A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) (20 page)

It started to drizzle. She watched the windshield wipers move from side to side rhythmically. “Do you think it’s Megan Johnson?”

“I only saw her for those few moments, but she definitely didn’t look like the rest of the people at that party.”

“Yeah, she wasn’t there to mourn Jason Morris,” Tresa agreed. “And she wasn’t broken up over Carson, either.”

“Whoever the witch is, she’s going to kill again soon. Either because she wants to or because Balthazar wants her to.”

“If Megan Johnson
isn’t
the witch, then it’s somehow connected to her. Whether she even realizes it. All the victims are connected to her. Maybe an angry friend? Sister? Her mother, even?”

Darius nodded thoughtfully. The headlights of an oncoming car flashed across his face. The sky had darkened with the rain and most vehicles had turned on their lights. “Whatever the case, she’s the only suspect we have and we can’t leave her to her own devices.”

The GPS indicated that they needed to take
the next exit. He scanned the low-income housing and warehouses they passed. “Not the nicest neighborhood.”

Tresa looked out the window as they passed a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart. Her drenched hat hung low over her face, beyond the point of protecting her from the deluge. “No dorms out here.”

“Maybe she prefers this to living on campus. From what you told me she said during the interrogation, she feels betrayed. Not just by Jason, Carson and Erin, but the entire university.”

“Yeah. She had no problem expressing how pissed she was at Erin and the victims.”

Tresa understood how rage and betrayal could drive people to do something they normally wouldn’t. Tresa believed Megan Johnson had been raped. The pain she’d read in Megan’s eyes through the one-way glass… that couldn’t be faked. Tresa felt sorry for her… until the images from her nightmares flooded her, and then she recalled the horrible way those people had suffered, too.

They pulled up in front of a run-down apartment complex. Several people loitered on the street. A man staggered down the broken sidewalk, drinking from a brown paper bag.
A cluster of older boys hung out on the corner, shooting them calculating looks as they parked.

Darius killed the engine and sat eerily still behind the wheel.

Tresa glanced at his profile, noting the tension locking his jaw. She tested his name uncertainly.

He turned abruptly to face her in the seat. “We can leave.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He motioned toward the building. “I don’t want you anywhere close to Balthazar. I don’t even want you in the same city anymore.”

She knew he was recalling coming face-to-face with her under Balthazar’s possession. She hated that he had seen her like that.

She released a small sigh and sank back in the seat with a squeak of leather. “Darius… he owns me. It is what it is.”

“No,” he ground out, grabbing her hand, holding tight. “Don’t say that. He doesn’t own you.”

She held his gaze, her voice sharp. “Yes. He does. I don’t like it, but it’s true. It’s been that way for over two thousand years. Just because he’s not in possession of me right this minute doesn’t mean I’m free.”

“He’s got her.” He waved at the building.

She shook her head. “So what are you saying? We should just forget about her… and everyone she’s killing? I can’t do that. And I don’t believe you want to do that, either.”

“Don’t mistake me for noble,” he spat. Disengaging his hand, he dragged it through his dark hair. “You more than anyone else should know what I am. You made me into this.”

She jerked as though slapped, a small hiss of air shuddering from her. After last night she had thought that they were past that, but they never would be. It would never leave. She was not to be forgiven… her actions never forgotten.

Inhaling a deep, shuddery breath, she regained her composure and moistened her lips. “What are we doing here, Darius? It’s clear that when it comes to me, you can never forgive and forget…”

His eyes fastened hotly on her, searing her in her seat. He reached across the space separating them, slipped his hand around her nape and hauled her closer for a blistering kiss. His lips, his tongue, his teeth took hers, claimed her, left her shaking, moaning, clutching his shoulders.

When they finally broke for air, he muttered against her mouth, “I couldn’t do that to you if I didn’t forgive you for the past.”

Their heavy breaths mingled. His forehead rested against hers. Her hands had yet to ease their grip on his shoulders. After a long moment, he slid his hand from around her neck and stared out the window again at Megan Johnson’s apartment.

It took everything inside her not to pull him back for more. He made her crazy. Made her forget her purpose. Made her want to crawl on top of him and never come up for air again.

He drew in a deep breath. “As long as he has her to bend to his will, he’ll leave you alone.”

She closed her eyes in a long blink, wishing she could do what he was suggesting. Turn and walk away. If only it were that simple. “And could I just live my life? Endure the nightmares and pretend I don’t know the things she’s doing? I can’t do that.”

“Damnit, Tre.” He slapped the steering wheel. “You can’t have lived this long without watching people die all the time. In the blink of an eye. It strikes where it will. Mortal life is fleeting. You can’t stop that.”

And yet they both craved mortal life so badly. Wished to be who they once were before they’d turned into monsters. Despite his words, she knew he treasured life just as much as she did.

“But I can,” she insisted, not accepting his
justification. “This time, I can stop it. Or at least delay its happening prematurely.”

“At the cost of yourself!” He shook his head fiercely and turned in his seat, his hands cradling her face. “Do you know how long I’ve been alone?”

She stared at him, stunned, her heart aching at the emotion in his voice… his face.

She replied in a voice that trembled terribly, “Not as long as I have.”

He searched her face for a long moment, but some of the heat left him as he whispered, “And you’ll settle for that?”

“I haven’t any choice. I can’t pretend that I deserve some fairy-tale existence. That’s not for me.” She held her breath, almost adding,
and it’s not for you
. But he knew that. Deep down in his core. She didn’t need to pour salt in the wound and remind him that he was every bit as cursed as she was.

The light in his eyes dulled as his hands slipped from her face. He nodded in defeat and she almost wanted to weep, to beg him not to give up on the idea, the
dream
of them, even though that’s what she had demanded. She didn’t want the fantasy to die.

“That’s the way it is then.” He faced the front again, grimly staring out the windshield
at Megan Johnson’s apartment just as a gunshot shattered the quiet.

* * *

T
HE SOUND OF THE
shot echoed in the late afternoon, reverberating off the buildings. Darius tensed, looking for a shooter or a victim, but Tresa was out of the car and running across the street before he’d decided on his next move.

“Shit.” Flinging open the door, he took off after her, catching up with her in an instant. He pulled her to a stop just before the building’s front door.

“What are you doing?” he growled, furious that she was running headlong into danger with no thought of herself.

Her gaze was wild. “She’s in there—she could be hurting someone! I can’t let her do that again!”

“Just think for a second. Since when is a gun her weapon of choice?” He gave her a gentle shake.

Comprehension flickered over her panicked face. She exhaled heavily and nodded, her dark hair swaying around her shoulders. “Yeah. Okay. Okay.”

“You’ve got to slow down and think. Stop
putting yourself in harm’s way.” His hands trembled a little on her shoulders. He quickly dropped them to his sides, hating that he should feel so weak and unmanned. It had been so long since he’d actually felt this way for another person. Since he’d
cared
this much. It was what he’d wanted, what he had missed for so long. Now he had it, and he couldn’t help thinking how much easier everything had been before. When there was nothing and no one to worry over. Fear for her was an unsettling thing, a beast gnawing at his heart.

Shaking his head, he refocused his attention on Tresa.

“Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll be careful.” She motioned to the graffiti-sprayed door. “Let’s go.”

Taking Tresa’s hand, he pulled her behind him and stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dark interior and peering around them. Only a silver bullet could do permanent damage to him, but that didn’t mean an average bullet wouldn’t debilitate him. If he was incapacitated, then he was just dead weight for Tresa.

He moved cautiously. The dim hallway was full of shadows. Somewhere, a baby cried; otherwise it was eerily quiet. Still. Like gunfire was nothing new, and the tenants knew
they needed to stay inside until the smoke cleared.

“Apartment three sixteen,” she whispered at his back. Nodding, he led them up the stairway, not about to take the questionable elevator.

The sound of the crying baby grew louder on the third floor. They passed a door and could hear a mother making shushing sounds inside.

They stopped in front of Megan Johnson’s apartment. The door was cracked open. Darius started to push it open with the flat of his hand, holding his breath as it began to swing inward, hoping he wasn’t about to feel a bullet rip through him.

He felt Tresa behind him, straining for a glimpse inside. “Can you see—”

Something whizzed past his head and a vase exploded against the wall, shards of ceramic shooting everywhere. He saw a slight figure sliding out the window at the far end of the corridor and was lurching in that direction until he felt Tresa tugging on his arm, pulling him back.

“Darius, look!”

He followed Tresa’s gaze.

Erin painstakingly picked herself up from the floor of the apartment, one hand covering her nose. Blood seeped out from her fingers and ran over her lip.

Tresa rushed inside the room to help her, looping an arm around her waist. “Are you okay?” She bent her head to better see her face. “What happened? What are you doing here?”

Darius dove back into the hall. Running down the corridor, his feet barely touching the floor, he jerked to a stop to peer out the window. He watched a black-clad figure deftly climb down the fire escape. Once at ground level, she looked up at him, confirming his suspicions. It was Megan Johnson.

He watched her race off and was on the verge of following her when he heard Tresa cry out sharply.

Forgetting about Megan, he sprinted back to the apartment, fear lodged in his throat.

Tresa was sprawled on the grimy floor. She looked up at him, holding her cheek.

“What happened?” Darius crouched before her, peeling her hand from her face. Her pale cheek was marred an angry red.

She waved a hand at Erin. “She clocked me. Just surprised me; I’ll be fine.”

“You stopped me from going after that bitch!” Erin said defensively, delicately pinching her bleeding nose. “Where did Megan go?”

Darius glared at her. “She got away. Took off down the fire escape.”

“Great!” Erin threw her arms up in the air.

“Probably because you decided to take a shot at her.” Tresa dangled in the air a handgun that presumably belonged to Erin.

Darius snatched the gun and turned incredulous eyes on the girl. “Are you serious?”

Erin’s eyes sparked with defiance. “I wanted her to admit what she did.”

Darius swore as he stuffed the gun into his pocket. “You’re lucky she only punched you. You have no idea what she’s capable of.”

“She’s killing my friends—I think I do know!” Indignant color burned brightly across Erin’s cheeks as she clutched her nose.

Tresa patted her arm. “Calm down.”

Darius shook his head in disgust. “Let’s get out of here before the cops show up.” They needed to catch up with Megan. No telling what she would do now that she knew they were on to her.

He led Tresa and Erin out of the building. “Where’s your car?”

Erin motioned to a BMW parked across the street. “But I don’t think I can drive.” She lifted her hand from her nose and flashed her bloodied fingers, as if that prevented her from driving.

Darius sighed. He looked at Tresa, but she
was already holding out her hand for the keys to the rental. “It’s okay. You drive her. I’ll follow.”

He dropped the keys into her palm. She turned and unlocked the car without a word. He watched her until Erin tugged on his arm, pulling him toward her car.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her clutch on his arm was becoming a familiar sensation.

Settling behind the wheel, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The need to see Tresa, to keep her in his sights at all times, to always keep her close to him, was becoming more and more powerful.

T
WENTY-ONE

E
rin lived in a lavish condominium with two other girls. As they walked down the plum carpet–lined corridor, Tresa couldn’t help but compare it to Megan Johnson’s squalid environment. Erin punched in her door code and entered the airy apartment.

“My roommates are in class right now,” she announced, dropping her purse on the couch.

His expression grim, Darius asked, “What were you thinking, going to Megan Johnson’s place today? Armed with a gun?”

Erin look affronted. Her lips pulled into a childlike pout as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t going to kill her. Have some faith. I just wanted to spook her into admitting what she did.”

Tresa rolled her eyes. “And then what? So she admits it to you—what would you do next?”

Erin’s faced flushed. She glared at Tresa and
then stormed into the kitchen. She returned a moment later, a bottle of sparkling water in her hand. Arching an eyebrow, she took a dainty sip.

“You’ve got to stay out of this,” Darius continued, his voice hard.

Tresa pointed to Erin’s nose. The bleeding had stopped, but it was pink and swollen. Faint traces of dried blood ran in streaks above her lip. “She already hurt you.”