The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,31

her sarcasm, he rocked again on his heels, his brow furrowing. “We were born the year he laid claim to St. Lorraine.”�

“Are you telling me you're from the sixteen hundreds?” She couldn't contain her obvious disbelief.

“1615, to be precise,” he offered effortlessly.

“1615,”� she repeated the date dumbly, echoing his frown. “If you were born in 1615 that meansyou’re…”�Eva paused as she attempted to crunch the dates in her head. Unable to concentrate, and numbers became a confused jumble.

“I'm three hundred and ninety-eight years old.”

“Bullshit!” She snapped and looked him over critically. “You can’t be any more than thirty-five!”�

“I was twenty-one when my curse was delivered onto me,” he left the explanation hanging and Eva sensed unspoken pain. “I fail to age as a living human does. More or less, the passage of nearly every twenty-five or thirty years of a human life is the equivalent of one of mine.”�

“Living human?” Eva felt the baby fine hairs on the back of her neck rise. �

“Yes, a living human.”

“If you’re not human, what are you?” She questioned. “I see a man, as far as I can tell.”

“What your eyes show you isn’t a lie. There’s a slight exception, though. I'm not as you, I merely exist, nothing more. I'm simply a shell encompassing organs, an illusion relying on a costume of flesh.” �

“I..."�words failed her and she felt her brain had shut down, her confusion intense.

“Have I managed to leave you speechless?” A single brow rose.

“I don't know,” she responded candidly, a part of her thinking his story would make a fantastic bestseller. “I'm trying to be objective.” �

“You refuse to believe me?” �

“You did say you're close to four hundred years old?” �

“Yes,” he shrugged, his action barely registering.

Eva's lips tightened. “Well, I imagine this is the most ridiculous fairytale I’ve heard!"

“Stranger matters have occurred.” �

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Let's just say what you're telling me bears some sort of truth. If you aren't human, then what are you?” �

“What would you want to believe?” He executed the same shrug, his expression placid. “What do you presume I am, Evangeline?”

“Tabloid fodder says, to become one of your elite crew members, you either have a pact with the devil, or you're a vampire.” She scoffed at the absurdity of the words as she uttered them.

“You can’t consider my age, but you would prefer to imagine I’m of some other creation, besides human?” He left the question hanging in the air and took a hesitant step toward her.

“I’m quirky like that.” She answered sarcastically. “So, are you a vampire?” �

He laughed, the smoky sound filling the room. Amused, he continued to chuckle, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes.

“I'm not a blood crazed vampire.” Eva felt color flood her face. “Your lovely neck is perfectly safe.” �

“So, are you in league with the devil?”

“No, not with the devil.” �

She couldn’t miss the stress he placed on his response.

“Are you one of the undead?” �

“I can't be, if I’ve never experienced death.” He supplied the answer as if he were discussing the weather. However, she did catch the faintest sense of remorse and irony clouding his admission.

“D'Angel.” �

The name fell from her numb lips, and she realized it did fit him, oddly enough. He brought to mind the paintings of angels from her youth, elaborate images filling the stained glass windows at her parent’s church. Those same angels had been pale and glowing, radiating with an indefinable serenity.

She sensed any angelic reference to Lucien D'Angel hit a distinctly sour note.

“Yes, my name is D'Angel.” He reiterated, but she was aware of the expression that suddenly flooded his face. Intense disgust was clearly etched in every line, the name not one he cared to acknowledge. He shook himself, sloughing off whatever demons that invaded his thoughts.

As he took another hesitant step toward her, Eva wondered why she felt more chilled than she’d ever felt in her life.

“We’ve got that much down,” she managed tightly.

“There are oddities in this world the normal and fragile human mind can't accept.” For a second, he appeared to restrain a shiver of his own. “What I'm prepared to show to you, Evangeline, I need you to grasp with an open mind.” �

“Why?” �

He took another step toward her. The intense darkness of his eyes didn’t reflect the gentle lighting filled the room, and she heard a sharply inhaled breath somewhere in the deep recesses of her ear. Eva realized the wavering spirit of her brother vanished as rapidly as he appeared.

Without uttering