The Soul's Mark: Broken (25 page)

A ticking sound somewhere in between a
grandfather clock and the ting of water on a tin roof caught Amelia’s
attention.  It was loud and quiet all at once, as if the sound was an echo,
bouncing back and forth.  “What is that?” Amelia asked, stopping dead, and then
turning in circles, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from.  That’s when
she noticed how quiet the house was.  There was no chatter, no scuffling
footsteps.  Nothing, except the ticking.

“I don’t hear …” Megan started, but stopped
as a ringing metallic thud sounded and then another and another and another.

Amelia’s heart jumped to her throat. 
What
now?
she wanted to scream.  She started forwards again, and as she moved, a
feeling of wrongness washed over her.  It was hot and cold and spine tingling
and just plain wrong.  She strained her ears and glanced up at the ceiling. 
Even with thirty hunters missing—that’s what her brain wanted to believe, they
were just missing—there were still twenty-nine roaming the house, and the
humans upstairs, even charmed, had still giggled and chatted.  Amelia cut left
into the hallway that led to the dungeon, and her eyes fell on Officer McLean resting
against the iron door.

“What are you doing here?” Josh growled,
mirroring Amelia’s thoughts and pushing past her.  Her heart was racing, and
her nerves were fried.  Josh started down the hallway towards McLean and then,
after only a step, he abruptly turned back to Amelia.  “Go back to your room,
sweetheart,” he said with a soft tone, and he smiled a little.  “I’ll handle this.”

Amelia was stunned speechless. 
Sweetheart!
Room! 
What the hell was wrong with him?  The only place that she was going
was to Eric.  Her eyes widened, and she felt them throbbing as if they were
going to pop out of her head.  Josh caressed her cheek, and gave her a nudge
back the way they had come, before turning back to Officer McLean.

McLean looked from Josh to Amelia and then
back up at Josh, meeting him square on.  “I’ve been trying to contain the
situation,” McLean said.  “You were supposed to kill them.  Not set a bunch of
blood crazed demons loose on my town.”

“Shut up, McLean,” Josh snarled, shooting a
quick sideways look over his shoulder at Amelia.  A quick look of shock passed
across his face when he realized she hadn’t left.  “Get her out of here, Cole,”
he snapped.  Amelia looked behind her and noticed Cole standing there smirking,
but he didn’t move towards her.

“I helped you,” McLean spat.  “I led you
right to them and to her.”  He cut Amelia a quick look that resembled disgust. 
“I gave you the info you needed.”  That’s when Amelia noticed that he had his
hand clasped to his neck, and darkness was spreading between his fingers.

Josh paced forwards and Amelia went to
follow, but Cole grabbed her around the waist holding her still.  “Don’t you
want to hear this?” Cole whispered in her ear.  Out of the corner of her eye,
she noticed both Tyler and Megan watching Josh and Officer McLean with
identical looks of
what the hell?

“Cole, get her out of here!”  Josh snarled
again, eyeing the officer closely as he continued to advance.  Cole held still,
holding Amelia tightly, not that he needed to; she didn’t think she could move
even if she wanted to.

You knew this!
a voice in the back of her head hollered. 
You knew something
wasn’t right about him! 
Amelia felt hot and cold and sick and was suddenly
thankful for Cole’s secure arm around her waist.

“Mitchell knows,” McLean said.  “He put it
all together.  My car stalling in the middle of the gates after the spell was
set.  All the times I was MIA over the last few weeks.  He knows I was helping
you.”  He let out a deep huff.  “Dammit!  All I wanted was to make this town
safe!  You promised to make this town safer, but all you’ve done is brought
more death.”

McLean pushed himself off of the door and
started forwards, and as he approached, Amelia noticed his paper white
complexion.  “Shit,” Josh cursed.  There was blood all over his uniform, on his
face, and dripping from his neck, and he looked pretty shaky.

“You were supposed to free us!” McLean
shouted.

Suddenly, Sally’s hand jumped out, crushing
onto Amelia’s hand with a death grip, and she began to shake.  “They got in,”
she whispered.  Her palm began to sweat and turn clammy in Amelia’s hand.  Her
breath was coming fast, puffing out, short and breathless.

“That’s impossible,” Amelia countered,
looking the psychic up and down and wiggling her hand, which was now full of
pins and needles, from Sally’s tight hold.  Cole still kept an arm around her
waist loosely, and McLean and Josh turned, staring at her.

“Amelia, you must run,” Sally said, her
voice losing some of its passion and her eyes glazing over, like ice on a lake.

Amelia twisted her wrist and flung it
side-to-side, trying to break the psychic’s hold on her.  “Let go,” she
growled.  Cole promptly dropped his arm from her waist, and stepped away, but
Sally held tight.

“Listen child, if he corners you, you will
die,” Sally said, her voice far away.  “I see it!”  Amelia’s head was
swimming.  She looked around, gawking at Cole and Josh and Megan, and then back
at Sally.  “You need to hide,” she continued with a nod, as if she was
confirming her own statement.  “You cannot face him in here.”

Amelia’s heart was pounding painfully
loud. 
He’s here!
her brain screamed, even though she knew it wasn’t
impossible.  Her breath caught in her throat, and the urge to run to him was
consuming.  The only thing that stopped her from hauling back and punching
Sally to get her to let go was the unrelenting feeling of wrongness.  It seized
hold of her and squeezed at her chest, taking her breath away.  “Mitchell won’t
hurt me,” Amelia said with a certainty that she did not feel.  “If he wanted to,
he would have already.”

Sally seemed to consider this, and as she
stared at Amelia, some of the film that had settled over her eyes peeled away. 
A grin twitched at her lips, spreading at the corners and widening into an odd,
and verging on frightening, kind of smile.  “When the dust settles with the
rising sun, you will need to choose a path.  Your past holds the answers.  But
you must break a branch and set one of them free.  When this is over, Mitchell
will hunt Josh, and Josh will hunt Mitchell if you do not break the branch and
let one of them go.”

“Sally, you’re not making any sense,”
Amelia cried.  “Let me go!”

“Too late,” Lola’s snarky voice ruptured
through Amelia, and she froze, petrified.  Lola yanked Sally away, tossing her
to the side as if she weighed no more than a feather, and then she slinked
around Amelia, running her cold fingers over Amelia’s shaking shoulders, along
the base of her neck, and through her curly hair.  Her nostrils flared as she
sucked in a deep breath, and her fangs sharpened.  “Mmmmm.”

Crap!  This can’t be happening!
  Amelia drew in a sharp breath. 
How?
  As soon as the
question entered her brain, the answer clicked.  McLean, the ticking, the
thuds; they got in through the dungeon, and McLean had opened the door.  Lola hissed
something in her ear that Amelia couldn’t understand, and Amelia snapped, “Back
off, Lola,” and shoved her, determined not to let Lola see how freaked out she
was.

Lola didn’t budge, didn’t even rock, but
she did laugh.  It was a silky, musical, and wonderfully beautiful kind of
laugh.  She gazed at Amelia through hooded eyes and smiled lazily.  “You are so
lucky you’re Mitchell’s pet.”  She licked her lips.  “When did you become such
a frightened little thing, Millie?  It’s absolutely mouthwatering.”

“I’m not his pet,” Amelia seethed before
she could stop herself.  Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia spotted Josh and
Cole slowly moving in and trying not to draw attention to themselves.

Lola wagged her index finger and
tsked
. 
“You don’t want to say that too loudly.  It just might be considered an
invitation.”

Suddenly, hunters began running into the
hallway with frenzied hollers and terrified cries.  Each one carried a bow, but
none of them aimed to protect themselves.  They pushed and shoved as they raced
for safety.  Josh and Cole shouted, trying to gain control, and they fought to
reach Amelia’s side, but with each step forward, they were shoved back by the
horde of freaked out people.  Behind them, half a dozen vamps followed with
blazing eyes and sharp fangs.  The dungeon door flew open, and more vamps
swarmed out.

Mitchell stood back and scanned the crowd
of frightened people huddling together as if the closeness would actually help
them.  The majority of them had weapons, crossbows, and arrows, but not a
single one of them took aim. 
What are they waiting for?
he wondered. 
On the floor lay two injured, groaning in pain, but not a single one dead.

His people were moving in slowly,
teasingly, prowling around the edges of the hallway with the stealth and
control of a tiger hunting its prey.  A round of snarls penetrated the air
followed by a few shrieks and whimpered cries.  Hearts beat loudly, sounding
like drums in his ears.  Fear and sweat tinged the air.  It was euphoric and
sickening all at once.

And it was wrong.

Completely … wrong.  Why weren’t they
protecting themselves?  Surely, the witch would not let these people be
slaughtered without a fight.

Mitchell swallowed hard, fighting back the
overwhelming urge to vomit. 
Stop this,
a voice ruptured through his
mind. 
This is wrong.  Wrong. Wrong.  Wrong.  You are not a murderer! 
A
wave of nausea rushed over him hard and fast.

But if he wasn’t a killer, then what was
he?  Vampires kill.  They drink blood.  They feed on the living.  It was the
food chain, plain and simple.

What was happening to him?  He wanted to
scream it out.  Demand answers to the turmoil that spun within him like a
spider’s web trapping conflicting thoughts and ideas, weaving them together in
a sinful mess of puzzlement.

Flashes of smiles and kisses and laughter
continued to bombard his brain like bombs of poison.  They stirred something
within, something foreign and unreal, an emotion, or maybe it was the memory of
one, that he could not name.  But with every smile that entered his brain, a
powerful sense of hatred followed.  Contorted features full of blame and
loathing.  The cold gray-blue eyes of a witch that wanted him dead. 

It was another memory that didn’t make
sense.  Amelia—his pet—wanted him dead.  But if that was true, then why had he
kept her?  The rational part of his brain told him he wouldn’t.  He would have
killed her and eliminated the threat.  But his memories … they told a different
story.  They showed something that resembled love.  But that was ridiculous. 
He didn’t feel love.  He couldn’t.  Love was something that left him long ago. 
It was a distant memory from a time when he was human and he still had a soul.

He felt like he was missing
something—something important—but his brain would not let him see it.  It was
hidden in a dark corner, banished from his grasp.  It was in the place he put
thoughts that did not coincide with his reality.

Mitchell looked back at the terrified horde
of hunters, and then at his vampires, who were circling with an unsure edge.

A familiar face stepped from the crowd,
moving slowly with controlled steps to the center of the hallway.  He stopped
five paces from the huddled mob, scanning the threat with a trained eye, and
the way he moved, with stealthy craftiness, stirred another memory from the
banished corner of Mitchell’s mind.

The rain pelted down, drenching the
ground around them, keeping it slick with muddy patches in the grass.  Tyler
kept his footing, circling around Mitchell with a nimble grace.

“You sure you want to teach me this?”
Tyler asked with a devilish smirk.  “You know that I had a thing for Millie,
right?”

“Careful now, Angelle could be
listening,” Mitchell replied.  “And believe me; her punishment would be far
worse than mine.”

“I could handle them both,” Tyler
leered.  He danced back and forth like a boxer in a ring.  In each hand, he
spun long, wooden stakes through his fingers.

“Tyler,” he said with a laughing
warning.  “Don’t make me rethink having you in my house.”

“Sweetie, what the hell are you doing?”
Tyler asked, snapping Mitchell out of the memory and bringing him back to the
cold stone walls and the scent of tangy blood that floated through the air.

Suddenly, Angelle was standing in front of
Tyler.  Her fangs folded back into her gums, and her crimson gaze faded to
brown.  She furrowed her brow.  “Why have I not tasted you yet?” she whispered.

“Because I’m not a walking fast food
joint,” Tyler said with an exasperated sigh, as if they had had this
conversation hundreds of times before.  He reached out, cupping Angelle’s
porcelain cheeks in his palms, and stepped closer to her, pressing his body
against hers.

“But you’re my pet.”  It was both a
statement and a question; her musical voice made it sound magical, alluring,
and extremely dangerous.