Soulless (The Heartless Series Book 2) (2 page)

According to Seth Mitchell, I’m the most powerful thing ever created next to God, and I’m sitting here in my bedroom crying because I feel powerless.

I get the irony. The irony won’t let me stop.

“Shhhhh,” Hart whispers in my ear, running his calloused hands over my hair.

I shouldn’t enjoy it or feel comforted by it. I don’t want to. That’s a lie. I do want to. I want to forget everything that’s happened in the last day, the last week, the last month. I want to forget it all.

Why can’t I just be normal?

I have to laugh through the tears. That ship has so sailed. There is no wondering or wishing to be normal now. In fact, there is no normal. Not when it comes to me. I am what I am—as the old saying goes—and that’s all that I am.

“I’m an abomination, right? I’m a monster.”

“No,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re not. Not completely. You haven’t done the last thing to turn. And I won’t let you.”

“What’s the last thing?” Does he even know? Do I want to know? If I can stop it… yeah, maybe. If I can’t… I’m just living on borrowed time. I can’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.

Despite everything in me, despite everything I know and everything I’ve been through, I want Hart to say something to make it better. I want him to tell me that everything is going to be all right. I want him to tell me something.

He doesn’t answer.

I don’t know how long I held on to him. When I finally feel like I can sit back without falling apart or passing out, I back away. He lets me, but he doesn’t take his hands off me. They’re still covering my back—Sam has big hands—just in case I fall backwards again I presume. I appreciate it.

For the first time, I notice my room. Everything is exactly how I remember leaving it. My stuffed animal, Fluffy, which Sam had given me on our second date, still sits on my shelf. Front and center. It was the first thing any guy had ever won for me. I loved that thing.

Now, I’m not too sure how to feel about it.

My purple curtains are pulled, but I can see that it’s dark outside. Must be nighttime.

“How long…” I cough, sending my stomach into I-hate-you territory. I double over, and Sam/Hart catches me.

“Stop trying to get up. You aren’t fully healed yet. It’ll take some time.”

I lean back and try to think of the best thing to say to Hart next, the next thing to ask him. There are so many things I need to ask swirling in my mind that I can’t ask anything. That’s when I see the empty bottles around the bed. Red liquid stains the inside of them.

“Blood,” I say, my mind hates the idea of it, but my mouth waters. “You’ve been feeding me blood.”

“My blood.” He answers much too quickly. “Mine. And yeah, to get you better. You’ll die if you don’t get it. You are at that weird limbo stage between human and—”

“Thing that can kill the world.”

“I wasn’t going to say it like that.” He sighs. “Look, I didn’t exactly know what to do with you, but I knew I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t do that. So I brought you home, and I gave you my blood because you needed it.”

“How did you know I needed it?” It’s a simple question. A nice, simple question that should be nice and simple to answer except Sam/Hart doesn’t seem to like nice and simple.

“Anybody can see you needed it.” He seems nervous and gets up from the bed. Sam/Hart does something I never, ever thought he’d do… he starts cleaning. I watch as he picks up every plastic water bottle (and there are no fewer than ten) scattered around the floor. By the way the bottles are stained red, I know that it wasn’t water in them.

It doesn’t make any sense. “Why the bottles? Why didn’t you, you know, just…” I motion to my wrist and try to do a cutting motion that I don’t think looks like a cutting motion. More like a really weird, totally inauthentic gang symbol.

He looks away. Literally looks away, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. “Sam… Hart… What do I call you anyway?”

He still doesn’t look at me, and it irritates me. I feel the anger rise up inside me, anger that I’m not used to feeling. It’s more intense than I think I’ve ever felt—raw, powerful. Even more powerful than when Bethany picked on me in sixth grade. I was angry then. In fact, I’d came home and punched a wall. Aunt Willow had found me, given me some red Kool-Aid, and everything was better.

Only… that wasn’t Aunt Willow, was it?

And that really wasn’t red Kool-Aid. Good Lord, how long have I been drinking demon blood? Just thinking that sentence makes me cringe. Who in the world thinks things like that? Oh yeah. Me. I’m the kind of person who thinks things like that.

I hate being me.

Sam/Hart still hasn’t answered. It’s irritating me. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, beating. Beating. Faster. Faster. It’s driving me insane. Not to mention the red that is falling over my eyes. It’s filling my vision like a tunnel, and I can’t stop it. The scary part is I don’t want to stop it.

I could, I know I could, reach over and break Sam/Hart’s neck. I could take my fingernails and dig into the flesh of his neck and get the blood I need. The fact that I know this deep inside scares the hell out of me, and instead of waiting for him to answer, I jump off the other side of the bed. Not a great idea. Woozy from being stabbed—and, I’m assuming, my loss of blood—I nearly collapse. The only thing keeping me upright is the desk next to me and my hands holding on for dear life.

For an abomination, I sure do suck at this super powerful, almighty, big bad stuff. I’m going to be done in by a bed.

“Have the cops been back?” Hart might have forgotten about them, but I haven’t. The cops wanted to question me about those girls that died. Those girls I killed in my dreams, even though I didn’t know I did it.

Doesn’t matter.

They are dead because of me.

I did that.

Their blood is on my hands, and I don’t know how to get it off.

I don’t know if I can get it off.

Hart tilts his head slightly. “The cops? You mean because of the girls?”

Like he had to ask.

“No, Gracen. They haven’t been back. Seems they’ve forgotten about you. Hell, maybe even the girls. Bigger fish and all that.”

Yeah… bigger fish.

“You okay?” He glances in my direction, but only for the briefest of seconds before he returns to the task of cleaning up the bottles. Jerk. Big, ginormous jerk.

“What am I supposed to call you?” I say. Because if I answer his question about being okay, it will more than likely result in a curse-laden tirade. Nobody needs that.

The tunneling of my vision begins to ease, and I notice if I concentrate hard enough, I don’t, in fact, want to kill the man who has two names. Good to know.

He stands up, and I notice how he takes a deep breath and lets it out very slowly. I wish I could get into his mind like he could get into mine. If he still can. At the Hell gate, I’d drunk too much demon blood for him to be able to get in my noggin. I suppose we’ll have to figure that all out later. When he finally turns to face me, his cocky grin has returned, and I can see the twinkle of the Hart I know and love in Sam’s eyes.

“You can call me whatever you want to call me.” He winks playfully.

Instead of the red coming back, I shake my head. I don’t even want to deal with him anymore. If I had my choice, sleep would be it. Sleep from now ‘til forever.

I don’t think that will work. “Fine. Asshole.”

He glares at me. “Accurate, but I don’t think it’ll look good on the Christmas cards. Mr. and Mrs. Asshole.”

How can one person be so annoying? Hey, at least he isn’t eating my brain. Small favors. You take what you can get in this life. “There will be no Christmas cards.”

“But we live together,” he says in his most offended tone. He even places his hand over his heart like I’ve insulted a Southern woman without saying the words “Bless her heart” first. The greatest sin of all around these parts.

“No.”

“We do. See?” He throws the bag on the ground and stands in the open doorway as he points down the hall. “My room. Right there.”

“Sam’s room.” I counter.

“I am Sam.” He smirks. “Sam I am.”

If I don’t sit down soon, I’m going to pass out again, and wouldn’t that be something for the most powerful creature in the universe to do?

His jovial mood fades, and he stares at me with that concerned look again. It worries me, truth be told. I must look like hell for a demon to look at me like he wants to run me straight to the emergency room. “You need to lie back down.”

“You think?” I hope he hears every bit of sarcasm in my voice.

“I do, as a matter of fact. Let me help you.”

He comes toward me, and honestly, I can’t stand the thought of needing his help. Oh, I want it. I want it very much, but I can’t take it. I just can’t. Not after everything that’s happened between us. Not after having to see Hart in Sam’s body—as weird as that is to think about. I just… I can’t do it.

“I can do it myself.” I sound tired. I am tired. It’s like I want it to be over, but I know it won’t be. My life, as I knew it before, is gone. I thought I had it bad then? I had no idea. If I could go back, even to last week, I’d be happy. I’m not sure how to even go on from here.

It’s not like there’s any sort of support group for things like this. “Hi, my name is Gracen Sullivan, and I’m a monster.”

“Oh come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that. I’ve taken care of you. I brought you home. Now that you are conscious doesn’t mean you have to get all weirded out about me.” He comes closer.

I’m trapped. It’s not like I can go backwards. There’s a wall there. And I can’t jump over the bed because I don’t think my body is in the jumping mood. It sort of hates me at the moment. I wonder, though, if I’m part angel, can’t I just heal myself? Can angels do that? Or is that something they only did on television and movies?

Wish I knew other angels. All I know is a demon. And I know Lucien, but he’s gone. Fallen into the pit. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to get out.

“Don’t be like this, Gracen. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

“You hurt me all the time.”

“Never in real life. Only in your dreams.” He counters, his big brown eyes shining. “I’ve taken care of you since I brought you home. Don’t ruin all of my hard work by hurting yourself before you have time to heal.”

It makes sense. I hate it, but it does. I don’t say he can do it, however, and I don’t tell him he can’t. He walks over to me and helps me sit back down. His fingers are warm as he takes my ankles and slides them onto the bed. For the first time, I notice I don’t have on any pants. I’m in the old white gown I haven’t worn in ages. I’m more of a sleep-in-whatever-shirt-I-have-on type of girl. In fact, the gown I have on is the only one I have. It reminds me of one of those old timey gowns. Long, down almost to my ankles, with sort of lacy cap sleeves. I don’t even know why I bought it… actually, I didn’t. My Aunt Willow did for Christmas one year.

Hart.

“My gown?”

When my eyes meet his, Sam/Hart just shrugs. “I like it. I liked it then. I like it now. Sue me.”

That little… No. I won’t get mad. I don’t have the energy to get mad, but when I do, the first thing I’m going to do is do whatever an abomination does to Hart. He deserves it.

“You do realize how creepy this is, right? You’ve known me since I was a baby.”

“I’m aware.” He answers simply as he pulls the covers up to my chin, above and beyond where they need to go.

I wiggle them back down so they aren’t suffocating me. All the while he has a smile plastered on his face. I always did like that smile… on Sam. On Sam I liked it. Not on Hart. Not… Oh, good Lord, I can’t separate them anymore.

“I’m calling you Hart,” I say simply.

To that, he raises a brow and has the nerve to sit beside me on the bed. Thankfully, he doesn’t touch me. He’s close enough so he can. But he doesn’t. This demon does seem to have a good side.

“Yeah, I figured you might. Though, I have to admit, I liked being Sam.”

“Why?” I scoff. “Because you got to lie? You got to play me and pretend to love me.”

“It wasn’t—” He stops himself very quickly and bites his lip. “It wasn’t that. I liked being him because he was human. You have no idea how hard it is to keep your humanity when you’re a demon. That’s why they torture you in Hell, you know? How they break you. They get someone you know, someone you love, who didn’t make it to the Pearly Gates and they turn them loose. They don’t remember you, not really. If they do, they don’t remember they love you. They only know they are supposed to hurt you and break you and take your humanity. So that’s what they do.”

His eyes are distant, and I don’t really think he knows he’s telling me so much. Maybe he’s wanted to all these years, and he’s never had a chance. I guess everybody or everything has to talk at one time or another.

“That’s what she did.”

“Who?”

Hart settles back against my headboard and closes his eyes. He folds his arms over his chest and sighs. “It doesn’t matter. I had a plan, and I stuck with it. Honestly, everything she did to me, it made the fire burn hotter inside me. Gave me more of a drive to hunt my brother down and kill him. I pretended to lose my humanity so I could be turned into a demon and hurry back to Earth.”

“And now he’s in Hell.” I say the least helpful and possibly most hurtful thing I could have said. “I don’t mean… I mean… I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right. He’s in Hell. Being tortured in ways I could never imagine. Even worse than me. An angel in Hell, Gracen. He won’t have it easy.”

“Do you think they’ll turn him into a demon, too.” I have no idea how all this Heaven and Hell and angels and demons things work.

“Don’t know either. It won’t be pretty whatever they do to him.” Hart sighs. He doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t even flinch. “That’s why we have to get him back.”

“Get him back…” I can’t finish my thought because Hart has already gotten up from the bed and is pacing toward the door.

“Cliffs Notes version of what’s been going on, Gracen. The world went to Hell three days ago. I’ve been giving you demon blood since then to help you cure yourself.”

I stop him right there. “But all those bottles. That was way too much blood. Even for you. You couldn’t have…”