The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,8
warmth of heated blood flowing rapidly through the arid expanse of his veins. He stifled a throaty cough, and the peculiarity of long forgotten feelings flooded him.
“I think I know what you are.”
“Princess,” he growled, the throbbing blood painful. “You don’t know what I’ve endured.”�
“You don’t want me. There isn't no one who wants me,” her words were gloomy. Absently, she moved a sodden strand of stark whiteness from his suddenly flushed skin.
“Why do you say that, princess?’
She huffed, her breath a bit of fog. “I see things my mommy and daddy don't want like.”�
Her words stung and unashamed tears dripped from his aching eyes. The soft pressure of her fingers halted the glistening drops and wiped at the dampness, her expression solemn. The glow about her increased, as if she were absorbing his pain, the salty trickle miraculously disappearing into her fingertips.
“Why are you here?” Lucien whispered, wanting to know what drew the child out into the night, alone and unafraid.
“I'm running away,” she declared with stunning bluntness, her hand falling to her legs. He felt his heart sputter, and the warmth of his blood ebb. He wanted to scream his outrage, longing for her touch, and the forgotten sense of life she granted.
“Why?” He questioned, realizing her sorrow seemed to diminish the radiating brilliance.
“I saw someone today. When I told my mommy, it made her cry. My daddy said I was mean, and he don't like me.” The whispered words quivered.
“Your father loves you, princess,” he soothed, wanting to ease her pain. “You understand most parents love their children.”
“My daddy don't,” she continued, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her breath trembling. “He don't like me because I'm different.”�
“How can you be so different, if I'm like you?” He attempted to inject levity into his words.
“Does your daddy not like you, too?” She asked in her quivering voice. Her dark eyes searched his face and the edge of tears remained heavy in her dulcet tones.
“I frightened him,” he admitted, granting her a reluctant nod. He knew he was the only person ever to strike the unfamiliar chord within his barbarous father.
“I frighten my daddy, and I think mommy is real scared of me, too,” she heaved a heart worn sigh, her shoulders slumping. The glow radiating from her dimmed further and Lucien wanted to cry out in protest. “They don’t want to hear what I say.”�
“What do you have to say, little princess?”�
Miraculously, she brightened, gracing Lucien with a broad smile.
“You know, I have the bestest brother in the whole wide world.”
“Ah, brothers that are best friends must be wonderful.” Lucien didn't know how to respond, the subject unfamiliar. “Tell me of your brother.”�
“It's a secret,” her melodic tones dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I'm good at keeping secrets.” He assured with absolute sincerity.
She lifted her red-rimmed and angelic gaze to the vacant seat at her side, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. The sense of serenity returned, the calm emanating from her and pulsating with a startling intensity. “My brother's name is Reese.”
His gaze darkened anew. He felt drawn to the shadowy image materializing, the shine about her fluctuating before increasing. Her limpid and trusting eyes stared lovingly up at the misty shape that wavered, glistened, and then solidified at her side.
Incredibly, he realized the child’s luminosity wasn't solely of her making. A large part of the iridescent cloud of brilliant starlight came from young man beside her, as if he were part of her essence.
Lucien's blackened gaze narrowed and he sensed the wealth of calculating thoughts resting in the depths of youthful and insolent eyes. The spirit's attention returned his rapidly darkening regard with one of marked defiance.
Never, in the course of his nearly four hundred years, had he been so carefully examined by a spirit of the other world.
The ghostly shape was of a man only just out of his teens, his features betraying the same youthful softness of the girl. The spirit turned his head, dipping it down until the brim of his military beret shaded his eyes. Lucien did a slow perusal of the battle dress uniform hanging on the youth's sparse frame. Slightly blurred, Lucien knew the attire was of a more recent age. He understood, without a doubt, the young man had recently departed the world of the living.
“Can you see my Reese?” She whispered and turned to examine Lucien's face. A smile remained on her lips, but her eyes glimmered with unvoiced sadness.
“I do, my little princess.” He responded candidly,