Soul Thief (Dark Souls) by Anne Hope Read Free Book Online Page B

your soul?”
    Adrian didn’t answer, and an unsettling pause ensued.
    After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Marcus released a long string of air. “I’ll see what I can do.” His gaze took on the bleak quality of a midnight storm. “But I can’t make any promises.”

Chapter Ten
    Angie decided to help out at the soup kitchen today, despite her pounding headache and the unsettling sensation that she’d forgotten something major. She’d had this type of feeling before, like the time she’d left her curling iron on or the time she’d neglected to lock the front door. But never before had it been so sharp, so persistent.
    She’d gotten home at six thirty that morning with no memory whatsoever as to what had transpired the night before. Exhaustion had clung heavily to her, and she’d fallen into bed and slept for hours. Her dreams had been restless, riddled with discordant images of a blade pressed to her throat, followed by flashing lights, flying subway cars and a dark-haired stranger she almost recognized.
    When she’d awakened, she’d been more confused than ever. She’d showered and dressed, then left for Reach. Before heading to the subway station, she’d stopped briefly by Turtle Pond. She’d stood on the bank, gazing at her shivering reflection in the water. Then something extraordinary had happened. The reflection in the pond had morphed to that of a man. The man she’d seen in her dream.
    Her dark angel .
    She didn’t know why she thought of him this way, but the name felt right.
    Now, hours later, she still couldn’t chase his compelling image from her head. It taunted her, made her skull ache and whispered of forbidden secrets.
    “Hey, lady, I’m waiting.”
    The words snapped her out of her daze. A brooding teen stood before her, indicating his empty bowl with an annoyed scowl. He wore a tattered pair of jeans and a Motley Crew T-shirt beneath a torn, washed-out jean jacket. His head was shaved, save for the Mohawk that ran down the middle of his skull like the angry bristles of a broom, and several metal studs pierced his left ear.
    Angie quickly ladled soup into his bowl, focusing her attention on the task at hand, turning her thoughts away from the enticing mental image of a man who didn’t exist.
    She finished serving the soup, happy when everyone was fed. Removing her apron, she prepared to walk to Reach headquarters, where she could man the phone lines.
    She remembered how pleased her dad had been the day she’d told him she wanted to volunteer at the charity organization he’d founded. His face had shone with pride. It was only a few months later that his heart had given out, completely devastating Angie’s family. Tina had retreated further into herself, and her ever-escalating concern for Angie’s health and safety had stolen whatever peace of mind her mother had once possessed. Angie had taken on a supporting role at home, while struggling to cope with her own feelings of guilt and grief.
    The only way she’d survived the loss of her father was by channeling all her energy into Reach. Every time she grew tired or discouraged, she pictured the look of pride on her dad’s face, and her drive and faith were instantly restored.
    The two-block stroll to the main office was pleasant and uneventful. Traffic roared all around her, but she ignored it, choosing to focus on the people instead, on the animated chatter of the pedestrians, on the click of heels striking the pavement, on the occasional laugh or cry emitted by a child in a stroller. Car exhaust mingled with the foul air rising from the sewers, but Angie didn’t mind. This was the smell of home, as familiar and dear to her as the scent of her own perfume.
    She arrived at the building that housed Reach and pushed open the glass doors, only to stop dead in her tracks. The illusion of peace shattered as effectively as a crystal vase striking the floor. The ground beneath Angie’s feet tilted.
    Standing at the threshold,