Soul Bound (8 page)

From what he’d gleaned, he should’ve died two nights ago, but he hadn’t. In fact, he seemed better than ever, indestructible, and if he wasn’t such a goddamn coward he could prove it.

All I need to do is jump in front of the train,
he mused.
See what happens.

But as eager as he was to test his immortality theory, the idea of becoming road kill held little appeal.

The passenger beside him suddenly began to sniffle, jerking him out of his morbid thoughts. She pulled a thick wad of tissues from her purse and buried her face in it. Sniffles unexpectedly morphed to violent sobs.

“You all right?” He didn’t mean to pry, but her sudden mood swing puzzled him. The woman’s abject misery contrasted sharply with her lemon-colored sundress. She looked like someone’s wife or mother, someone who attended PTA meetings and baked apple pies on Sundays just for the heck of it, not a person prone to depression or despair.

She nodded, unable to stop bawling long enough to answer. “I’m”—hiccup—“not sure”—sniff—“what’s come over me. I’m sorry.” She bulleted out of her seat and got off at the next stop.

Jace shook his head and sank deeper into his seat. The whole world had gone insane, if you asked him. At least he wasn’t alone.

When the train took off, he reveled in the momentary silence that engulfed him. Then a god-awful screech rent the air and the train came to a quaking halt.

Hushed whispers turned to worried shouts. People rushed from their seats to peer out the windows. One passenger used the evacuation instructions to open the doors, and everyone poured out onto the platform, Jace included. He cut through the horde of onlookers to see what all the fuss was about and froze. On the tracks, crushed beyond recognition, was the woman who’d been sitting beside him, crying her heart out. Her uncommonly bright dress was the only thing that gave her identity away.

A flickering aura ascended from her body, swirled through the air. The shifting mass of bright white energy was so beautiful, so damn intoxicating, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. Everything inside him screamed to possess it. As if in answer to his crippling need, it floated across the tracks, past the unseeing onlookers, and entered him.

Euphoric heat spiraled through his veins, journeyed across his nerve endings like an electric charge. Emotions he barely recognized buffeted him—excitement, greed, bliss. They spun through his bloodstream, made him hunger for more.

A man crowded in beside him. “The rail operator says she waited for him to take off, then threw herself on the tracks. What kind of sick person does that?”

Jace barely heard him. He was too caught up in the sudden wave of sensation that had seized him. A slice of heaven in hell. A taste of what could never belong to him.

“Poor guy’s a mess,” the onlooker added.

“Who?” The only unfortunate person Jace saw was the woman lying on the track, a broken mass of flesh in a bloodstained yellow shroud.

“The rail operator. He didn’t see her until it was too late. Tore her to shreds. Now he’s gotta live with that.”

Guilt and pleasure conspired to slice Jace in half. “We’ve all got something we have to live with.”

He couldn’t help but feel he was every bit as responsible for this woman’s death as the train conductor, and that truth burned like hellfire even as his insides continued to resonate with the staggering gift he’d received.

Fighting a sudden onslaught of agoraphobia, he removed himself from the masses, backed away from the nauseating suicide scene and the people weeping silently on the platform, into the concealing shade of the neighboring trees, where mist and shadows happily merged to blanket him.

She couldn’t explain it, but for some reason Lia felt compelled to drop by Jace’s room every so often to see if he’d returned. It was crazy. Why would he go through the trouble of escaping, just to stroll back in later in the day? He was long gone.

Why then did she still feel him, as if a part of him had taken root inside her?

She padded to the window and gazed outside again. A gentle breeze streamed in to caress her face. It brought to mind the feel of Jace’s hand on her cheek, the way his breath had tickled her ear when he spoke her name…

Get a grip, Lia. If he’s all wrong for Cassie, he’s most certainly all wrong for you.

Which was precisely what made him so darn appealing. For the first time in her life, she understood her sister, even shared her insanity.

A low, scraping sound, followed by the rasp of fabric brushing fabric reached her ears. Excitement shimmied up her spine.

Jace.

She spun on her heels, only to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of the unfamiliar man entering the room. He was even more striking than Jace, tall and dark, with a face one would expect to see on the stained-glass windows of a church. But the vibe he gave off wasn’t the least bit saintly. Black slacks hugged long, muscular legs, and an equally black T-shirt stretched over a well-defined chest.

“Is this Jace Cutler’s room?” He gave her the kind of smile that would’ve charmed the panties off Cassie.

“Yes. Are you a relative?”

“Friend.” The way he studied her, with interest and an unmistakable glint of fascination, unsettled her. “I really need to see him. Do you know where I can find him?”

“No. He checked himself out earlier today.” It was the most honest she could be without sounding like she was a few eggs short of a cuckoo’s nest.

Penetrating, midnight blue eyes met and held hers. She could almost feel him snaking his way into her thoughts. “Are you sure?”

Lia tamped down a spark of irritation. She hated being second-guessed, even by a good-looking guy in tight pants. “I’m his doctor. Yes, I’m sure.”

He walked toward her, and she fought the urge to take a step back. “It’s important that I speak with him.” He continued to watch her like she was some long-extinct creature in an exotic zoo.

“If you leave me your name and number, I’ll have him call you if I hear from him.”

He didn’t answer. Stopping at the window, he angled a glance below. Understanding smoothed out the hard planes of his face and gave him the frigid look of an ice sculpture. “That won’t be necessary,” he finally said. “I’ll track him down myself.”

Diane wanted to scream. She’d only fed last night, and her emotions were in a tailspin. She always enjoyed the high she got when she replenished her energy, but right now she wished for numbness. In the presence of a Watcher, a clear head was not only an asset but a necessity.

She ducked behind the counter at the nurse’s station, hoping the half-breed wouldn’t sense her. It hadn’t taken the bastard long to track down Jace Cutler. The Watchers were nothing if not thorough, not to mention persistent. They wouldn’t quit until they’d completely wiped out the Kleptopsychs. It was sick, the way they went after their own kind.

All thanks to Cal.

He had a personal bone to pick with Athanatos, though she had no idea why. Because of that secret vendetta, they all paid the price, day after day, year after year, century after century.

It was so damn unfair. The Kleptopsychs had as much right to live as the humans. Even more so, because they were stronger. Survival of the fittest—that was the law of the jungle. Of course, without humans to feed on, the purebloods would grow weak and powerless. But not the Hybrids. When a Hybrid’s soul left his body, it was reabsorbed into the universe and reborn. As long as that soul remained in circulation, it fueled the Hybrid it had once belonged to. For that reason, the traitors didn’t need to feed, and that gave them an edge. If, however, something were to happen to that soul, if it was damaged or extinguished, the Hybrid would go rogue. Nothing pleased Diane more than to see one of Cal’s self-righteous soldiers go on a feeding rampage.

But it didn’t look like that would be happening today. She had to get out of here. It wasn’t safe for her to stick around.

Shame, the hospital was the perfect place to capture errant souls and keep an eye out for Hybrids. Now she had to find a quiet corner where she could lie low and figure out a way to fix her screw-ups. She couldn’t go back to The Beach Palace, the hotel they’d converted into their headquarters. Not yet. If she faced Athanatos in her current state of mind, he’d surely throw her in the tank, as he’d done to all those who’d failed him over the years.

She needed somewhere to hide and think. When the emotional haze lifted, she’d be able to plan her next move, and everything would fall into place.

It had to. Her existence depended on it.

Jace made his way back home on foot, shocked at how fast and resilient he was. He ran for miles without tiring, perspiring or growing thirsty, even with the harsh August heat bearing down on him. The address he’d memorized from his driver’s license led him to a tree-lined street, where a series of vintage, redbrick buildings sat in neat, even rows. Harborview, the apartment complex he apparently called home, looked like it could use some work. The windows needed to be washed, the thick oak front door would’ve benefited from a coat or two of varnish, and a couple of shingles were missing from the roof.

Home sweet home.

An oppressive weight compressed his chest, filled him with a sadness he didn’t comprehend. The dark clouds that had been hovering beneath the sun all day finally decided to unleash their fury, and gray curtains of rain fell from the sky to drench him. The water was freezing. Fighting a bad case of the shakes, he quickly fished out the keys he’d found in his leather jacket, then tried each one until the lock finally clicked. Wasting no time, he bulleted into the building. He’d already nearly drowned in the shower. No way would he risk drowning in the rain. Provided it was even a possibility for him.

The thought stirred a well of despair inside him so deep, the intensity of it rocked him to the bone. Whatever had happened on that platform earlier today had changed him, chased the numbness away, along with all rational thought. All he could do was feel, and it was driving him nuts.

Lia made him feel, too, but this was different. With Lia, there was equilibrium, a perfect balance between mind and soul. This unnatural high was all gut and emotion, worse than shooting himself full of heroin.

If only Lia were here. He missed her. Missed her so bad every part of him ached. Loneliness pressed down on him, made him want to cry like a girl.

Damn idiot, pull yourself together.

He mounted the steps, focused on finding his unit. Probably not the best idea for him to come here. If a man wants to disappear, the last place he should go is home. But he had to scour his apartment, see if it would trigger a memory. He was lost, adrift on a wide open sea, and this place was his only anchor. He had to grab hold of it, somehow stop his slow glide into oblivion.

He found his number. Several neatly rolled newspapers littered a black doormat, which refrained from offering any kind of welcome. His fingers shook as he labored to open the door. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes, and he obviously wasn’t the exception. Images of the woman’s broken body flashed through his brain, so vivid he could almost smell the blood. She’d thrown herself in front of a speeding train. Was it a coincidence that he’d been thinking the same thing moments before she’d died? Had he unwittingly planted the idea in her head?

Angel of death and destruction. Spawn of the fallen.

Bitterness expanded to fill his mouth as he staggered into his apartment. The stench that assailed him nearly knocked him off his feet. The air carried the distinctive trace of smoke and beer laced with something else. Something greasy that instantly slid past the guilt clogging his throat to coat the walls of his stomach. Holding his breath, he forced himself to walk in.

At his far left, a kitchen stretched, separated from the living room by nothing more than a granite-top counter, which was now buried beneath a forgotten pizza box, several cans of beer and an overflowing ashtray.

Great. He’d come all this way to learn he was not only a freak, but a pig.

Ignoring the mishmash of offensive substances, he plowed through the unkempt apartment to the den, where a slew of musical instruments sat—a guitar, an electronic keyboard, some kind of amplifier. Nothing looked familiar. Not even the wild scatter of pages on the desk or the musical notes that graced their white faces.

So this was how he’d spent his days, bent over this desk, composing music no one would ever hear. The idea depressed him. Why keep it all a secret? If he truly had a gift, the way Cassie had implied, why not share it?

Because no one would’ve wanted him to.

The thought crept, unbidden, into his consciousness. He’d been a freak even then. A monster wearing human flesh. An outsider. Everything had changed…and nothing.

In the far right corner, beside the keyboard, a well-stocked bar squatted. He’d obviously been a big fan of liquor. Jace tossed aside the pages he held and cut across the room.

What could it hurt? It wasn’t as if he could die of liver disease. He filled a glass with whisky, then downed it.

Nothing happened. The liquor didn’t sting, didn’t burn his mouth or throat. Just to be sure, he poured himself another three fingers. It was like drinking water. He metabolized the alcohol so fast, he didn’t even get a buzz. Disgust crawled through his veins. It looked like he couldn’t even find solace with his good ole friend Johnnie Walker anymore.

He shoved the bottle aside. Nothing in this place felt right. Like a sweater he’d outgrown, his old life no longer fit. Problem was, he had no idea what did.

Chapter Eight

Lia parked her white Honda Accord across the street from Cassie’s building, then slipped quietly into the thickening shroud of night. She was anxious to get inside, away from the blackened shadows that kept planting icy kisses on the nape of her neck. Buildings cast eerie shadows in the pale light of the moon, and the strange quiescence that had claimed the city unsettled her. For some reason, the night felt sinister.