Soulless (The Heartless Series Book 2) (6 page)

And it’s inside me.

Tears sting my eyes as I rock on my knees. What happened to me, I can’t explain. I smelled the blood, I got angry, and I snapped. Simple.

Hart.

I peered over the side of my bed to find Hart slumped on my floor. His lips are blue. His eyes are half open, unseeing.

Oh no!

No.

No!

The covers get tangled around my legs as I fight them off to get to him. I tell myself that I don’t care if I’ve killed Hart. He deserved to die, but that’s a lie. If he’s dead, that means I’m a murderer. That I’ve knowingly killed someone. I’ve hurt people in the past, all those girls… but I’ve never done it knowingly.

I had wanted Hart dead.

I made that happen.

With my mind.

I can’t live with that.

CHAPTER SIX

T
HE BLANKETS COVERING MY LEGS WIN,
and I fall to the floor with a thump next to Hart. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t breathed, hasn’t gasped for breath, or even tried to do anything to let me know he’s alive.

“Hart!” I shake his shoulders, trying my best to wake him up. No… no, this can’t be happening. I need him! I don’t want to need him, but it doesn’t matter. I do. He’s the only person who can understand what the hell is happening to me and the world. He’s the only person who I can talk to and don’t have to worry about what I’ve said. He understands. He’s part of it.

He’s part of me.

“Hart!” I slam my fist so hard against his chest that a wave echoes up through my arm and down my body. It’s nothing, I tell myself. Just a side effect of hitting him too hard. Just like when you hit your funny bone.

Hart groans and sucks in a deep breath. His head lolls to the side, and his eyes roll around like he’s trying to focus on something. Finally, he finds me. “Hey.” He smiles and takes my hand, holding it tightly. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?”

He either is a very good liar, or he doesn’t remember. I don’t know which one is worse. If he doesn’t remember, then I’ll have to tell him, and I don’t really want to do that. How can I explain that the best feeling I’d ever felt in my life nearly killed him? And if he’s faking, and I slightly hope he is, how am I supposed to react. Smacking him would be nice but inappropriate. They need guidebooks to deal with these sorts of life situations. Maybe I’ll be the one to write it:
An Abomination’s Guide to Good Looking Demon Dudes and How Not to Destroy the World.

It’ll be a best seller.

“You don’t remember?” Please let him say yes. Please let him say no. Please let this all be a dream and nothing bad is happening and I’m really in my bed asleep or drooling in class or something like that instead of here…

His brows cinch together, and he shakes his head no.

Great.

“Must have been a hell of a thing.” He motions around the room, and I see it. It’s a mess. Papers have flown everywhere. They are now lying on my floor and the bed and everywhere else a paper could land, like New York City on New Year’s Eve. My little lamp has fallen off the table onto the floor, though the light is still shining strong. Hart looks so pale.

“It was.” I admit, my body trembling. I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m not strong enough, and honestly, I don’t know if I can hold the evil in me away. I can’t be here, not to hurt anyone. I can’t take that risk, but I don’t know what to do about it.

I don’t know if I can leave.

If I can do what I should probably do and—

The thought I’ve had so many times today hurts my stomach, and I need to just make it stop.

As if reading my mind, something he said his demon powers don’t let him do anymore, Hart squeezes my hand firmly and runs his fingers over my knuckles. It’s nice, comforting, scary as hell, but nice. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. I can see it in your eyes, Gracen. You are wanting to do something bad and I have to say, that’ll make things even worse.”

“How can things get any worse?” I scoff, but don’t try to move my hands away from his. Not two minutes ago, I tried to kill him. I wanted to kill him. I hated him that much. Now I’m holding on with everything I have. It’s like I’m two people. Gracen and this soulless thing. I’m not sure I want to be either one, but if I had my druthers…

“Things can always get worse.” His voice is deep and gritty. His eyes are locked with mine. The redness of his neck is fading and it seems, from the outside, that I haven’t done any permanent damage.

I should tell him what I did, what I almost did, what I wanted to do to him. It would be the nice responsible thing to do. I can’t, though. I just can’t.

“Do you know what’s going on? With me? With the world?” If I have my choice, I’ll ignore everything that’s going on. I’m good at that, but seeing as I’m a huge part of it, I figure I should suck it up, be a big abomination, and know.

“No,” he says much too quickly. “All I know is that I’m on the floor, and you look all worried and Florence Nightingale about me. It’s kinda sexy.”

“Hart.” I growl. I don’t have time for this. The world is ending, and he’s flirting. Can’t say I hate being sexy, though. He’s never exactly called me that. Not even when he was Sam. Not that I feel particularly sexy at the moment. I feel like death warmed over… worse, actually. I feel like death’s three-day-old, leftover Thanksgiving meal. The part with just the dark meat left. Dark meat and the last bit of sweet potatoes—not even the marshmallows.

“Gracen.” He glares.

“Tell me what you know. Stop being such a vague idiot about it.”

“Idiot? Me? You’re the one who nearly killed me.” Once he’s said the words, I can tell he instantly wants to take them back. So much for being a big, bad, smart demon, right?

“So you do remember what I did?” My heart beats so loud I can hear it in my chest. I realize in that moment how much I’d rather he not know what I’m capable of. Who knows if I can do more? If that was me on not full power, when I fully turn…

I’m going to be sick.

Hart bites his lip and sighs. “Yeah. I remember, okay? I remember the black eyes, then the red eyes, then the shiny blue and white eyes, and being thrown against the wall—and not in the sexy way…”

“And how much I seemed to like it?” I can’t look at him. Not in the eyes. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, ashamed of what I am. No, I can’t control it, and I didn’t choose for my father to be a dick-head angel. I’m sure not all angels are like him, but my father seems to be one heck of a jerk. I didn’t choose to be this thing that will kill everything. I guess I can choose what I do with it, though. I can choose how I handle my newfangled powers.

“Look at me.” Hart’s voice is soft and tender, much too tender to talk to the woman who nearly killed him. Then again, he’s killed me in my dreams numerous times.

Stop that! I order myself. I can’t keep thinking of Hart like that. The guy who tormented me, who drove my Aunt Willow crazy, who I hated for years. I can’t… because truthfully, and as much as I hate it, he’s all I have now. All I have, and no matter what I feel about him, I have to change it. I can’t keep hating him, or I’m afraid I’ll hurt him again. Or worse. My conscious can’t have that on it. So, from now on, Hart will be Hart. The past will be in the past, and we’ll move on. Because it’s all we can do. There’s no turning back now.

After all, if I truly am what Seth says I am—and it’s looking pretty good for that to be true—then there’s even more evil in me than Hart. Hart fought for years to keep his humanity. Maybe he can help me keep mine.

When the demon is the lesser of the two evils…

“Gracen, look at me.”

He doesn’t place his fingers under my chin like he did the last time. I sort of miss it. Instead he lets me meet his gaze on my own. I’m grateful for it. After everything, I’m not sure I can handle anything touching my face, comforting me. I don’t deserve it.

“I can see it in your eyes. You hate yourself.”

Hearing it out loud makes me want to fall apart. What good would that do?

“I don’t hate myself.” I lie. I don’t care if he believes me.

“Right, and you call me the liar.” He’s trying to make me feel better. He’s not really succeeding. “Look, Gracen, yeah, okay. I remember what you did, but I know there’s a reason why you did it. And I wasn’t going to show you this now, because I figured you needed to rest some more, but I don’t see you resting so I might as well show you.”

“Show me what?” A dangerous question to ask Hart. It could be the gates of Hell or his male member. With him, you never knew if you got the demon or the man… or the boy.

He smirks, and I can tell he really wants to tease me, but even he can see this isn’t a teasing situation. “Help me up.” I automatically do, and he’s halfway up when he yells for me to stop. “You’ll hurt yourself! Your stomach.” His voice trails off, and I think he realizes something is different about the same time I do.

The pain is gone. All the pain in my stomach, the pain in my head, all of it. I feel, good. Not whole but good. No aches. No pains. Good.

I help him stand upright and try not to do the thing my mom always does and check for bruises. He’s a past grown man, and if he has any owies, he can fix them himself. As for me, I put my hand on my stomach over the gauze that had been placed to cover my stiches.

“You stitched me up.” It isn’t a question. Who else would have been here?

“Learned it in the war.” He shrugs. “Came in handy I guess.”

“I guess.” But I’m not thinking about the stitches anymore. I’m concerned about what’s under it. I raise my shirt and gently pull off the gauze, flinching as it pulls off some sensitive hairs.

I stop.

I stare.

There isn’t even a scar.

My skin is perfect, well, as perfect as it had been before. The stitches aren’t even there anymore. It’s smooth. Healed.

I’ve been healed.

Hart’s eyes meet mine, and I think we have the same thought. He takes my hand, leading me down the hallway and to the stairs.

He knows what’s down there.

I have no idea.

I try to prepare myself.

It doesn’t work.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
WISH
I
COULD SAY THE
bodies surprise me.

Truth be told, they don’t.

I know what Hart’s been doing.

How he’s been getting the blood.

Knowing and seeing are two totally different things. The bodies were everywhere. Scattered around the living room like a horror movie or a scene from a Halloween haunted house.

“They’re dead,” I say, to no one really. It’s surreal to see all of them. Lying there. Motionless. The weird thing is there isn’t much blood spilled. Hart must have made use of every drop.

Fifteen bodies, I’m assuming without counting. If I count, I’ll have to look at them. I don’t want to look at them. I don’t want to see them. I don’t…

Fifteen.

Fifteen.

“They were demons, Gracen.” Hart keeps my hand in his. He’s standing next to me, looking out over the thing he did. The thing he created. “It’s not like I killed a whole nursery full of babies at the hospital.”

I cringe because I might be capable of something like that. If I don’t watch myself, God knows what I can do, and that scares me more than I can put into words. I don’t want to become a monster. Looking at my living room, I already am one.

“Their bodies.” I can’t move. All I can do is stare.

“They’re just bodies. The souls inside are gone. Gone to a better place.”

I’m fairly sure he’s being sarcastic.

“Not all of them have bodies like Sam’s. Chances are they took over real people with real lives.”

“Not sure Sam would appreciate you saying he didn’t have a life.” He’s trying to make light of this. There isn’t anything light about it.

“They’re dead.”

Hart groans and lets my hand go. Even among all the death in this room, I still miss when he lets my hand go. It’s not healthy how I’m feeling right now. I know it’s not, but it’s all I have. It’s all I will have until all of this is over.

I have to believe it will be over soon.

“They were demons. Demons who would have gone out and killed other people or possessed them or done something weird if I hadn’t grabbed them and brought them here to keep you alive. A little gratitude would be nice.” He actually sounds a bit pissed at me.

“Sorry, it’s not every day a man kills for me.”

“Apology accepted.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

He glares as he kneels next to one of the bodies. “I know.”

Jerk.

Wait… I know that person, that body, lying on the floor. I know him! He’s in Professor Mitchell’s class. “Gabriel?”

Hart pats the body’s shoulder and stands. “Poor kid. Possessed by two different demons in a week. It has to do a number on the ole melon.”

“But…” What is there to say? What words could I possibly say to make any of this okay? What words can Hart say?

“But nothing, Gracen.” His tone has changed, as has his disposition. He’s not happy go lucky or jovial or even compassionate. He’s very, deadly serious. “They had to die, don’t you understand that? You needed blood. Demon blood. And I sure as hell didn’t have enough to give you. Think about it. You were hurt; you were healing! You drained fifteen bodies in three days!”

“I did this,” I barely whisper.

Hart rakes his hands through his hair. “It’s like talking to a child.” He mumbles under his breath. “No, you didn’t kill them. I did. I killed them. I drained them. I gave you their blood so
you
wouldn’t die.”

“You should have let me.” I’m mad, voice-shaking mad, and I hate it. I can feel the anger filling me, and I know that no matter what, I have to keep the thing inside me on a leash. I don’t know what it’ll do.

“No.”

“Yes, Hart! You should have let me die.”

“You can’t die!” he yells back. His eyes are wide, and his chest is rising and falling rapidly.

I can’t tell if he looks like a man who has lost everything or a man who is scared to death. Maybe both.

“Then why feed me the blood?”

Hart’s shoulders slump, and he tosses the knife down on the table next to Gabriel. Poor Gabriel. Poor Gabriel’s family. I hate it all.