The Soul's Mark: CHANGED (13 page)

“Do you want me to say the spell with you or just try to stabilize the power?” he asked against her skin, as his lips trailed up her arm.  Amelia forgot how amazing this felt.  The tingling of her skin, the way the bond connected them.  It was as if they were one, his emotions pushing into her and hers into him in a delirious whirlwind of heat mixed with raw passion.

“Just make sure I don’t blow anything up,” she breathed, lost in the sensation of his touch.  She shook her head, trying to clear it, and cleared her throat.  “I should get …”

“No,” Mitchell said firmly, plucking the thought from her head, and cutting her off.  “If something goes wrong, I don’t want the others to get hurt.”

Amelia reluctantly nodded.  He was probably right.  She really didn’t know if she’d be able to control the energy.  It wasn’t that the spell was all that complicated, it was just that Mitchell was really, really sick.  The amount of power that she’d have to use, well, it was more than she’d ever dreamed of using before.

Mitchell made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, his hands tightly gripping the armrests.  He kept his eyes locked on her, and tried to keep the playful smile on his lips, but
Amelia noticed the corners of his mouth tighten and thin a little.

Amelia pulled herself out of the chair, and
padded over to him.  She rested a hand on his; the contact would help her channel the magic, and he nodded, a silent indication that he was ready.  With a deep, calming breath, she closed her eyes.  Her energy heated, pooling in her stomach and snaking through her veins.  She squeezed his hand tighter as she pushed it towards him, coating him in the power.

It trickled from her with steady drops of energy.  She could feel it warming him through the bond and she focused on it, forcing it out of her in a steady stream.
  When she was certain that she was in complete control of the power, she let the spell surface in her mind, focusing not just on the words, but also on her intended outcome. 
Heal him,
she thought. 
Regenerate his body and erase the sickness.
  Amelia pictured his illness as a rotting apple riddled with mushy brown spots, and in her mind’s eyes, she imagined herself erasing them, one spot at a time. 
Heal him.  Heal him.  Heal him,
she silently chanted, letting her words mingle with the power that flowed freely from her to him.

Mitchell grunted, his hand stiffening within hers, and suddenly the magic ripped from Amelia, pouring into him like a flood.

Amelia screamed.  Her knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor.  Her bones felt like they were snapping, and blinding pain shot through every inch of her body.  She wrenched her hand away from Mitchell, but the magic kept flowing, tearing from her body, and saturating him.

His mouth was open in a silent scream and his eyes
wide and round as quarters.  His body convulsed, he blinked, and then she watched in horror as his eyes rolled back into his head.

****

Something cold slithered through Amelia.  Something that felt a lot like fear.  It slid through her veins and prickled along her skin.

Mitchell wasn’t moving.  His eyes didn’t flutter.  His chest stayed level, not rising and falling as it should.  If it wasn’t for the soft buzz in his brain, she would have been certain he was dead.

Luke stood over him, his hazel eyes full of questions.  He ran a hand across Mitchell’s forehead and his nostrils flared as he sucked in breath after breath.

She could hear the rest of her family outside the door whispering to each other.  Their voices rising and falling, but nothing that was said made any sense to her scattered brain.

“Amelia,” called Luke, shaking her lightly.  She looked up at him and then down to his hand that rested on her shoulder.  He was looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for an answer.

“Yes?” she inquired, her voice barely a whisper.

“What did you do?”  Luke was smiling, a big, bright smile that Amelia couldn’t understand.  She glanced down at Mitchell’s cloudy white face, slumped to the side at an uncomfortable looking angle.

“I … I …” her voice hitched on a prickly lump, and her eyes stung with tears.  She swallowed hard, and blinked fast.  “Tried to heal the infection.”

Luke picked her up, his arms encircling her waist, and spun her around.  She squealed a startled sound, and gasped as Luke set her back on her feet.  “Amelia, breathe,” he said with excitement.  It was the oddest thing she’d ever seen.  Luke never got excited, always wearing the same calm and calculated mask.  He grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards Mitchell and placed her hand on his neck, trailing it along his cheek and forehead.  “The fever’s gone, Millie.”

“But he … he looks dead,” she screeched.  She didn’t understand how Luke could be so happy.  Mitchell didn’t even look like he was breathing.  He had to be, she knew that
; she could hear the steady thump of his heart beating, but he looked …

Amelia fell to her knees, burying her face into Mitchell’s lap.  She felt as if her very essence had been torn from her, leaving her utterly empty.  “Wake up, Mitch,” she cried, clasping onto his leg.  “Dammit!  Wake up.”

Angelle
was restless.  She couldn’t stand still.  Her brain wouldn’t turn off and her fangs kept snapping down.  She was going crazy trapped in this house, watching Mitchell sleep like the dead.  She’d left him and the rest of her family an hour ago, retreating to her room.  She didn’t want them to see her struggling, because that would lead to questions.  Questions that she did not have answers to.

Tyler hadn’t called yet, and he wouldn’t answer her calls either.  He’d only been gone a day now, but with each second that ticked by, anot
her thread of self-restraint snapped within her.

The sun
was just starting to peek through the curtains, casting ribbons of light onto the buttery yellow walls of her room.  Angelle watched the golden threads of sunlight dance around the room as the curtains fluttered in the soft summer breeze.

She needed to do something, but she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.  She could feel each nerve in her body, twitching and twisting, and she wished she understood why.

“You okay?” Megan asked from the doorway, drawing Angelle’s attention.  Megan’s scarlet curls hung over her shoulders, framing her freckled face, and her leafy-green eyes shone with concern.  Her tan capris and mocha tank top were lined with deep folds and fine wrinkles, and the dark smudges under her eyes showed that she, too, had had a sleepless night.  But then, Angelle was certain that not a single one of them had slept, not when Mitchell …

Angelle really didn’t know how to answer the question and right then she wished it
was Amelia standing in the doorway and not her look-a-like cousin.  Amelia wouldn’t have had to ask that question.  She would have known what was bothering Angelle, and she would have said something ridiculously naive that she would’ve meant as encouraging.  But, of course, Amelia wouldn’t have come, not with Mitchell lying unconscious.  Most likely, she hadn’t even noticed that Angelle had left.

“So, Eric finally let you go,” Angelle said, after a moment, not really ready to talk about Tyler, and noticing the red fingerprints
encircling Megan’s wrist.

“Eric is being a dumbass,” Megan said with a groan.  “Seriously, are all men this stupid?”

Angelle laughed.  It wasn’t the bubbly laugh she was used to, but it felt good nonetheless.  “When it comes to their soulmates, yep, they are.  What’s going on with you guys?  You never fight.  Honestly, I didn’t think you guys would find anything to trigger the pain.”

Megan leaned against the doorframe, hugging her arms across her chest.  Her expression was like stone, hard and detached.  “I don’t want to change.  He wants me to.”

“You don’t?” she asked, her eyebrows rising.  “Why not?”

Megan didn’t look like she was going to answer.  She just stared at the wall with blank eyes.  Angelle figured that was her cue to say something awesomely chipper, but she couldn’t think of anything.

After a moment, Megan blinked, as if she just realized that she hadn’t answered the question.  She said, “Simple.  Just look at Millie.  She’s been a flaming ball of fire since she changed.  I don’t want that.  The whole witch-vampire combo clearly doesn’t work.”

“I think it’s more like the witch-vampire-Millie-Mitch combo that’s not working.”  Was that encouraging?  Angelle didn’t know, but she hoped it might relieve some of Megan’s anxiety.  ‘Cause, really, one stress
ed-out Caldwell witch was more than enough, and she really didn’t think any of them could handle it if Megan freaked out, too.

“Maybe, but I’m not ready to see if you’re right.”  Megan pushed off of the doorframe and took a hesitant step into the room, as if she really wasn’t sure if she was welcome or not.  “What’s going on with you?” she asked.  Her tone was saturated with concern.

Angelle heaved a big, gusty sigh and took a hard seat on the edge of her bed.  She thought about lying or making up some stupid excuse, but the words just slipped out before she could think of something better to say.  “Something’s wrong with me.”

That was all the encouragement Megan needed.  She closed the distance between them, sitting down and wrapping Angelle in a hug.  “Nothing’s wrong with you, Angelle.  Being upset that your boyfriend left is normal.”

“No, you don’t get it.  There’s something wrong.  I feel …” She pushed out of Megan’s arms, and rubbed at her chest. “Empty.”

With a helpless shrug of her shoulders
, Megan said, “Like I said, it’s alright to be upset.”

“No.  No.  No.”  Angelle shook her head from side to side.  “This is different.  It’s like, God, I don’t know.  Like something is missing.  I’m on edge.  It’s like I’ve lost something.”

That caught her attention, although Angelle didn’t understand why.  Megan fixed her questioning eyes on the hand that Angelle had gripped to her chest.  “Why are you holding your chest?  Does it hurt?”

“No, it just feels … empty.”  She didn’t know how else to explain it.  It was as if when Tyler left, he’d hollowed her out, leaving behind an empty shell.

“You’ve been quite testy lately,” Megan pointed out with an odd grin.  She secured one of her long curls in her hand and began twisting it around a finger.

“I know, right?” Angelle threw up her hands. 
Testy
was definitely an understatement.  “It’s retarded.  I don’t get what’s happening to me.  I’ve been with humans before.  It’s not like this is the first boyfriend that’s left me.”

And Tyler really wasn’t the first.  She’d even dated one boy for about four years before they
’d called it quits, and that break-up had barely fazed her.  Angelle had never really expected a relationship with a human to last.  It couldn’t last.  Either they’d age and die, or if she turned them then they’d find their own soulmate.  Really, it was bound to fail one way or the other.  So why did Tyler leaving affect her so much?  She didn’t know, and not knowing was turning her into a crazy person.

Megan giggled a little, and arched an eyebrow.  “And Tyler?  How’s he been?  I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

Angelle groaned and gave a great show of her signature dramatic eye roll.  “He’s hell bent on killing his soulmate, Meg.  It’s suicide.  If my soulmate showed up wanting to kill me, I’d do it first.  You would, too, if you were one of us.  He’s human.  He’ll come back at some point.”

Megan blanched, looking a bit sick.  She wiggled a little on the bed, fidgeting with the corner of the blazing orange comforter.  Maybe she’d been too blunt, Angelle wasn’t really sure.  “Meg, I’m …”

“Give me your hand,” Megan said, abruptly.  She reached out, grabbing it and sandwiching it between her own.  She muttered a few unintelligible words as her blindingly bright white magic sputtered to life.  It blanketed their clasped hands, heating Angelle’s skin.

Megan grunted and shook her head as if she
was trying to clear it.  Her brow creased, and she scrunched her nose.  “I don’t believe this,” she said, shaking her head again.

“What?  What is it?  What’s wrong with me?”  Angelle tugged her hand away from the magic, and her stomach twisted in a painfully tight ball of knots.

Megan searched her face for an eternally long moment, giving nothing away in her seriously confused gaze.  She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed hard, and then blurted, “Angelle, you’ve been linked to your soulmate.  Your soul is gone.  I can see the link.”

Amelia clasped onto the porcelain handle of her mug, watching a thick film spread across the surface of the cooling blood within it.  Her other hand rested on Mitchell’s chest, feeling the strong, rhythmic
thump-thump-thump
of his heart, and the rise and fall with each breath he took.  He had been breathing all along.  She realized that now, but he still looked dead.  Mitchell hadn’t moved a muscle, not even a flutter of his eyelashes for close to twelve hours now, and Amelia hadn’t moved from her perch beside him either.

After his first examination, it had taken almost an hour before Amelia had let Luke get close enough again to move Mitchell to the bed, and it took another hour for her to believe that Mitchell was in fact breathing.  Now that she was sure of it, though, she hadn’t been able to move her hand from his chest, terrified that if she did, his heart wou
ld stop beating.