The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,70

terror flew from Deborah, her fingers rising to her mouth to muffle the sound. The youths sprang into action, knowing their employer's identity was at risk. They raced from the corridor, a blur of motion, Nikolai close at their heels. Brice was immobile and tense, shock filling his features. He laid a restraining hand on Deborah's shoulder, preventing her from flying after their team members.

Lucien struck the floor, a cry of pain rising as his shoulders. He twisted, sobbing, and rolled into a fetal position. He closed his eyes, willing the pain away, his body throbbing.

He knew, from the moment of impact, what had surged through him. He was afraid to witness the anger and the power of the entity flying about the sun-brightened foyer.

Instead, he remained where he had fallen. A series of choking breaths trembled past the blueness of his lips. He didn't rise, and shivered with an intense cold never experienced during his curse.

Ethan was the first to reach him.

The youth collapsed on his knees, while Gil effectively blocked the approaching on-duty hotel manager and concerned check-in clerks. Nikolai dropped to his haunches and his expression turned dark as he pressed a heavy hand to his employer's shoulder. Gingerly, he rolled Lucien over.

“Keep them away!” Nikolai commanded roughly. “Keep everyone away!” �

The command was unnecessary. Gilbert pushed people back, demanding they give their venerated employer room. Ethan, hearing startled words of concern, smiled benignly up at the gathering crowd.

“He's prone to seizures.” He made certain his voice carried across the lobby, attempting to make the episode seem minor. There was a sudden flash, and Nikolai growled deep in his throat, realizing a few spectators were taking pictures of the incident.

“None of that is necessary!” �

Gilbert, with strength that defied his lanky stature, pushed through the horde. Bodies shifted, people nervously twittered, but his roughness granted the team the space desired. Ethan attempted to force calm on the crowd and shrugged.

“You don't need pictures, people.” �He commented, his tone resembling that of a serious professor. “Where's your sense of humanity?” �

“Good.” Nikolai grumbled approvingly. He exhaled a relieved sigh, noticing Luke kept his eyes shut. “Play on it, boys! Play on it!” �

“Yeah!” Ethan jumped to his feet. He placed a hand on Gilbert's shoulder and shot the boy a meaningful look, a silent message passing between them.

“Yeah!” Gil repeated, his eyes darting from Nikolai's bent figure, then to their employer, then to Ethan. “The Boss is prone to seizures, and it’s kind of inhuman to take pictures of a man down.” �

“We should call an ambulance,” the executive interrupted, his expression worried, his staff busy shooing away the spectators.

“No!” They shouted the word in unison

The manager flinched at the suddenness of the sound, as did many others.

“It’s under control,” Nikolai growled, his words hanging. His hand remained on the fallen man's shoulder, effectively forcing him to remain prone. His large body concealed the pale, pain-filled features from the dispersing crowd. “This is nothing we aren't accustomed to dealing with, when it comes to our Mr. Angeles.” �

“Our hotel can't be blamed…”� the manager interposed raggedly, the fear of a potential lawsuit foremost in his mind.

“It happens all the time.” Gil interjected complacently, shrugging with the explanation. “It's nothing to worry about, trust me.” �

“The seizures are stuff you don't see on the show,” Ethan added, keeping his expression sincere.

“Nikolai?” Lucien uttered the name in a low voice, the quivers ebbing. His eyes remained closed and he lifted the heavy weight of a gloved hand from his side. The appendage hovered in the air for a long moment before settling lightly on the Russian's hand.

“Don't open your eyes,” Nikolai ordered gruffly. His employer wasn't one to accept physical contact, nor was it something given. “There are still too many people around.” �

“Too many…”��

“You can't risk opening your eyes.” �

“You know?” �

The question escaped Lucien in a low whisper, the disbelief obvious.

“We’ve always known.” Nikolai supplied as another low groan slipped from the pained man.

“How?” �

Ethan fell to his knees. He hadn’t missed the low-voiced exchange and couldn’t prevent a wicked grin.

“You insisted on infrared cameras.” He interjected lightly, although the words trembled. He wiped the panicked beads of sweat from his brow before he placed his hand on the man's shoulder.

Lucien groaned, and the unfamiliar rush of hot and cold chills flooded him.

“My downfall was caused by infrared cameras?” He managed, releasing Nikolai's hand as the Russian moved to assist him to his feet.

“You got some funny eyes,