The Soul's Mark: CHANGED (16 page)

WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!  WAKE UP! 
A familiar voice hollered into his mind.  It was airy but sharp, pushing and pulling, back and forth through his ears like a tug-a-war, jarring him in his sleep.

Mitchell blinked.  A starburst of white pin-lights danced across his eyes.  He blinked again, and sucked in a greedy breath.  It burned through his empty lungs as if the air had lit them ablaze.  He sat up slowly, which was still too fast.  His stomach heaved and his head swam with dizziness.  He swallowed hard fighting down the nausea, gasping for air, and blinking furiously, trying to rid himself of the dancing specks of lights that blurred his vision.

His bedroom was as silent as a grave.  The coppery scent of blood was thick in the air mixed with the stale, sweaty scent of fever.  Mitchell scanned the room.  It was as empty as it felt.  The curtains were pulled tightly closed; slivers of light streamed from the edges.  His eyes landed on a crusty brownish-red stain on the carpet beside his bed. 
Blood.

Mitchell sat still for a long moment, waiting for his spinning head to clear as he stared at the blood.  It was only a few drops.  Nothing to worry about, but his heart twisted with anxiety as he looked at it.  Were those few drops enough to leave such a thick coppery scent in the air?  He didn’t think so, not enough for a human to notice, anyway.

He scanned the room again slowly, searching for more.  His eyes zoned in on mugs and blood bags littering the coffee table and the nightstand beside him, and relief washed over him like a tidal wave.

Mitchell pulled in a deep, calming breath, letting the air fill his lungs.  He closed his eyes, as the air hissed out bit by bit from his lips, the last of the dizziness floated out of him with his breath.  A flash of his dream played through his mind.  Tyler’s mark.  Angelle’s name.  His head started to swim again and he squeezed his eyes tighter, wishing the spinning would stop.

His mouth was dry, his throat, parched.  His lips felt chapped and cracked but … Mitchell ran his hand along his forehead and down his cheek and neck.  His skin was grimy, gritty feeling, but dry.  No sweat, no fever.  He breathed in a long breath through his nose easily; no whistling, or clogged nostrils.  He felt … better.  Better than better.  He felt alive.

The door squeaked on its hinges and Lola walked in.  Her short blond hair was wet and un-styled, dropping around her face in shaggy rope-like strands.  The shoulders of her aqua T-shirt were speckled with spots of water droplets and her off-white shorts looked crisp and clean.

She walked into the room, her eyes fixed to the floor, with Luke behind her.  He looked stressed, Mitchell noticed; deep lines creased his forehead and along the edges of his mouth.

Mitchell watched
as they wandered into the room without glancing in his direction, and sat down in the big brown leather chairs.  They looked as if they’d lost their best friend, grim and sad and tense.  That’s when it all hit him with mind-numbing intensity.  Amelia.  The bite.  The bond.  The magic.  The pain burning through his veins.  He gasped as the memories assaulted his mind. 
She did it,
he realized. 
She healed me.

“You’re awake,” Lola squealed.  Suddenly she was standing over him, her eyes big and round and more excited than he’d ever seen them before.  He scuttled back an inch, watching her with leery caution.

Mitchell cleared his dry throat and swallowed.  “How long have I been sleeping?” he asked. His voice cracked from dryness and he licked at his lips.

“Thirteen hours,” Luke said, as he made his way up the landing to hover over Mitchell’s bed.  “Lola, go get him some water.”  Lola glanced between Luke and Mitchell, and her smile dropped slightly.  She looked as if she was about to protest, but then she dashed out of the room.

Sudden panic squeezed at Mitchell’s chest. 
Thirteen hours.
  They didn’t have thirteen hours. Mitchell felt sick.  Very sick. He looked at Luke, desperate to say something, but his thoughts were all jumbled up.  It was as if his brain and his mouth were no longer connected to each other. 
Thirteen hours.

A glass of water was shoved into his hands.  He lifted it to his lips, downing it all in a few gulps.  He slid off the bed on shaky legs and padded
down the steps of the landing.

His heart hammered painfully fast against his ribs.
Luke grabbed his shoulders, twirling him around.  Shooting pain cut through Mitchell’s head, and his heart jumped into his throat.  “Where’s Amelia?” he gasped.  “I need to tell her about the dream I had.”

“What dream?” Luke asked; his inquisitive eyes suddenly felt invasive.

“Luke, please, where is she?”  His voice was whisper soft.  Something was wrong.  Mitchell could feel it in his bones.  He had missed something.  Something important.  And he had a sinking feeling that letting Amelia bite him was the biggest mistake he had ever made.  The voice that woke him up, he was certain he knew who it was.  It was so familiar, airy and soft with that sweet chirp that Amelia had in her own tone.  Mother Nature was giving him a hint; he was sure of it.  It was something to do with a mark; an unclaimed soulmate.

“She’s, um …” Lola wrung her hands, shuffling from one foot to the other, “… well, she’s dealing with the vamps.”  She met his eyes then; hers were shimmering, filling up with tears.

“You let her go alone?” Mitchell asked, incredulously.  “Christ, what’s wrong with you guys?”

“It was your …” Luke started, his voice cracked a little as his careful, calm exterior began to splinter.

“No,” Mitchell said through his teeth.  “My plan was for both of us to go.  Not just her.  Not alone.  She could kill them all with a flick of her wrist.  Amelia doesn’t get that.  She can’t seem to grasp how powerful she is.  And she’s never known how to talk to them.  You’ve seen how they treat her.  Like she’s my pet, not entirely my equal.  The vamps humor her because they’re worried about what I’ll do if they don’t.  They’ll push her until she snaps.”

“Eric’s with her,” Lola offered.  “We couldn’t have stopped her, Mitch.  She was,” she cleared her throat looking away, “determined.”  She laced the last word with a punctuated force that told Mitchell everything he needed to know.

Mitchell closed his eyes, trying to ignore the painful twist in his stomach, and focused his thoughts on Amelia, searching for her.  At first, he saw nothing and sharp pain lanced through his mind.  The bond wavered, cutting in and out as if it hadn’t entirely formed.  But then her thoughts blasted into his mind.  He saw her standing in the park, surrounded by vampires.  They were closing in on her.  She grabbed Eric, yanking him to her side.

Magic flared inside her.  He felt it, hot as fire, and he saw her thoughts with a horrific intensity. 
Amelia, no!
Mitchell yelled through the bond, just as a wall of fire surrounded her and blood-curdling screams filled his mind.

Amelia, no!
Mitchell’s voice invaded Amelia’s brain with a blast of breathtaking fear.  She jumped and swiveled.  Flames leapt up all around her, encasing her in a circle of fire.  She sucked in a frightened breath, clasping onto Eric with a bone breaking hold.

You’re awake!
Amelia realized it with staggering force, and for a second she forgot all about the fire.  Her heart skittered through her chest and into her throat.  The delight at hearing Mitchell’s voice didn’t last for long.  Howling screams echoed around her, freezing her heart solid.

Amelia, stop it!  You need to stop!
  Mitchell shouted through the bond.  His voice was loud in her ears, strong and forceful and commanding.  She could feel him trying to take her magic, pulling on her energy with a fierce intensity, but the power clung to her with a relentless force.

Amelia frantically tried to pull her magic back.  Panic seized her like an icy hand fastening around her throat.  The flames shot higher, the heat inside the circle grew, blistering and dry. 
I can’t,
she shouted through the bond. 
I don’t know …

Right then, Eric yanked on her hand, spinning her around to face him.  His skin was coated in a crimson glow from Megan’s magic.  “Help me!” he shouted over the painful sounding screams, grabbing hold of both of her hands.

His eyes burned brighter than the fire, and his leafy-green hair was damp with sweat.  But his hands … his hands were steady, grounding Amelia’s panic, and centering her mind.  She laced her fingers through his, and with a small bob of her head, she closed her eyes, pulling on the magic.  She could feel Megan’s power coursing through Eric, mixing with her own. The flames crackled and spat, growing hotter.  The heat radiated around her, pushing against her skin.  She drew upon her own magic, letting it merge with Megan’s, and she yelled, “Out!  Out!  Out!”

As soon as the words fell from her lips, a rush of air swirled around them, with enough force that Amelia stumbled.  She caught herself on Eric’s sturdy arm, and pried her eyes open one at a time.  A thick black cloud of smoke billowed upwards.  Amelia sucked in a noisy breath, tasting acrid ash on her tongue.

She let go of Eric, scanning the ground surrounding them.  A circle of smoldering grass popped and hissed, spitting sparks from the doused fire.  A thin sheen of sweat covered her skin from head to toe.  Her hands were shaking, and her breath, ragged.  Fear pierced her skin with millions of frigid needle tips as she searched the ground for larger piles of ash, praying she wouldn’t find any. 
Please don’t let me find any,
she thought, and her stomach rolled. 
I didn’t mean to kill anyone.  Please.  Please.  Please.

Once she was certain that there were no piles of ash big enough to be one of them, she glanced up to find a ring of vampires standing just outside of the charred circle.  A few of them had tendrils of wispy smoke rising from their skin.  She counted them all, making sure everyone was still standing, and when she was certain they were, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“What did you do?” Jake exhaled the question with one puff of breath.  He was looking at her with what Amelia could have sworn was respect, although he also looked more than a little freaked out.  His chest and arms were covered in bubbled blisters, and charred skin, that were slowly healing.

Amelia couldn’t find her voice, but even if she’d been able to, she didn’t have a clue how to answer the question.  She really wasn’t sure how she’d summoned the fire, or why her magic had chosen to manifest itself in that particular element since she’d changed into a vampire.  It seemed … dangerous.  Seriously, vampires and fire didn’t mix.  Sure, she’d burned Lola a few times, but that was only a singe when their skin touched.  She’d never summoned fire before the change.  Not like this.  And right then, instead of trying to figure out how it had happened, she found herself wondering if the flames she had just created could have hurt her as well.

“She warned you.”  Mitchell’s voice was impossibly cold and firm.  Amelia’s heart squeezed, and she looked up, her eyes snapping to him like a magnet stuck to metal.  He strode through the crowd with his chin high and shoulders back, as if he was still the head of the town, the master of the vamps.  Luke and Lola flanked him, their muscles moving fluidly, but ready.

Amelia cursed herself silently.  She should have known he’d come.  She should have been there when he woke up.  She should have been watching him through the bond.  She should have
… “Mitch,” she started. Dread hit her like a steel pipe over the head.

“Amelia made it clear she wanted an explanation,” he said, cutting her short.  “I’ve told all of you not to underestimate her.”  He scanned the crowd, his eyes hard and his jaw stiff, and his thoughts echoed loud and clear through her mind.

“No one was killed,” she said, answering his silent question.  He met her eyes then, extending a hand to her. 
What are you doing?
she asked silently, as she closed the distance between them, hopping over the embers on the burnt grass, and took his outstretched hand.  Sweat pooled in the dip of her back along her spine, and her hands vibrated with worry.  This had to be the stupidest thing he’d ever done.  Ever.  In seconds, they would all realize that he wasn’t the same and when that happened, she was sure it would be the beginning of the end of the world.  Well, at least the end of her world.

Mitchell didn’t answer her silent question.  Instead, he looked out over the crowd that had gathered, closing in around them and said, “Someone better start talking, because I cannot understand why any of you would threaten my soulmate.”

No one spoke up, and Amelia noticed none of them would meet his gaze either.  Could they not see the difference in him?  Did they not see the mark on his neck or her name scrawled beneath it?  The smell of his fresh blood wafted around her, tangy with a hint of spice.  Mouthwatering.  She needed to stop this, and get him back to the house before anyone noticed.  Amelia used her magic, focusing on his mark and distorting it, attempting to make it look like a smudge of dirt.  “I provoked them,” she said in a flustered rush, watching his neck to see if it was working.  The magic blurred the lines a touch, but she was sure that if anyone actually looked at it long enough, they’d still be able to make it out.  She tugged on his hand, taking a step back, but he shook her off.

“That’s no excuse, Amelia.”  Mitchell gave her a pointed look, before raising his gaze to the cluster of vampires.  “Who attacked first?”