The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,42

existence…” he began.

“Existence?”

“I lead a private life.” Lucien's hands fell and he forced himself not to grind his teeth. “With the exception of the past few years, I’ve avoided contact with living beings. I….”

“I’ve my opinion on this nasty matter.” Eva leaned in closer, the warmth of her breath flooding his astonished features, and her dark eyes glittered. “How can you truly wish to die when you’ve never lived?”

….got a point there

“I have lived, for more years than a man has a right to walk this earth.” Lucien snarled his retort, surprising himself. In the past, he had never lowered himself to the baser of his instincts.

“You hit the proverbial nail right on the head. You’ve existed,” she corrected cynically. “You're nothing more than a shell, as you admitted. I can gather you don’t eat, drink, or probably sleep.”

“I sleep.” He denied in a low, guttural tones.

“Ah.” She breathed knowingly. “Then, it would be a dreamless sleep, lacking warmth and vibrancy.”

Lucien exhaled a shuddering breath, wondering when she’d turned the tables. She didn't reel away in fear as other mortals, nor did she clutch at her chest and stare at him with dazed eyes.

He lifted a shaking hand from his lap and pressed his fingers to the middle of his chest. There, in the face of her calmness, an indefinable and intense ache started. Eva's eyes fastened to his face as she leaned in closer, appearing to torment him. The ache in his chest intensified and he winced.

“I exist, nothing more, nothing less.” He repeated haughtily, the effect ruined when the pressure of his fingers increased in the region of his heart. “I want to end this excuse of a life.”

….ah, damn, she has that look!

Reese's words swirled about them, the pronunciation unmistakably clear. In the midst of the pain assailing Lucien, Eva audaciously smiled.

“As I said, you existed. Existence doesn’t count,” she persisted, her eyes wide.

“None the less,” he began, only to be rudely interrupted.

“When was the last time you touched?” She murmured, unaware the penetrating warmth of her incandescence bathed him in an all-embracing wave.

….ah, shit!

Lucien ignored Reese's muttered profanity.

“Humans don’t crave my touch.”

“I'm not just any human, am I?” She questioned with a breathless intensity, and he felt the heat from her radiate outwards on the fingers of an opalescent glow.

“No,” he responded, endeavoring to control his unsteady voice, and growing more confused by the moment.

“You're a liar,” she whispered.

“I'm not the daemon liar!” He snarled heatedly and she boldly granted him an indulgent smile. The action was nothing more than a slight twitch of her lips, and shook him to the core.

“I didn't say you were. I simply suggested you had surrendered to a human frailty, a lie.”

….Evangeline!

She ignored the softly warning voice. She moved to the table's edge, nearly unsettling it. Her face became a distorted blur to Lucien's dazed eyes and, for the first time in nearly an eternity, he couldn’t focus.

“When was the last time you were touched?” She persisted in the most tempting tones.

“It was you,” Lucien knew she didn't need an answer. She already knew the truth. “You were the last person.”

“Twenty years ago, Lucien?” Eva questioned, aware of the low hissing sound rising from the spirit behind her. “It’s been two decades since you last experienced human touch?”

A gnawing ache throbbed in his chest. His fingertips continued to stroke the offending region, a pained wince contorting his face, and he lifted shadowed eyes. A shimmering light flowed about their seated forms, immersing them in a blending of incandescent whites and violets.

“Angel's fire,” she mused, her eyes twinkling. “Angels are cold and distant. Fire is another matter, entirely. If I'm your purposed angel's fire, then….”

“I…” Lucien couldn’t think and quivered as she lifted her hand.

“Do you dare me?”

Any words he may have chosen froze in his throat. He focused on her hand, staring at the soft lines marking her palms, which revealed the supposed tales of her life and loves. Under the shadow of his lashes, he detected the minute impressions of fingerprints and the coursing blood pulsating throughout the blue tinted veins of her wrist.

….don't dance with the devil, Evie!

Lucien closed his eyes in mute resignation, the words whispering about the room. Reese's meaning was the truth, for he was the epitome of the devil's son. Evangeline did the unimaginable and risked her life to be in such close contact with him.

Without looking, he knew her hand remained before his face, the fingers twitching.

“I'm not the daemon….”

Whatever he had been