The Soul's Mark: BROKEN (The Soul's Mark #3)

The Soul's Mark: BROKEN (The Soul's Mark #3) Page 14

Madame Crystal, although full of information, hadn’t been able to shed any light on Erin’s strange actions, and she also had no idea how to fix the bond. “It’s not that easy, Megan,” she said. “It takes a lot of power to link souls, and I do not wield that kind of magic.” She sighed, and a yawn escaped. “We need the help of Mother Nature and the spirits. We have to ask for their help.”

“Well, ask them then,” Tyler snapped. He looked exhausted. They all were, and Amelia knew that they were running on fumes now.

“Amelia,” Josh said, his eyes searching hers and filled with concern. “You need to sleep.”

Amelia opened her mouth to object, but a loud yawn fell out instead. Josh reached for one of the sleeping bags and pillows they had grabbed before locking the doors and spread it out on the cold, hard floor for her. The gesture caused Megan and Madame Crystal to do the same, and moments later, they were curled up and sound asleep. Tyler took a sleeping bag and lay it down in front of the entrance to the hallway that led to Eric and Luke. He gave Cole a hard glare, clearly still holding onto a lot of pent up anger, before he slid into the sleeping bag.

“I’m going to get more blankets,” Amelia said, annoyed at herself and at everyone else. Before anyone could stop her, she headed off down one of the passageways trying to remember which room Mabel had said she stored the extra supplies.

Amelia hadn’t noticed the footfalls behind her, and she shrieked when Josh grabbed her arm. “Millie,” he said. She stopped but didn’t turn around, and he sighed in frustration. “You’re not tied to him anymore.” He let go, and his warm finger ran along her neck. “The mark’s gone. He’s not your problem.”

Amelia bit back a sob, and her shoulders sagged. She hadn’t wanted to look and see if the mark was still there. She wanted to pretend that this wasn’t happening, but his words stirred emptiness in her, and a cavernous hole grew within her chest. “I love him,” she said in a small voice.

She felt the puff of his breath against her neck, and his chest pressed firmly against her back. “And I love you,” he whispered. “It’s our time now. Forget about him.”

Something stirred in her chest. It was not butterflies. Not like the ones that she felt when Mitchell said I love you; it was more like a caterpillar trying to break free from its cocoon. But that little flutter of something scared the crap out of her.

Amelia bristled, not wanting to explore the tepid warmth that stirred in her stomach. She spun around to face him, shoving him away. “You tried to kill me!” she yelled.

Red streaked up his neck and blazed in his cheeks. His eyes glowed yellow-green, and his skin rippled like disturbed water. And to Amelia’s surprise, this version of Josh was easier to deal with. It felt real, more real than the love struck boy he had tried to portray just moments ago. “I was following your orders!” he shouted in her face.

“My orders?” Amelia shouted back, and laughed bitterly. She narrowed her eyes at the absurd statement and put her hands on her hips, drumming her fingers with annoyance.

“Yeah, your orders.” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He took a few deep breaths, his eyes faded back to gray, and his skin settled in place. “If you ever fell for that vamp, we were supposed to execute you. That’s what you wanted.”

Amelia felt hot, cold, and sick. She wanted to deny it. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t. So far, there had been a hidden memory to confirm all of his allegations, and she was sure she didn’t want to see that one.

Josh raked a hand through his hair, and he let a deep sigh escape. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” He paused a moment, searching her face for a reaction, Amelia assumed, but she kept her eyes narrowed, and her hands on her hips. “It was wrong but…You made me for you. We were supposed to be together. I just thought …” He clipped his words short, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

“You thought feeling me up and trying to control me would make me want you?” she spat furiously. Her jaw was starting to hurt from her clenched teeth, but she couldn’t relax it. What was it about these supernatural jerks that made them think they could just do whatever they wanted? It was as if they didn’t see her as a person, just a piece of meat, and it made her burn with fury.

“It worked for that bloodsucker,” Josh said, contempt contorting his features. He threw up his arms in exasperation. “I’ve been watching you for months now. Watching him walk all over you and you let him.” His jaw flexed, and he glared at her for a moment before he shrugged it off. “I figured that was what you were into.”

The idea that he had been watching her sent a chill racing over her skin, snuffing out her anger. How had they not noticed? She tried to hide her unease, and said with a huff, “If this is you trying to sweet talk me, it’s so not working,” and then she started down the hallway. He followed; she heard the patter of his footsteps smacking against the stone floor, and she focused on trying to ignore him. She veered left at a fork in the hallway and ventured into the first open room she came to. She flicked on the light switch and thankfully found the blankets.

“That might have come out wrong,” he said shyly from the doorway.

“You think?” Amelia grabbed an armload of blankets from the shelf. She could feel his eyes on her, wandering up and down her backside. Her arms began to shake; her legs trembled.

“I just don’t understand why you’re fighting me,” he said.

Amelia sucked in a deep, shaky breath and slowly turned to face him. She met him square on, and for a moment, time stood still. There was something so perfect about the way he looked at her. He didn’t try to hide the remorse or the affection or the lust from his eyes like Mitchell always had, and she let the emotions envelope her.

Josh closed the distance between them in three large steps. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about backing away, but she didn’t. He took the blankets, placing them back on the shelf, and then inched a bit closer until she was pressed against the metal frame of the shelving.

And then he kissed her.

It was sweet and tentative. Her skin grew warm, and before she knew it, she was kissing him back. His hands rested on her hips, his thumbs rubbing lightly against her sides, and he pressed closer still.

And it all felt … nice.

Her heart, although beating quicker, was not pounding. Her skin, although warm, did not tingle. His lips moved from hers and trailed along her jaw to her ear, and it felt … okay. Not earth shatteringly wonderful, but nice, and it freaked her out, but damn, she was pretty sure she could get used to that kiss.

“Josh,” she whispered, placing a hand on his chest and pushing slightly. “I need to get some sleep.”

He straightened and blushed. “Yeah, um, you should.” When he didn’t move, Amelia went to duck under his arm, but he stopped her, cupping her cheeks gently. “Promise me you’ll think about giving me another chance, please?”

Amelia tried for a smile and was surprised when she felt her cheeks stretch upwards. She drew in a deep breath, searching for the now familiar cotton candy smell. It was the only reason she could think of that could explain her quickened heart rate and her easy smile, but it wasn’t there. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded, just a small bob of her head, and then slipped out of his arms.

Amelia walked back to the main room of the dungeon in a daze, completely forgetting the blankets. What was happening to her? She fought against her mind to bring forward an image of Mitchell, but the only ones she could find were not happy memories. Cole glanced at her and gave her an approving nod, and she couldn’t even begin to figure out what that was supposed to mean as she slid into the sleeping bag. She needed to rest. To think. Figure out a plan. And …

CHAPTER 12

Mitchell woke up to blindingly bright spotlights shining in his eyes. His neck snapped and popped, and when he tried to move to block the glare, searing pain shot through his arms. His skin felt as if it was ripping from his bones. He blinked against the glare, trying to get his bearings, but the light burned his eyes long enough that he didn’t see the railroad spike coming until it was already lodged in his shoulder. His fangs snapped down. An automatic response to the tearing pain, which he could not stop, and he held in the snarled growl that was building in his throat. He glanced down; the rusty metal was already covered in blood. It welled around the spike, soaking into his light blue button down shirt, and he paled. Amelia was going to kill him when she saw the hole in his shirt.

Amelia. His throat burned. He remembered the taste of her syrupy blood; it tingled at his tongue, and his fangs grew, pinching at his bottom lip. He could almost smell it. The sweet floral scent drove him wild with hunger.

Blood. He needed it. Wanted it. He craved the warm, thick liquid that would cool the blistering heat that seared his throat. But not just any blood. Hers. Only hers.

Another railroad spike came at him. Mitchell saw it coming as if it was in slow motion. He went to block it when suddenly he couldn’t move. White-hot pain raced up his right arm, and he heard the meaty rip of his skin. And then the spike pierced through his belly. He hollowed out, the sound ripping from his throat.

Someone chuckled. “I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

“Tristan,” Mitchell snarled. He didn’t need to look; he knew that voice. It was demented, cruel, and exactly what a vampire should sound like. A smile pulled at his lips, and pride washed over him. He had created the perfect monster.

That’s not right, Mitchell thought for half a second, but then the thought was gone, and the burning hunger came back with a vengeance.

“You hungry yet, Pops?” Tristan asked with a laugh. He grabbed Mitchell’s hair and smashed his head against the hard brick wall behind him. The bricks crumbled, and warm blood trickled down his neck.

“Do you know what happens to children that cross their makers?” Mitchell asked, his voice deathly calm, masking the blinding pain which radiated through his body. “They get put down.” But what Mitchell didn’t say was that he was partly glad that Tristan was back. The idea of having his child back, hunting together … It was exactly what he wanted.