The Soul's Mark: HUNTED

Page 20

“Changed how?” Mitchell asked, sounding worried and shifting slightly so he could meet her eyes.
“The bond, it just feels…different somehow.”
The realization of what had just happened hit her, and fire burned over her entire body. Amelia was certain that even her toes were rosy with the blush. She was naked, in the tub with Mitchell. Her Mitchell. And she was talking to him as if…as if they were dressed and sitting around casually. What if he regrets it? Had they been too impulsive? What if he didn’t think she was pretty now? Full of nerves and feeling way too exposed, she scooted away and reached for one of the dampened towels.
“Don’t you dare,” Mitchell said wickedly, pulling her back. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.” He scooped her up in his arms and set her down to stand in front of him on the plush and wet mat. He wrapped a towel around his waist and then took his time drying her off, letting his eyes explore every nook and cranny.
Once he was certain she was dry, although Amelia was sure that had happened at least twenty minutes ago, he leaned in and kissed her lingeringly. “I love you, Amelia,” he murmured. He took her hand, leading her out of the bathroom, up the landing steps, and straight to their bed.
CHAPTER 15
The sunlight streamed through the window, waking Amelia from her sleep. Something felt peculiar; her cheeks were slightly tight, as if she was smiling. Had last night been a dream? Or, could she still be dreaming? Because, for Amelia, waking with a smile did not happen very often, and quite honestly, most of her good memories usually turned out to be dreams. She flipped rapidly through her memories but couldn’t find the last time she had woken happy. And, besides, she had never been a morning person to begin with.
She traced her lips lightly, feeling the slight upwards curve at the corners, and her smile widened. Wow, she was smiling. How could this be? Amelia rolled over; seeking the comfort of Mitchell’s arms but the bed was empty beside her.
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat upright, her smile vanishing. Were her memories from last night just some delusion? A fantasy set in motion by the thoughts of what could be? Amelia had herself so worked up, that for a moment, she missed Mitchell’s radiating pain that filled the room. She scanned the enormous bedroom searching for him, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she found him pacing the floor, his cell phone glued to his ear. He locked eyes with hers, and his attempted smile quickly fell flat.
That’s when she remembered. The events of the last twenty-four hours resurfaced, last night’s love and passion suddenly becoming buried in an avalanche of pain and misery. Mabel was dead. Guilt hit her hard and fast, and she felt sick.
Mitchell’s expression twisted to something dark and hostile, and he snapped his phone shut. “Don’t do that,” he said a bit too sharply, as he sat down beside her. He took her chin roughly in his hands and forced her to look at him.
Amelia’s throat was suddenly dry, and her mouth felt like sandpaper. “Do what?” she asked, her voice sounding equally snappy.
“Don’t ruin last night with guilt,” he said, and then he dropped his hands. When he continued, his voice was so full of emotion it was almost palpable. “She wouldn’t want that.”
Amelia took a moment to consider Mitchell’s words. Part of her knew it was true. Mabel would have wanted them to go on, be happy, be together; yet she couldn’t help but feel vile and selfish. How could she have forgotten so quickly? Spent even a moment in that blissful state, so soon after Mabel’s death.
Her eyes began to burn, and her throat began to close as if a giant boa constrictor had wrapped itself around her neck and was slowly squeezing the life from her. “What can I do to help?” she choked out, suddenly feeling a suffocating urge to do something, anything, just to be useful.
Mitchell didn’t answer right away. He put an arm around her shoulder and tucked her head in the hollow of his neck, breathing deeply as if he was giving himself a mental order with each breath. Amelia counted sixty long intakes before he said, “Can you check the protective barriers Megan put in place? We don’t really know anything about her and…” He shuddered slightly, unable to finish his thought, but she saw it all clearly through the bond, and a new fear settled in her.
Amelia wiggled out of his arms and stared at his knitted brow. “What are you trying to say, Mitch?”
He raised his hands instinctively, as if he was trying to physically block the question from reaching him, and then he sighed, long and loud. “I’m not trying to say anything, Amelia. I just want to make sure that everyone is safe, and you are the only one here that can check her work.”
She searched his face, looking for something that she knew she wouldn’t find. She wanted to believe that he was just being cautious, but the bond wouldn’t let her. And after what seemed like years of searching, she slowly nodded her silent agreement to the suspicions that she could not voice, and she got out of bed.
It was a great effort to walk down the few steps of the landing to the main level of their bedroom, but she did it and kept on moving towards the bathroom. Between her guilt and grief and the mixed signals she was getting from Mitchell, the bond seemed to have a life of its own, and it felt like she was being pulled back two steps with every step she took. She felt as if she was running a marathon and beads of sweat began to drip down her neck and soak into the collar of her t-shirt.
“Amelia,” he said hesitantly, and she glanced over her shoulder. He smiled, a sad and lost kind of smile, and murmured, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she replied robotically, and then she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.
Amelia was no stranger to loss or the pain that followed, but this time it seemed different. Harder and stronger and consuming. There was something about living with vampires that had corrupted her reality—people die. Somewhere, deep down, she had known Mabel would eventually die. Life ends in death. That was just plain simple logic. But living within a world that did not follow science and math and logic had changed her. Altered her beliefs.
She searched her reflection in the mirror that hung before her, expecting to see a scared child. Someone who would rather hide underneath the bed than face the seemingly frightening world. But what she saw in its place sent a rolling shiver across her shoulders. What she found instead was a strong woman who had overcome the scars inflicted by years of grief and loss.
Amelia knew that the change shouldn’t have bothered her. Changing was a good thing, wasn’t it? She squinted at her image trying to pinpoint the true source of her uneasiness, and it hit her like a bolt of lightning. With healing, came new life, which leads to the inevitable—new death. She had been given another chance at life, and this time, she was not scared for herself, instead she was terrified for those who could be taken from her.
That realization spurred her into action and before long, Amelia was fully dressed in her running gear (gray yoga pants and a baggy, light blue t-shirt), and she left her room and headed for the kitchen in search of her running shoes which she was pretty sure she had kicked off there after her last run.
Her determination was kicked up to high gear when she entered the room and found her family huddled around the island. Before she could stop it, a flash of Jessica and Justin burning alive filled her mind. Her imagination went into overdrive, and suddenly she could see the jumping flames land on her loved ones: Mitchell, Eric, Angelle, Erin, Luke, and Lola were engulfed in the inferno, while the rest of them could do nothing to stop the spreading flames.
“That won’t happen, love,” Mitchell said reassuringly, bringing her out of the nightmare. She wanted to believe him, but the reality was it could happen. And the ghostly look he was giving her confirmed that she was right.
Amelia looked away, unable to bear the truth that was etched on his face, and said, “Eric, you want to come for a run? I’m going to check the spells Megan placed yesterday. Make sure there are no gaps.”
Amelia wasn’t completely sure, but she thought Eric looked almost relieved with the option to escape. “Meg, do you want to come?” he asked, as he rose from his chair.
“Actually, I’m going to do some inventory,” Megan said, looking uncomfortable.
“Of what?” Mitchell questioned a bit too warily for Amelia’s taste, but she bit her tongue and waited.
The uncomfortable look quickly changed to one of a caged animal, and Megan began to nervously tap her foot on the floor in a broken, jittery rhythm. “Well, I noticed last night that there aren’t many humans in this gated area. Including the three of us here,” she said, gesturing to Amelia and Tyler. “And the twenty-two I counted…well, I think we should make sure we have enough, um, food for everyone since we are on lock down and all.” She shot an apologetic look at the vampires sitting round the table before continuing. “And if it’s okay with you guys, I was thinking that we should probably check all the houses, round up the supplies and start a ration. The vampires with human soulmates have a supply, but the rest of them…I just don’t want to add to the death count is all.”
Mitchell’s jaw dropped, and Amelia could feel the uneasiness in him. Could Megan really have adjusted this quickly? It seemed unrealistic and really did not help to alleviate any of the suspicious that had begun to claw their way inside his mind.
Since he didn’t look like he was about to, or even could, speak, Amelia did. “Good thinking, Megan. Erin, you can help her gather the supplies. Tell them you are acting on my authority, and for now, I want you to leave one bag of blood for every vampire in each house. Bring the rest here so we can come up with a ration system.”
“For every vampire?” Luke asked, his quizzical eyes searching her face.
“Yes,” Amelia replied firmly. “I don’t think we should expect their partners to become walking meals. It’s their choice to offer their blood, not ours.”
Lola narrowed her eyes with contempt. “It sounds to me like you are protecting yourself with this idea of humans not becoming food. If Mabel could…”