The Soul's Mark: CHANGED (19 page)

Once she’d finished giving all her orders, she glanced around at everyone.
She’d kind of expected them to laugh or brush her off.  But they didn’t.  No one protested.  Angelle squeezed her eyes shut and let out a breath before nodding her agreement and Luke and Lola even got up and started out of the kitchen.  She must have looked as stunned as she felt because Eric chuckled and mouthed,
Nice work
.

Amelia grinned.  She leaned down and brushed a quick kiss onto Mitchell’s cheek, and then spun on her heels, heading for the door.  She only made it a couple steps when Mitchell got a
hold of his composure and said, “Stop right there, Amelia.”  She glanced over her shoulder at him and smirked.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find my mother,” she said.  He frowned at her and he looked as if he was about to protest, but she didn’t wait to hear it.  “I hate to break this to you, honey,” Amelia’s tone was syrupy sweet, “but you’re the one that taught me that everything is about power and strength.  Right now, there is not a single being in this house that’s stronger than I am, so that means I’m in charge.  Get used to it and just do what I’ve asked.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled.  “Sure, love, whatever you want.”  His tone was a touch too condescending and right then, she didn’t need the bond to know that he wasn’t going to listen to her.

Amelia narrowed her eyes.  “Mitchell Lang, you are such a stubborn man.  I did not bite you and heal you only to have you run off and get yourself killed.  This is important.  And before you even think about saying that retarded excuse, remember I know what you’re thinking.  I need you to stay put.”

Amelia held her breath, expecting to see the pain spread through him, but it didn’t.  She turned away from him then, hoping for once, he’d actually listen to her.

Megan didn’t say a word as she left the kitchen.  She padded up the stairs, her head down and shoulders hunched, and Eric followed her, with dread pooling in his belly.  He wasn’t sure if he could handle
talking
, not yet.  He wasn’t ready to hear her actually say she was leaving, even if he already knew that’s what she wanted.

He kept his eyes glued to the steps, unwilling to look at her.  He was sure that if he watched her hips sway as she took the steps two at a time, or her blood-red curls bounce around her slim shoulders, he’d lose what little bit of self-restraint he had left.  Not searching Megan’s mind was the single hardest thing Eric had ever done, but he was certain that it was the only thing that would keep away the pain.  As long as he didn’t have a definite confirmation
that she was leaving, he didn’t have a reason to make her stay.  He could just pretend that none of this was happening.

Megan pushed the door to their bedroom open and went straight for the en suite bathroom, slamming the door behind her.  Eric heard her shuffling around behind the door, the soft pat of her clothing hitting the floor, the shower turning on, and then the sound of the water rushing over her skin.  His skin hummed with want as he stared at the door, knowing she was naked on the other side of it.  He reached out, his hand gripping the knob, twisting it slowly, but in the end, he dropped his hand and turned away.

Eric gritted his teeth in frustration as he looked around their room, not knowing what to do.  Megan was everywhere he looked.  After he’d crashed through the wall connecting to the media room with Luke when she’d first shown up, Megan had taken on the task of redecorating.  She’d picked the new wall color, a pale green, and she’d replaced all of his posters with nature pictures.  She’d purchased new bedding, the comforter—a mix of earth tones—swirled together, and she’d placed white votives and a vase filled with fresh flowers on the nightstands and one on the coffee table in the sitting area.  The window seat now held a cluster of pillows, and the bulky recliners that had sat by the television had been replaced with an off-white lounge chaise.  When he’d questioned her choices, she’d told him that the colors were calming and they made her feel closer to her magic.

But the colors didn’t feel calming, not now.  Instead of soothing him, the decor only managed to make his chest ache.

Eric didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the wall, but it must have been awhile.  The scent of spring rain—Megan’s favorite body wash—filled the air as she pushed open the bathroom door.  Eric glanced over his shoulder, and she offered him a small smile.  She was in his plush, white bathrobe.  It was too big for her, and she hugged it closely to her skin, the bottom pooling on the floor around her feet.  Water droplets fell from the ends of her ringlet curls, beading on the fabric.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked bashfully, gesturing to his bathrobe, her freckled cheeks blushing with a touch of pink.

“Of course not,” he said.  His voice hitched on a wave of breathtaking emotion, and he cleared his throat.  It wasn’t the first time she’d worn his robe, and the thought that she felt as if she needed to ask wreaked havoc on him.  “You can wear it whenever you want.”

She tugged the robe tighter, and looped the belt around her waist, holding it in place, and then she walked past him, and arranged herself on the lounge chaise, tucking her toes under the thick bathrobe.

A hush fell over them.  Megan stared at her hands with a fierce intensity, flipping them over and then back, inspecting her fingernails, and picking at her cuticles.  And each second that passed by, Eric’s chest hurt a bit more.  She acted as if nothing was wrong.  It was as if she didn’t care what happened between them, as if she was already over it.  Was it really that easy for her?  Eric didn’t know and he wanted to check.  The problem was, every time he tried to look, cold fear slithered through him, freezing him to the bone.

Eric took a cautious step towards her, hating the distance that was between them.  His feet felt heavy and his legs stiff, as if they’d been nailed to the floor.  “Meg, talk to me already.”  He kept his voice level, forcing his tone not to betray his pain.  “If I wanted to deal with a pouty, difficult Caldwell, I would have stayed downstairs with Millie.”

Megan didn’t bother to look up from her nail inspection.  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Hot anger flushed up the back of Eric’s neck, mixing with a sinking feeling of guilt.  He couldn’t wrap his head around how she was being so cold to him.  Just yesterday, she’d licked and kissed every inch of his body, and now she wouldn’t even look at him.  “Yeah, there kind of is.”  He took a breath, blowing it out slowly before he asked, “What did I do?”  His voice betrayed him then, trembling a little, and he hoped she didn’t notice.

She noticed.  Megan’s eyes snapped up then, searching his face just as intensely as she’d inspected her hands.  “You didn’t do anything, Eric.”  She huffed and shook her head as if she thought he was a moron.  “Jeez, if you’re so freaked out, why didn’t you just look?”

Eric took another step in her direction, closing the distance between them.  He glowered down at her, his hands balled at his sides, and through his teeth he said, “I don’t think I’ll like what I’ll find.”  His blood pressure was rising, his pulse throbbing in his ears.  “Dammit, Meg!  I don’t want to hurt you.  Why can’t you get that?  Why are you pushing it?”

“If you’d bothered to look, you wouldn’t be so bloody edgy right now,” she muttered, letting her eyes drop back to her fingernails.

He grunted, sitting down on the far edge of the lounge chaise, careful not to touch her.  “I’m not edgy.”

“Uh, yeah, you are.”  Megan snorted, swallowing her laugh.  She must have felt his heart twist because her tone softened as she said, “Look, my not wanting to change really has nothing to do with you.”

“Seriously?” 
Eric almost laughed and if his heart wasn’t crumbling, he probably would have.  “You’re going to give me the
It’s not you, it’s me
speech?  Did you forget the whole soulmates thing?  We’re stuck with each other for life.  I’m sorry if you hate me.  I’m sorry that you don’t want to be here, but I can’t change the fact that you hold my soul.”

Megan slid over to him, balancing on her knees.  She brushed her fingers along his cheek, letting them trail along his jaw, before she tapped his chin, titling his head so he’d look at her.  “Is that really what you think?  That I hate you?  That I don’t want to be here?”

She let her hand drop, resting it on his chest, and she moved a bit closer, so her knees were pressed against his thigh.  Eric watched her hand trail down his chest, dipping to his stomach, and then slip under the hem of his shirt.  Her silky fingers ran along his abs, tracing the lines and contours of his muscles.  Her touch set his skin on fire.  Her closeness only made him want to get closer.  She trailed a finger along the band of his jeans, toying with the button.  He looked up at her then, his breath hitched in his throat.  “What am I supposed to think, Meg?”

Megan groaned.  She cut him an aggravated kind of look, and pulled her hand away.  “You’re such a dumbass.”  She leaned back on her heels and folded her arms over her chest.  “Did you even consider that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want anyone to overhear my reasons?  Just look already.”

Eric couldn’t take it anymore.  He wasn’t even going to try to understand what she was saying, or what she meant.  He couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that she wanted to leave.  He dove into her mind, bracing himself for the pain he was sure she was going to feel at any second, because there was nothing, absolutely nothing that she could say that would make him agree with her.  Not on this.

Megan didn’t try to hide anything.  Instead, she pushed her reasons for not wanting to change into the forefront of her mind.  He saw her watching Amelia as her fire-like magic licked along her skin.  He saw the terror Megan felt at the idea of not being able to control herself.  “I never even thought about leaving,” she whispered.  “I would never—could never—leave you.  You’re my life, Eric.”

As if in slow motion, his head came up, and he locked gazes with his soulmate.  He laughed, a startled kind of sound, and said, “I think this might be a first.  It really is you, isn’t it?  You’re scared.”

“I’m terrified,” she whispered.  She shifted, making the leather squeak as her bare skin rubbed against it.

“Okay, I feel like a moron.”  Eric swung one leg over the lounge chaise, straddling it, and snaked an arm around Megan’s waist, pulling her close.

Megan laughed, swatting at him playfully, but she didn’t pull away.  “You should.  You’ve sure been acting like one.”  She sighed, a long and gusty sigh.  “I just didn’t want Millie to know.  She’s trying so hard; it’d break her if she knew how freaked out I am because of her.”  She leaned into him, pressing a hot kiss onto his lips that didn’t last nearly long enough.  When she pulled back, his heart was racing, and his fangs were poking through his gums.  Her eyes were burning with desire.  She licked her lips, watching his mouth intently as his fangs slid down fully.  “Now where was I?” she asked with a devilishly sexy grin, and she raised her hand, pricking a finger on one of his fangs.

Eric watched as a little pool of blood formed on the tip of her finger.  His breath quickened, his blood heated.  Megan whispered, “You don’t have to worry about forcing me, Eric.  I’d never refuse you of anything,” as she pressed her finger to his lips, and he took it in his mouth; the sweet and sour taste of her blood exploded on his tongue.  Eric tugged at the belt on the bathrobe.  He needed to get closer to her.  Feel her skin against his. As he untied it, he slipped his hands beneath the fabric. She giggled, a flirty kind of sound, and pulled her finger from his lips.

Right then, t
he bedroom door swung open, and Megan squealed, jerking away.  She scrambled with her bathrobe, pulling it tightly closed.  Eric’s eyes snapped to the door.  Mitchell.  He stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.  He was staring at Eric, his face expressionless.  “Sorry, guys,” he said, his voice a little strained, “but I need you to do something for me.  I need you to call Cole.”

Eric groaned.  “Dude, so not a good time.  Go away.”  Megan started to get up from the chair, and Eric’s hand jumped out, pulling her back against him, nowhere near ready to let her go.

But Mitchell didn’t leave.  He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

The sun hovered on the edge of the horizon, painting the darkening sky with highlights of gold.  For late afternoon, it wasn’t hot, but by no means was it cool either.  A gentle breeze swept through the willows, filling the air with the soapy scent of flowers, mixed with dry soil, and fresh green leaves.  Amelia drew in a deep breath, letting the mélange of scents soothe her nerves.

Mitchell was so sure about his theories.  She could feel it through the bond; the unwavering confidence that he always had.  It should have been reass
uring, but it wasn’t.  He’d been certain that she’d needed to bite him, too, and although it had probably saved his life, it had also been a mistake.  He could have been the anchor for the spell that she’d been missing all along.

Now, they were nearing the end of the second day of the spirits’ retarded timeline, and because she’d believed in Mitchell’s certainty, they were short an anchor, and they still didn’t know what would happen if she failed, or even if changing the bond was in fact what she was suppo
sed to do.  Who in their right mind gave a deadline without saying what actually needed to be done?  It made it hard to take it seriously, whatever
it
was, that was for sure.  And Amelia really couldn’t bring herself to believe Mitchell’s speculations on what would happen if she succeeded.  In theory, the idea of becoming Mother Nature was kind of thrilling, but the reality was, it scared the crap out of Amelia.  All that power.  All that responsibility.  She couldn’t even keep a small town together for two weeks; how was she supposed to become Mother Nature?  It was nerve-racking just thinking about it.