The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,33

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