The Soul Collector

Chapter SIXTEEN

�There is the horror of confrontation, when this fragile essence we shall call life, hangs by a delicate thread�

Eva struggled to her knees, her eyes closed. The deed was tediously executed, and a gasp escaped her. Her hands slipped to her ribcage and she winced.

She ached with every breath. Kneeling, she gagged at the sharp and bitter taste rising in her throat.

She swallowed, scowling as the sourness took its precious time to settle into the region of her gut. She inhaled a trembling breath, the pain ebbing. Eva remained on her knees and shuddered, wondering where she was, the last few hours dim.

Wherever she was, it stunk far worse than the man who held her captive. Not by much, she admitted, but enough.

She opened her eyes. She shivered again, feeling the intense cold seeping from the hard stone floor. A long and quivering sigh fell from her, and much-needed moisture rose to her pained eyes. Salty tears streamed from the corners, wetting her face, before dripping off her chin.

Angrily, she swiped her hand across her eyes. She wanted to curse, but she didn't know if Julian lurked nearby, determined not to show him any weakness.

She wouldn't reveal the coiling fear rolling through her, knowing he would savor her terror. He would do that insane little dance of joy that was such a part of his character, leaping and bouncing in a macabre pirouette of madness.

Of course, he would be near. He would be waiting for someone far more important than a frightened investigative reporter.

He would be waiting for his brother.

Eva strained to focus on her surroundings, her aching eyes unable to distinguish much beyond her. The darkness was too dense, and chilling, and she felt dropped into a nightmare.

Mist, as thick as a down filled blanket, shrouded her. The murkiness was alight with a dull and greenish white glow; the waves undulated.

She trailed her hands across the hard ground beneath her. A stench of decomposition swirled in the air, instead of the moistness that so often accompanied fog. The nauseating odor she could only accredit to one thing… evil.

The stones were slick with dampness. The slime of moss made the limestone glossy, and Eva struggled to rise. Her actions were slow, every bone protesting, and bit her lips to muffle her whimper. Flashes of moments lost flittered through her mind, fleeting images of a barren landscape, void of any visible life and shrouded in snow. Vaguely, she remembered a spire, raised high into the grayness of the winter sky. She recalled peering at the turret and thinking how sad it looked, a lone sentinel in the wasteland.

She shivered, pushing the fanciful image from her mind. Crumbling rocks and lone spires were the things of fairy tales, or horror movies, not factors in her life.

Lately, her life hadn’t been exactly normal.

Her teeth chattered, clicking uncomfortably. She tried to still the action, grinding her jaw closed. The chattering continued, and refused to abate as the cold rose through the bare skin of her feet.

“You could have let me bring my shoes, you dumb ass!” She shouted, the words echoing and bouncing from a ceiling high above. Immediately, she wished she could retract the statement, not wanting to hear Julian's cackling laughter.

Her eyes darted about, and she sighed with hopelessness. She wouldn't have been capable of seeing him if he would have stood three feet in front of her, smiling with frightening yellowed grin.

To her relief, there wasn't any response.

She was alone, for now.

Eva shuddered and moved her hands over her forearms, attempting to rub warmth into her body.

Shoes would have been nice, she mused, and a jacket.

She expelled a weary, fog-shrouded breath and her hands shook as she lifted the cloud of tangled hair from her dirty face. She strained to peer into the inky darkness of her surroundings, attempting to recall Brice's words from the other night.

“It's just the dark, nothing else.” She repeated the words whispering in her mind. Eva recalled Lucien’s instructions, fortifying herself with a pain-filled breath.

Despite the lack of light, the shadows radiated with an unnatural and eerie glow. At first, she assumed she was in a cavern, the walls echoing with the slow drip of water and the screech of animals.

After careful consideration, she knew she was wrong.

She scanned the carved and fitted stone. Despite the darkness, with only the unusual glow to benefit her vision, she realized she was in the remnants of an ancient building.

Her lips tightened as she considered the possibilities of the location. This wasn't just any building, knowing the structure held particular significance to the D’Angel brothers.

She was in the bowels of an ancient castle. From the darkness and sounds permeating the thick mist, she was below ground, invisible to the outside world. Perhaps she was in a dungeon, the remains of St. Lorraine’s once beautiful stronghold.

Eva collapsed into a sitting position, her legs weak. She placed her forehead on her bent knees, frustrated tears well in her eyes

“Evangeline?”

The whisper of her name brought her head upright. She rubbed at her eyes, wiping the stinging drops away, and peered into the darkness. Eva sniffled, childishly swiping the cuff of her sweater across her face.

She didn't answer, afraid it was the other man calling her name, seeking her. She wouldn't put it past him, to use his brother's voice to confuse her into a sense of complacency.

“Evangeline?”

The mist swirled about her in wild waves. For a moment, the denseness of the all-encompassing fog seemed stimulated by unseen hands, before going still. The cottony matter ebbed and pulled away from her, forming an ever-widening path. From the deepest depths of the darkness, as if magically summoned by her imaginings, a lone figure approached.

At first, the entity was a wavering image, the thick mist pulling from him. As he neared, the long tails of an ever-familiar coat swirled about his lean legs, the material fluttering and snapping.

The stagnant smell of rot evaporated with every step, the mist diminishing into nothingness. A more earthy fragrance, rich and profound as freshly turned earth on a spring morning, replaced the stench. The aroma was full of life and promise, everything the dungeon lacked.

Lucien had arrived.

She wanted to cry his name aloud, earnest tears of relief filling her eyes. He had come to rescue her from this hellish world buried so far beneath the ground. A sob tore from her as she saw the beauty of his glowing skin. He was a bright beacon of alabaster, the color made more intense by the spectral image of the man at his side.

“Lucien!”

The relieved issuance of his name slipped from her, more sob than word. Fresh tears began anew when he scanned her scraped features. A long-suffering breath fell from him and he lifted his hands, pale and gloveless, to her wan face.

“Darling angel,” he whispered lovingly. His hands, normally so cold, were warm. He let the seeping wetness flow before pressing the comforting pressure of his mouth to her trembling lips. Pulling away, he stroked the tangled hair from her face. “We don’t have time, my love.”

…no time�

Her chilled fingers traced his warm features. “Please, take me home.”

Lucien rose to his feet. He lifted her after him, his newly beating heart threatening to break as Eva cried out in pain. He murmured soft words of apology at the agony shooting through her, the bare skin of her feet afire, and her ribs aching with every breath.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He crooned before gathering her close to his chest.

…bastard hurt�

“Julian hurt you.”

It wasn't a question, for he knew the answer. Of course, his brother would harm her. Pain was something familiar to his twin, as was death and despair.

“I don't remember.” Eva slipped her trembling hands up and under the hem of his heavy sweater, the new feel of the warm flesh beneath, comforting. He quivered and flinched with the coldness of her touch, her fingers splaying wide against his back.

…cold as death�

Reese's words were barely intelligible. Eva pressed her ear to Lucien's chest, the steady beat of his heart loud, and attempted to meld into the luxury of his heated flesh. Snuggling deeper, her exhausted sigh was a whisper in the mist filed room.

…cold�

Eva chuckled, amused by the irritated tones. She was pleased her brother's ghost arrived with Lucien in tow. The spirit's ironic quips lent a hint of levity to the dire situation.

“I'm freezing,” she admitted reluctantly, lifting her head and gracing her brother's sepia image with a wan smile.

…no shoes�

“I didn't have time,” she tried to ignore Lucien's furious scowl. “Anyway, it appears no shoes, no coat, gets you first class service in the dungeons of St. Lorraine.”

…no time for sarcasm�

“I agree.” He set her from him. Immediately, she felt the intense coldness of the dungeon return to her bones, her sharp cry of pain echoing. He pressed a warm finger to her lips, stifling the sound, his eyes warning her of things unseen. His expression was sorrowful as he shrugged out of his trench coat. “Remember what lies in the shadows, Evangeline.”

“Yes, yes.” She repeated the word several times, knowing he was correct. The souls of the lost and the damned lurked, as well as those of the merciful.

Lucien placed the heavy weight about her shoulders, pulling her close. She gazed up, unable to speak, clutching at his shoulders before placing her head on his shoulder.

…the bastard?

“Julian doesn't matter, at the moment,” Lucien responded, his scowl directed at the sepia hued spirit. In the gloominess, as Eva looked into his face, she couldn't mistake the gradual darkening of his eyes. Despite his warmth, the beating of his heart beneath her fingertips, and the breath quivering from his lungs, he hadn’t lost the general essence of his curse.

…owe him one�

“My grudge far outweighs your own, Reese,” Lucien smirked, the wry twist of his lips bearing a wealth of unspoken words.

…mine�

“No, my brother is mine.” Lucien snarled, before forcing a semblance of calm into his voice. “There are stairs at the end of the chamber. Reese will guide you to freedom.”

“But…”

“Whatever you do, don’t re-enter the castle.”

“Lucien?”

“Promise me?” He smoothed the tangles from her hair with quivering hands.

“Lucien?”

“Vow, Evangeline!” His words were desperate, filled with a fear she never heard uttered in the past.

“I promise.”

…Nikolai

“Nikolai?”

“Nikolai and Gil are at the foot of the hill.”

“Your crew members are here?”

“Yes.” Lucien whispered. “I need you to go to them. They will take you across the border. There, Brice has secured lodgings with Ethan and Deborah.”

“They’re all here?”

“They will keep you safe.” He didn't answer her question.

“They know? They know about you?”

“It appears I’m not as cautious as I imagined,” his lips twisted with the admission. “They’ve known I was collecting lost souls since the beginning.”

She remained speechless, lost in the startling revelation.

…no time�

“You have to leave, Evangeline,” Lucien set her from him.

“I can't,” she insisted, burrowing into his coat. “Julian is here, and waiting.”

He smoothed his scarred hand over her wan features, the palm burning. “Our confrontation is inevitable. I need to keep you safe, my love, away from him.”

“How touching, little brother.”