Soulless (Book #2 of Hunted)

Uh oh Spaghetti-o's

"I'll help you. We'll make you better." I hugged him tighter. "You'll see," I whispered. I felt his hand stroke my hair and I heard him let out a strained breath.

"This is torture for you, isn't it?" I asked as I tried to will my arms to release him. He inhaled deeply and I felt his muscles contract slightly beneath my grasp.

"The hug itself is pleasant, but in the background I can hear your heart beating, I can feel the heat coming off your skin. I can see the veins pulsing beneath your skin. You are so excruciatingly tempting, and it hurts to be this close and not..."

His respiration had become heavier, almost labored as he spoke. He caressed the side of my face, and the tips of his long, slender fingers pressed gently against the arch of my throat. I thought my heart might explode from the sexiness. I pulled away from him and fanned myself with my hand.

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "Is it like really hot out here?" He brushed his hair out of his face with a jerky sweep of his hand.

"Do you realize that nearly every sentence you say sounds like poetry? Almost cliché?" I asked. He shrugged and nodded.

"I've noticed. I can't help it. I've had a lot of time to think about the way that I talk and chicks really dig eloquent guys," he said in a much less poetic manner. I giggled in a way that was quite uncharacteristic of me.

"Don't get me wrong, the way you speak is dead sexy and I know you can hear my heart react every time. I was just wandering if you knew," I said. I looked into the fire and noticed that the bodies were no longer bodies.

"How long will these guys burn?" I asked. He shrugged.

"A few more hours at least," he replied. I looked away from the fire and blinked to rid my vision of the bright spots.

"We should leave," I said quietly. He glanced at me with sad eyes.

"Are you sure I should come to your house? It could be really dangerous," he said. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I have a plan," I announced. He touched my hand briefly with his own.

"Is that so?" he asked. I nodded happily.

"Just so long as Phoebe will cooperate with me," I said. He looked at the ground and crossed his arms tightly. He began bouncing nervously on the balls of his bare feet.

"Fine, I'll go with you. I just—with all the humans in your neighborhood...if I spaz out it...it..." he trailed off and started fiddling with a belt loop on his worn out jeans.

"If you spaz out it will be on my hands. I'll take care of it," I said seriously. He looked up at me and bit on his bottom lip.

"I'll try to be good," he said like a small child. "But there is something else we have to worry about," he said. I thought for a moment then looked at the fire. Burned the evidence, thought of a way to contain him...what else is there?

"What?" I asked quite idiotically.

"I'm really hungry," he said, his gaze drifting lazily to the base of my throat.

"Oh," I squeaked. I thought for a moment. "I'll take care of that too." He began fidgeting more fiercely with the belt loop at his left hip. I stepped up to him and pulled his hand away from his side. His fingers continued twitching against my palm.

"Come on," I said quietly. I pulled him by the hand back to the front of the house. I opened the passenger door of my car for him and he pulled his hand out of mine. He turned to face his house.

"There is blood everywhere upstairs," he said monotonously.

"I'll get Phoebe to help me clean up your room. She loves cleaning, especially with magic. It'll be like Fantasia!" I said with forced cheerfulness.

"It's not just my room," he whispered reluctantly. I looked at him curiously and wiped a smudge off my side-view mirror.

"What do you mean?" I asked. He took a steadying breath and said, "Some of the girls tried to run..." he paused, "I let them run. They hid for a bit in the back room upstairs. They tried so hard to be quiet and for a few moments I'm sure they thought they had outwitted me. When I found them they screamed..." He trailed off and laughed sharply. "It's not worth it unless they scream."

"So I have another room to clean?" I asked wearily. "Seriously, Zane, maybe you wouldn't be so hungry if you focused on getting less blood on the floor and more in your mouth," I said, sounding eerily like my mother used to when I made a mess of my spaghetti-o's as a child.

"Perhaps you're right," he whispered as he got into my car. I sighed, shut his door and crossed to the driver's side.