The Soul Collector

Chapter SEVEN

I shall grace you with what little heart remains, for the rest has been plundered by the darkness of my own damned existence�

Lucien D'Angel was grateful he didn't have a heartbeat.

If he did, the betraying beat of the organ would have prevented him from reaching where he stood.

Instead, he would've reverted to the cowardice of his youth, and remained in his apartment. There, he would be safe from the darkness, and the unsettling image of one mortal woman.

He was elated he didn't need his lungs.

If he’d been able to inhale one semblance of a breath, he knew the trembling air would be strangled. If forced to endure a stuttering heartbeat and unable to capture the most minuscule of breaths, he wouldn't have arrived where he stood.

He chuckled uncomfortably.

Perhaps, facing Julian's wrath would've been far easier.

He looked at the foyer floor of her apartment complex. He, Lucien D'Angel, stood on the threshold of a dwelling in a century old brownstone. The once second in line to the infamous throne of St. Lorraine was hesitant, and despising every damned moment.

His wariness was all due to one female, one he couldn't afford to slip away.

His death depended on her co-operation.

Lucien felt frustrated, the sensation one that hadn’t been part of his chemical make-up for more years than he remembered. He battled spirits on a daily basis, all without a second thought, but she unsettled him with one glance. It took only one doe eyed look from sensual Evangeline Keegan to toss him, headfirst, into a world he never had experienced.

Since their fateful meeting, she shook him to the core of his forgotten humanity. She placed within him an anxiety that didn’t reside in his carefully structured life.

Without knowing why, she had shattered his calm.

The woman had left his apartment in absolute terror a week earlier. He recalled the expression in her horrified eyes, and the memory pained him. He couldn’t blame her for her fear, though. Reese’s spirit had been enough, but his action had driven her over the edge.

Upon reflection, he expected her reaction.

There wasn't a soul who could withstand the horror in the depths of his brutally maltreated hand. He shrugged and considered the thought. The sentiment of repugnance extended to him, and his abhorrence was the reason behind the constant use of leather gloves.

Reconsidering the events of the disastrous evening, Lucien chose to stay away, not wanting to see the disgust he knew would be evident in her dark eyes.

Nevertheless, despite his vow to wait, he had to speak to her. A week was ample for her to gather scattered thoughts and understand the spirit shadowing her.

He lifted a gloved hand and closed his eyes, a disconcerting quiver assail his normally calm nerves. He bit at the sensitive skin of his lower lip, his teeth digging deep into the tender flesh. Evangeline, despite the years spent observing her every move, remained an enigma. He didn't know if she’d grant him audience, and he hoped she’d allow the more journalistic side to overtake any thoughts of self-preservation.

Lucien opened his eyes, the brightness of the hall lights blinding him. He blinked before focusing on the high sheen of the polished brass knocker before him. He glared at his distorted reflection, the outline of the implement brilliant against the dull hue of the crimson colored portal. Silent, his eyes darkened, his concentration directed toward the entity hovering beyond the door.

Reese Keegan’s spirit was strong.

He felt the familiar burn of his palm beneath the thickness of the gloves, and realized strong wasn’t an adequate word. Reese’s ghost contained an essence rivaling any of the demonic or intelligent figures so prevalent in the city's shadows. He would've been an intimidating energy to be reckoned with, if he were of a darker disposition.

At present, Reese wasn't the essence of the docile spirit, but neither was he something to fear. Instead, Lucien sensed a protective force. The ghost would only resort to the more intense nature if anything threatened his sister.

“Commendable behavior, Keegan,” Lucien murmured the words of praise to himself.

He detected the soft hum of the voices, one the woman filling his thoughts, and the other of the phantasm. The precise words were indecipherable to human ears, but they gave Lucien pause. His head shifted to the side and he attempted to interpret the sounds, pulling, and separating the ghostly images of the others lingering in the hallway.

He was correct in his assumption; Eva's brother was more than strong, his words becoming more clear with each passing second. He didn't plea for understanding, nor did he seek what his sister wouldn't freely grant. He merely repeated the undeniable facts of her life.

Lucien smiled remorsefully at Evangeline's obvious grumble of displeasure, knowing she was far from pleased. His lips twitched while he deciphered her muttered words, and he imagined the discontented expression she wore. No longer was she a troubled waif running from disapproval. She fought and revolted against everything and, even now, she revealed a tenacity he envied.

She had changed during the last decade, which made him distance himself. As a man, he endured a curse far worse than the one haunting him. It didn't require a beating heart to fill him with a need, for Evangeline had matured into a luscious woman, ripe with delectable curves and intelligence. His overactive imagination unraveled illicit thoughts during the late evening hours, and each thought centered on the woman holding his existence in her hands. He suffered from a hunger, perhaps an obsession, which endangered the notion of the salvation she offered.

Above death, and redemption, Lucien D'Angel hungered for her.

He hadn’t savored a woman's touch in more centuries than he cared to remember. A vivid and deprived imagination brought the wonder of Evangeline's supple curves to his mind. Her softly rounded features summoned forth a need he thought erased, and his mind tormented him with an insatiable and unfulfilled hunger. Lucien grimaced; thankful the lack of pulsating blood prevented him from suffering from a rampantly surging groin.

“You’ve become a beastly animal, D’Angel.” He chastised harshly beneath his breath, wondering if the soul of the daemon lurked more within his psyche. Evangeline was special, the lone link to fulfilling a prophecy, and he shuddered to imagine the consequences if he chose to succumb to his weaker side.

Lucien slid the length of his hand across the door, the dark color of his leather glove bright against the crimson colored wood, before drawing himself upright. Resigned, his expression bleak, he dropped the weight of the brass knocker down.

There was the distinct sound of a heavy bolt moving, the latch scraping loudly. Tense, his palm burning, Lucien's mind rebelled against the images of seduction filling his tormented thoughts. His shoulders straightened militarily beneath the heaviness of his coat, and he drew himself rigidly upwards.

The door opened and revealed a face forever etched into his psyche. Suspiciously, Eva perused his hesitant form, and he stifled a wounded frown. The heaviness of her scowl said what she didn't voice…she wasn't pleased that he, of all people, stood on her threshold.

“Good evening, Evangeline,” he murmured. Evident beneath the surface of her entrancing and cosmetic free features, he knew she was irritated. Whether the ire was directed at him, or the image hovering within the apartment, he remained uncertain.

If there had been any chance he could have expected another reaction, he was wrong, and couldn't fault her if she slammed the door. He was grasping and straws and hoped …no, prayed, she would accept him.

Eva didn't return his greeting, and exhaled resigned breath from pinched nostrils while she scrutinized him. Her expression didn’t change as she stepped away.

Lucien contained a pained wince, wondering if the door was going to slam shut.

To his surprise, there was the unmistakable rattle of added latches before the portal flew open. She turned and he grimaced, pulling his hands from his pockets as he entered. He closed the door behind him, ignoring the multitude of locks decorating the panel.

Lucien's gaze was riveted as she irritably paced her apartment. He watched each step she executed on ridiculously slippered feet, her spine rigid. His frown deepened as his gaze shifted from her rounded curves and traveled over the living room.

Lush colors of cream and red brightened the room, accentuated with large turquoise colored throw pillows. The hues were lively, reflecting the warmth of her nature simmering just below the surface. Prints filled the walls, varying from photographs of her estranged family to movie posters hearkening of a bygone era. Lucien granted Eva a few eccentricities as his wandering regard rested on enlarged pictures of various tabloid covers, all revealing her smiling face.

Her image was everywhere, except on the glowing screen of the desktop computer.

He stilled his flinch, the face on the bright screen one he couldn't fail to recognize. It was the photograph of a brilliantly executed portrait, revealing the image of the one man he hoped obliterated from his past.

Lucien's grimace vanished. His pained gaze lifted to her wan face, made paler by the obvious lack of cosmetics. She appeared frazzled, her shoulder length hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and dark circles evident beneath her large eyes. His lips tightened into a thin line and he nodded.

Silent, he looked her over. Despite her high flush, her mere essence made him control an unbidden tremor. To his jaded eyes, she was his angel, his fire, sent to grant him salvation.

Eva appeared more entrancing tonight, wearing faded denim jeans and a form-fitting Henley. The fabric clung and accentuated every deliciously rounded curve of her body and Lucien winced. The image on the computer faded from his thoughts, and his mind spiraled into the deepest depths of the proverbial gutter.

Striving for self-control, he focused on the flickering sepia image that stood at a discreet distance. Staring into the wavering features, he recognized the censure in the specter's judgmental frown.

Shamefaced, Lucien did the one thing he had never done in his life to any form, living or dead…he gave Reese an apologetic shrug.

“Evangeline, I understand my being here is difficult for you,” Lucien began.

“Difficult wouldn't be the correct word,” she answered, her voice echoing. “I figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

He smiled weakly. “I imagine your week has been…”

“Let me finish it for you,” she ground out. “Awful. My week has been awful!”

“Ah,” he interjected, knowingly. “I, of all people, understand.”

She gave an unladylike snort.

“I suppose you could, Lucien,” she supplied, her gaze flicking over his dark attire. She imagined four hundred years would give someone many memories, and more than a few unhealthy nightmares.�Brushing her thoughts aside, she spun about, her slippers squeaking on the wooden floor. The smoky image of her brother was nearby and she was content he remained silent.

“Will you allow me to explain?”

“I let you into my apartment, didn't I?” She snapped, running her hands over the thighs of her jeans. He couldn't control the direction of his gaze and watched her repeat the action, a strange sensation twisting in his gut. “If I didn't want you in here, trust me, you wouldn't have made it past the stoop.”

Mildly amused, Lucien bit his lip. He pulled his attention away from her delightful curves, and pushed his gloved hands deeper into his coat pockets. His stomach fluttering, he encouraged her to continue, knowing a tirade simmered violently beneath the surface.

“He,”�she lifted her hand and pointed at the shimmery figure wavering in the far corner. “That thing! Ah, hell, I haven't had a warm apartment in nearly a week. I’m freezing, no matter how much I turn up the heat, or how many sweaters I wear. And,” she almost screeched the words, her fingertips wagging at the lone spirit, “I can't get a moment’s peace! He just won't shut up!”

Lucien listened tolerantly to her outburst. He detected the trailing lilt of unmistakable laughter filling the room, the eerie sound barely discernible. Eva's hands rose to cover her ears, vainly attempting to block the sound, and her grimace visibly deepened. She flinched and spun about, her attention leaping from one, then to the other. The frustrated expression she wore said far more than any words falling from her luscious lips.

“You make him laugh.” Lucien noticed the deep grimace forming between her arched brows and the downward pull of her full lips.

Eva heaved an exhausted sigh. He watched her as she schooled her features into a relaxed expression, the frustration easing as she rolled her shoulders. Lucien remained as he was, hesitantly scanning the room and covertly admiring the outline of her voluptuous figure. Although his baser sensations and life had vanished, he retained the ability to appreciate the finer things in life, and the finer things stood before him.

She was such a beautiful woman.

Oh, his mind mused in thick tones, there wasn't any denying Evangeline was so much more. She was the essence of softness, ethereal in the shimmering glow of unnatural and illuminating light radiating from her. He knew he might possibly live a thousand years and never tire of gazing at her.

He attempted to shake the sensations of mind numbing need away by walking to the computer. The glow of the screen reflected his features as he eyed the information she had been viewing. To his surprise, Eva followed him, halting at his side.

Lucien drew himself upright, expecting her to suffer the feeling many experienced in his company. She should have trembled with unexplainable fear and suffered a sense of vertigo. She should have gasped for breath and skittered away, seeking safety.

She didn’t and he was at a loss. He felt human warmth flow from her, a heat he hadn’t experienced in ages. Unable to speak, his mind went delightfully blank.

For once, he felt peace.

…about time you cut the hair�

Lucien turned toward the image, aware the normal sepia tones in which he was accustomed, had faded. There was a dim whiteness radiating from the ghost, growing with each passing moment.

“Changing time’s call for adaptation,” Lucien responded, startling Eva with the words.

…don't look like a damned hippie, anymore�

“You talk too much.”

…sorry, ain't got anything else to do, sort of limited�

“I suggest you follow your sister's advice,” he couldn’t prevent his growl. “Shut up, Keegan.”

Lucien turned to the computer. His focus remained captured by the details on the screen, his shoulders sagging beneath the heaviness of his trench coat. She frowned, staring at him, her mind whirling.

“I couldn't resist checking out what you told me,” Eva supplied, still captivated by his profile as a sensation of breathlessness overtook her.

“I had expected as much.”

“Your D'Angel the Destroyer, the Daemon of St. Lorraine, wasn't a pleasant person.”

“I think you’ve uttered the understatement of millennium,” disgust flashed in his face. “My sire’s reputation was well earned.”

“Is it true he razed entire towns?”

He shook his head, his expression pained. Heaviness settled over him as he recalled the many battles boasted of within the castle walls, the tales of gore, rape, and pillaging recounted. As a child, he’d been sickened by the stories, their boasts haunting him with nightmares.

“He burnt villages to the ground, and murdered every man, woman and child that crossed his path.”

“Oh.”

“Four centuries of infamy can never be altered,” he responded morosely.

“It appears he ranks right in there with some of the most reviled despots in the world.”

She leaned across him and used the tip of an impatient finger to scroll down the computer page. Lucien didn't need to look at the copies of the woodcuttings representing the atrocities D'Angel the Destroyer committed. Eva paused as she arrived at a portrait, commissioned when Lucien had been a child.

“I don't know what to think anymore,” she stared blankly at the screen. Her eyes flicked over the image and the man, standing by her side, was the smaller youngster in the portrait. He appeared to have been a sickly child, far slighter than the brother towering by his side has.

“I do understand my tale’s one you would consider unbelievable,” he muttered, turning away, and staring blankly at the chestnut highlights of her bound hair. “I imagine your journalistic nature made you seek answers.”

“The nosey side took over, I’ll admit.” She smoothed her features, blissfully unaware of the chilling coldness seeping from his pale flesh. “Still, I have a lot of unanswered questions.”

“Such as?”

“Who, what, where, when, and why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

…you're in for it now�

“I need to know who, what, where, when and why?” She repeated, ticking the words off on her fingertips. “Those are the five words every journalist uses when researching a potential story.”

…told you�

He nodded, not to anyone in particular, biting back the words threatening to spill from him.

“Besides, I’m curious, and Reese refuses to shut the hell up. He keeps telling me objectivity is my job.” She grumbled tersely and jerked her head at the spirit hovering across the room. “Despite how much you and that damn hand of yours frighten me; he insists I ask questions.”

“I didn't mean to frighten you.”

...nah, you think.

She shrugged at the sarcastically enunciated comment and forced a laugh. Eva crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. She blinked rapidly, and seemed to be forming her own questions. Her actions, though, led him into a world where he couldn't manage a coherent thought, his gaze settling on the delicious outline of her ample breasts.

“I've done my research.”

“And?”

“I imagine you're Lucien D'Angel,” she supplied, her voice firm as her eyes slid back to the computer screen.

“Why?”

“I haven't any choice. As you said yourself, the story is too fantastic. The painting wouldn't lie and your hand…” she left the sentence unfinished, though Lucien understood. The palm of his hand was the proverbial icing on the cake, and reassured her he spoke the truth.

“My sire wasn't pleased with the portrait," he grumbled, more to himself. “He had the unfortunate artist drawn and quartered before the castle’s population.”

“Tell me your story, Lucien.”

The request held an unavoidable edge, and he understood a part of her wanted to know the truth. There was, also, the far saner side that didn’t want the disgusting details.

“I fear you’ll bolt in horror.”

“Been there, done that,” she responded sarcastically, her breath a soft cloud of steam in the freezing room. “Unfortunately, the reporter in me prevents me from running away, screaming like I want to do.”

…pull up a chair, it's gonna be a long night�

Lucien managed a thready chuckle, the effort strained. “Your brother has accomplished much these past few days.”

“Well,” �Eva granted him a grimace laced with embarrassment. She didn't turn toward the image that remained diligently nearby, albeit hovering, in a distant corner of the room. “I had a lot to consider, and he was in the way.”

…I can be a real pain

“I can't bear your fear,” he murmured apologetically.

…she's stronger than she looks�

“You dumped a hand with a glowing palm on me the same night you showed me a spirit tailing my every step. I suppose most people wouldn't think too clearly.”

There was a wry twist to his lips while he considered her statement, followed by the heavy chuckle that escaped her brother. They were both correct. Spirit images were a normally an unaccepted sight, even to the most understanding person, and his palm held a gruesomeness of its own.

“My existence is a difficult story.”

“Tell me, Lucien,” she pleaded.

“Do you truly wish to know, to understand?”

…she doesn't have a choice now, does she?

She shrugged, her arms falling to her sides as she neared him. He frowned, confounded by her nearness. They stood side-by-side, the top of her head close to his shoulder, her gaze wary, fear nonexistent in her overcurious gaze.

He wished he felt the same. The proximity of her warm flesh was tantalizing and mind numbing, sending a frisson of apprehension shooting through him.

“I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know.” She shrugged at an attempt of lighthearted humor. “Who knows? This has the makings of a potential bestseller. It may rival the popularity of your books.”

“My life is not something to write about, Evangeline.” He muttered. “I would prefer if you kept my secret that, a secret.”

“I’m not going to let the world know about you.” She grumbled in return. “If I did, I think I’d be locked up in the local loony bin.”

He made a sound deep in his throat, amused by her statement. Reluctantly, he began to speak. “I did tell you the basics.”

“Basics, yeah,” she frowned as she scanned his face. “You neglected to tell me you had a twin brother named Julian.”

Lucien gave her a cryptic smile. “We are only twins because we entered the world on the same fateful night, having shared the same womb.”

He moved away from the computer. Words appeared difficult, and thoughts ran in a jumbled mess through his mind. The events of the past were difficult to tell, for he had held every moment turned within his mind for as long as he could recall.

….sometimes, you don't need enemies. You have them in your own family�

Lucien pulled his hands from his pockets, the action slow and purposeful. Using a single finger, he pointed at the sofa. Eva reddened, her startled and apprehensive gaze flying fearfully to his gloved hands, before she breathed a long sigh of immense gratitude. It was obvious the gloves softened the intensity of the blow of his hand, for she didn't have to look on the marking of his shame.

…should have stuck around to give her manners�

Her lips tightened. Lucien moved across the room and sunk appreciatively into the brocade upholstery of her sofa. She remained where she stood, and didn't realize the computer screen accentuated the gentle glow radiating from her.

“What I have to tell you hasn’t been recounted in centuries.”

“I do love a good story,” she attempted with marked levity.

“You would.” He made an effort to glower and failed miserably.

“Amuse me, Lucien D'Angel.” She laughed at the sound of his name and shrugged. “I did some research, and some serious puzzling, and found your acronym is obvious.”

“Acronym?”

“The North American Department of Ghostly Experience League,” the corner of her mouth twitched as she recited the name of his paranormal team. “Your team is known as NADGEL, which is D’Angel tumbled about, I guess?”

…ah, stuck up as well as any celebrity�

“We are all entitled to small vanities.”

His attention drifted to the scattered assortment of DVDs littering the coffee table and the copies of his books, the pages conspicuously marked with brightly colored florescent note tags.

Obviously, she’d done her research.

“As you already understand, we're twins,” he began, his focus drifting back to her. “Although, on general review, our similarities wouldn’t be recognized, since I was the frailest of the pair.”

“I did notice that much from your painting.”

…the artwork sucks�

Lucien was beginning to understand Eva's frustration with Reese's incessant chatter.

“Julian had the stature of my father. He was tall and broad shoulder, always in good health. I was otherwise, consistently suffering from one ailment or another.” All expression faded from his features as he began his tale. “I spent many a week confined to a sick room, near death, unable to breathe. Julian was my sole companion, besides my mother, since my sire abhorred weakness. To this day, I assume she concealed my ailments, saving my life. He wouldn't have held qualms about the weakest heir suffering an unfortunate accident.”

“Oh, my,” she breathed, her face strangely serious.

“My death wouldn't have been of much concern. It was a common practice of the era, although unspoken.” He leaned back into the worn sofa, his expression exhausted. “Tell me, how many castles have been renovated in the last one hundred years, where the bones of children were discovered in a well or under the stairs?”

Eva nervously echoed the movement he often executed, rocking on the heel of her slippers. The whiteness of her knuckles was obvious as she clenched her hands into fists, and Reese’s incessant prattling conspicuously stilled.

“My mother I trusted with my life.” He wearily closed his eyes as the image of the frail woman invaded. She’d been old before her time, broken and scarred by years of abuse. “Of my brother, I had supposed the same, only to be proven otherwise.”

“Why?”

“Julian would come to amuse me with lively tales of battles, and the oddities he encountered in a world I barely knew. One night, he asked if I had the ability to identify the others roaming the castle.”

“As by others, I can assume the spirits?”

Lucien nodded. “I, in my foolishness, revealed we shared the same power. We would regale each other of the various forms lurking in the bailey and towers. The halls were filled with the images of an old king, knights, women, and children. There were so many, and they crowded the living world far more than the humans.”

…stuck your foot in it, didn't you?

“Reese!” Lucien scowled warningly and the spirit shrugged, mock humility evident in his shimmering features.

For the next hour, he held her riveted with the tale. The words unfolded a story that brought vivid imagery to mind, of an old woman, and a fateful curse. After reading the horrible atrocities D'Angel the Destroyer inflicted on his enemies, Eva hadn't any difficulty in imagining the woman's fate.

“This is all too incredible.” She murmured when he finished, her thoughts pensive. The room temperature, despite the heater, dropped perceptibly and Eva's arms went about her body. “When did you assume the story bore some truth?”

“I heard the account from her lips, for the old woman's death had been recounted to her by an unfortunate knight in my father's forces.” He supplied, his gloved hands resting on his knees and he leant forward. “It was taboo to amuse the heirs of the monarch with such tales. To do so, would have been labeled dissension.”

“Excuse me?”

“It would mean the end of your life. My sire never delivered an idle threat, and death would have been immediate.”

…sort of an unfinished legend. Those boys who wrote the fairy tales should have gotten their hands on it�

“They did,” Lucien’s expression remained shuttered. “The tale was deemed a bit too macabre.”

…have you read the unedited crap?

Lucien chose to ignore the question. Reese was opinionated and highly inquisitive, as well as very vocal. As for the normal intelligent haunting Lucien encountered, Reese's capabilities bordered on the extraordinary.

“I gather you had a pretty lonely childhood.” Eva’s hand waved, as if she was attempting to stress the words.

“I assumed my brother and I were close. We had solely each other, for there weren’t any other children with whom we associated. The peasant children were sickly, and wasting away.”  “Is Julian cursed, as well?

“Julian and I suffer from the same curse, although in varying degrees.” Lucien sighed, his shoulders slumping. “His power and his compassion were a farce, meant to bring my demise.”

“What happened between the two of you? What changed your perception of your brother?”

“Julian was his favorite. I was young and eager for my father's admiration, and sheltered from the horrors of his actions. When I was in good health, Julian persuaded me to tell father of my visions.”

“You sought him out?”

“I was fervent and foolish, and craved his approval. My brother was his shining star, the heir apparent.” Hurt was evident in his confession. “I never questioned the motivation behind Julian's actions. I wanted him to know of the spirits, and I was proud. Incorrectly and regrettably, I imagined the admission would garner me acceptance.”

The memories rolled into the forefront of his mind, the forgotten pain a dull ache of betrayal.

“My brother followed me, urging me on. I didn't find it peculiar that he left me at the entryway to the throne room. My father was seated before a roaring fire, surrounded by his most loyal knights. My heart had been in my throat. Ah, how eager I had been!” He paused, his expression morose. “I fell to my knees. Eagerly, as a child would do, I babbled wildly about my power." He gathered a steadying breath. "It was the first time I witnessed true and absolute fear. He was frightened, an experience D'Angel the Destroyer didn't appreciate.”

“He was frightened of a child?”

“You must understand the witch of St. Lucien refused to grant him her power. Moments before he struck her down, the woman delivered the curse.” Lucien pushed further back into the sofa, running his hands through his hair in agitation “Julian and I received a summation of her powers. We lacked the ability to foretell the future, as my father had desired, but it didn't matter.”

“I don't think he was frightened.”

…far from it, entirely against his chemical make-up�

Eva paced nearer to Lucien's seated figure. She pushed the odd assortment of magazines, books, and DVDs aside, and sat on the coffee table. A faint hissing sound filled her ears, followed by the rumbling intonation that had become more familiar over the past few days. She ignored the sound, shooting a disgusted frown across the room.

…not safe, little girl, back up!

Eva turned toward Lucien, her ponytail swinging with the action. Lucien blinked, blinded. The glow of nighttime stars shimmered in her hair, filling the dark room with a dreamlike sense of luminosity. The light surrounding her increased, beaming in ribbon-like streams from her fingertips, and glistening like raindrops in the loose tendrils. She didn't seem aware of the change overtaking her, blissfully ignorant of the radiance seeping from her every pore.

He savored the brilliance surrounding him, knowing it was invisible to her, and he basked in her aura. Within the golden and silvery rays was the unspoken promise of all she offered.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, and wished for the impossible, knowing she interpreted the action as something else.

“Your father wasn't frightened by your power.”

…too much power�

“He despised me.” Lucien felt dazed and overwhelmed. “I learned later that, perhaps, he was jealous.”

…Evie, girl, back up, back up!

“He couldn't stand anyone else having something he coveted.”

Covet.

Lucien nodded, remembering the men his father slaughtered and the crimson sea of blood soaking the barren ground outside the castle walls. The word defined another sin weighing on his father's condemned soul.

“There was a seal. He employed a brand for his mounts and disobedient servants.” His darkening gaze fastened to hers, seeking comfort in her eyes. “The iron had been forged in some strange and exotic land, crafted to his specifications. It remained close at his side, forever heated, and ready for use. My father didn't say a word and hauled me to my feet with one great hand. I assumed the action was to embrace me, as a father should.”

…heat of the brand, the Daemon's brand!

Lucien nodded. “I don't recall screaming as the iron pressed to my palm. All I can recollect is his damning words ringing loud in my ears.”

“What did he tell you?”

“I shall know my enemies and my friends. You are neither. You are an abomination!”

Eva's eyes closed, shielding her disbelief and horror. The Daemon of St. Lorraine had branded his child. Intentionally, Julian had orchestrated his brother's condemnation for his benefit. She felt another chill overtake her, and she cursed.

….back up, Evie, girl, there’s things you could never understand!

“How old were you?” She ignored Reese. Instead, she stifled the urge to leap up and turn the furnace another degree higher.

“I was a child,” he whispered, his face unnaturally pale. “I was scarcely six.”

Her hand crept to her throat, bile rising as she stared into the increasing darkness of his once gray eyes. “Julian?”

“My brother never revealed his ability. I didn't crossed paths with him again until the fateful night I fled St. Lorraine, when the curse reached its full degree.” He pushed his weight back into the worn brocade sofa and closed his eyes, attempting to prevent the unavoidable darkening.

“Is there a cure, some way to break the spell?”

“The curse foretells of a soul of good and light, the other of evil and strife. I had the good fortune that my mother's patient and guiding hand led me to the light. Whereas, Julian....”

“Your brother had D'Angel the Destroyer's guidance,” she finished, her thoughts pensive. “He’s evil and strife.”

Lucien nodded, although his eyes remained shut. “The curse came full circle the night Julian committed the final, sinful act, forever placing him in my father's good graces.”

“What did he do?”

“He murdered our mother.”

….damned soul with the demon's blood!

Lucien's sad eyes opened. The words were chilling, but not unfamiliar. If granted the benefit of tears, Eva felt the betraying wetness would have seeped from his eyes. She heard Reese's repetitive mantra and another chill washed over her.

Nauseated by the events, her disgust was obvious. Lucien attempted to rise, and she waved him back, swallowing.

“You showed me the brand the other night.” She managed, staring at his tortured face. “If you aren't the soul of evil and strife or the demon's blood, what do you do?”

“I'm the Gatherer.”

“What?”

….Gatherer of Lost Souls

“What?” She questioned, unable to believe the whispering voice in her ears.

….not safe, not safe, not safe!

“Your brother’s correct, on all counts. I’m not safe, where he is concerned.” Lucien sighed. “I am the bane of the undead. I collect lost souls, and his soul is among the lost.”

“Oh.”

The word was drawn out, the slightest mist of fog escaping her mouth as the room temperature became frostier.

….takes the soul into his hand

“So, you’ve been assigned to gather souls.” She slipped the tip of her tongue over her lips, her thoughts pensive. “You're a soul collector, which is why people avoid you, and why Reese says you aren't safe.”

“Yes.” He clarified morosely. “It’s the lingering spirits inhabiting the streets, homes, and alleyways that I draw into myself.”

….has the sight, remember his eyes

“Your eyes!” She exclaimed before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Your eyes darkened when you were on the set.”

“Ah, you're observant.”

She nodded, wanting to clap her hands together. “I assume they darken when there's a spirit present.”

….he can see me, always knows when I'm around, he’s always known

Lucien's lips tightened into a thin line. “When there's a spirit, my eyes change. The darkness allows me to see them, and the mortal world vanishes.”

Eva thought back to fateful night nearly two weeks ago, the precise evening she’d first heard her brother's irritating whispers.

“Reese is right, isn't he?” She indicated the phantom who glowered threateningly. “You’ve always been aware of him?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes moved to the smoky image, and she grateful Reese was the only spirit she could see. The specter stood a few paces behind her, his arms folded across his chest and his expression mutinous. The teasing and repetitive chatter of his voice fell silent for the first night in a week.

“Do you have the ability to gather Reese?”

….don't want to go! Won't go!

Lucien detected the pained words flowing thickly about the room. He noticed her curiosity and fear, as well as other indecipherable emotions. Despite the faint tremor in the young man's statement, he realized the specter's expression had changed dramatically. The teasing impression of youth had vanished, and the sockets of his eyes illuminated with a reddish glow.

“I'm not here to gather your brother's essence, Evangeline. Long ago, he offered guidance, and I owe him my gratitude.” The glow ebbed and, gradually, dimmed. “My brand marks heaven and hell, demons and angels, the good and the bad. The mark summons and gathers the lost, the forgotten, and the abandoned.”

“So, you do the so-called collecting and then what? You keep them?”

He shrugged. “From the moment their essence is drawn into my hand, I'm uncertain where they should travel.”

“There has to be a reason.”

“All I do is collect souls,” he responded. “What happens from there, I don’t know.”

“So, what do you have?" She rolled her eyes and considered the numbers of spirits he possibly held. "Thousands of souls bouncing around in the palm of your hand, making the brand do its bizarre little dance?”

“I assume the number’s more along the lines of hundreds of thousands, if not millions.”

“Gee.” She exhaled the childish exclamation before granting him a lopsided smile. “Split personalities have nothing on you.”

For the first time in a long while, he wanted to laugh.

“And you?” She interposed gently, as he fastened dancing eyes on her. “Why do you want to die?”

….four hundred years must be a real pain in the ass

Lucien controlled the urge to snarl at the smirking spirit. Although, he admitted, he was relieved the specter reverted to his more congenial nature.

“There’s nothing else I wish for, nor crave more in this world.” The laughter left his eyes and the stark severity of his expression returned.

Eva leaned forward, uncaring as books, DVDs, and magazines spilled to the floor. It was obvious she had a lot on her mind, the familiar frown growing. Her eyes narrowed and her expression mirrored his, despite the increasing goose flesh crawling over her arms.

“Well, you've done screwed yourself, Mr. D'Angel.” She whispered, the misty puff of steam escaping with her breath. “It’s against my moral strictures to aid anyone in dying, including you.”