind
is swirling with thoughts.

I lift my hand to my face, breathing in the
musky scent of the hound’s fur. Sync looks at me pointedly and I
quickly itch my nose, as if that’s what I was doing the entire
time.

“I’m just going for a little bit. Elysium’s
playing tonight. They won’t even miss me,” I say, which makes her
pause for a moment, eyeplate flashing. She bobs once in a nod and I
grin at her. I knew she’d see it my way.

Elysium is only the hottest up-and-coming
rock band of the century and Sync likes them just as much as I do.
Well, maybe a bit more. Despite being a robot, she seems to have a
crush on the Illuvian singer, MaXXX Starfell.

Dusk eats away at the pink and violet sky,
like someone’s spilled a can of midnight blue paint at the edges
and it’s blotting out the light. Stars speckle the canvas, tiny
pinpricks that will only get brighter as the night draws on. I stop
outside of the tiny, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. The sign for
Cosmo is bright—you could probably see it ten miles away. I shuffle
to the back of the line, my hands stuffed in the pockets of my
jeans.

One by one, people go in through the door.
There’s a flash of light that illuminates the street from the tiny
window and my stomach churns. I freaking
hate
Portals. They
make me feel wild, untamed, and not in a good way. It messes with
the soul resting dormant inside of me, I think.

But Portals are the only way of getting into
Cosmo: The place might look like an ordinary coffee shop, but Cosmo
outgrew this building—and Rogan City—long ago. The real Cosmo is
floating in the heavens, a massive space ship.

The girl in front of me shoulders through the
door, making me next in line. The skinny bouncer at the door merely
jerks his head in a nod for me to go through once the flash goes
off. I take a deep breath in and shove the door inwards.

The shop is small and dusty, the coffee
counter abandoned and the walls bare. I walk to the center of the
room, where a metal archway stands. The Portal inside is shimmery
yet somehow solid, like glitter on a plate of glass. I press my
hand against it, finding it cool. A light above the Portal blinks
red, then a solid green, glowing bright. I bite my lip as the
barrier disappears and I careen into the swirling mass of
energy.

The world spins, a prismatic rainbow of
colors surrounding me, soaking into my flesh. My hair floats around
my face, anti-grav style, as I slide through. I hate this feeling,
like my stomach’s been flipped upside down and inside out,
clenching with nerves. The Need drives through me suddenly, making
my hands burn. I clench them and swallow back the feeling.

I can control myself—I
will
control
myself. I will
not
surge. I press my eyes shut just as my
feet touch the ground. I see a flash from behind the veil of my
eyelids and the bitter aroma of coffee pierces my nose.