Soul's Mark 3: Broken

  The Soul’s Mark: BROKEN

  Book 3 of The Soul’s Mark Series

  By Ashley Stoyanoff

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The Soul’s Mark: BROKEN

  By Ashley Stoyanoff

  Published by Ashley Stoyanoff Books

  Copyright 2013 Ashley Stoyanoff

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Edited by Kathryn Calvert

  Cover design by Liudmyla Supynska

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my sister Jonel, I couldn’t have finished this without all of your support and encouragement—thank you for keeping me sane. A special thanks to my mother

  Jo-Anne, and my good friend Angelle—your feedback and honesty kept me going when I wanted to give up. Further thanks to my editor Kathryn. Without your technical expertise and assistance, this book would not have been finished. Most of all, I would like to thank my husband Jordan, whose unwavering patience and support has made it possible for me to finish The Soul’s Mark: BROKEN.

  Books by Ashley Stoyanoff

  The Soul’s Mark Series

  The Soul’s Mark: FOUND

  The Soul’s Mark: HUNTED

  The Soul’s Mark: BROKEN

  Coming Spring/Summer 2013

  Waking Dreams, A Soul’s Mark Novella

  CHAPTER 1

  The steam curled around him, fogging the frosted glass shower enclosure. The hot water poured over Mitchell, soothing his taut muscles and washing away the tension and stress from earlier that evening. He let out a deep sigh before he turned the taps again, letting the water run even hotter. He knew Amelia liked it to be blistering, and he wanted to make sure it was perfect. She needed perfect. Deserved it.

  Amelia. Just the sound of her name floating through his head made him smile and his skin buzz with anticipation. He couldn’t believe how amazing she had been tonight. How strong. The way she had fought. The way she had confronted that skeleton freak hunter. It was a little mind-blowing. Wasn’t it just yesterday that she had found out he was a vampire and accidently locked herself in her bedroom?

  Mitchell let his mind wander; counting the days since she had arrived. Eight months? No, that couldn’t be right. He counted again, and then again, just to be sure.

  Mitchell reached for the bottle of shampoo. He had already shampooed his hair three times while he waited for Amelia, but he figured that if he stalled long enough, she would come in. He lathered up, rinsed, and waited. And waited. And waited.

  His stomach was in knots, his nerves shot. And as he waited, all the what ifs began to eat away at him. What if she had a change of heart? What if she didn’t find him appealing anymore? What if she wanted to move on?

  Mitchell was just about to search through the bond when he heard the bathroom door squeak open. His heart jumped around in his chest like a rabbit running a marathon, and he flung the glass door open so quickly that he was close to ripping it off the hinges.

  “Dude,” Eric yelled. “Cover up, would you?” He shielded his eyes and turned his head away.

  “Get out, Eric,” Mitchell said. He tried to sound annoyed, but he failed miserably, as an awkward laugh fell out. He flushed, and grabbed the shower stall door, pulling it closed.

  Through the frosted glass, Mitchell saw Eric’s shuffling form facing the bathroom door, his hands still shielding his eyes. “I’m just looking for Meg,” he said, his voice squeaking over the words.

  Mitchell glanced at the waterfall that sprang from the showerhead, and sighed before turning it off. He reached for a towel, and wrapped it snuggly around his waist. “In my bathroom?” he asked.

  “Are you decent yet?” Eric asked, shuffling back and forth uncomfortably.

  Mitchell laughed, and he felt his skin flush again, red with embarrassment. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little strained.

  Eric turned around slowly, his hands still covering his eyes. He spread his fingers to peek, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if he should look or not, and then sighed in relief when he saw the towel and dropped his hands. “I thought maybe she was in here with Millie.”

  Mitchell wanted to point out how ridiculous that sounded, but he held back. Instead, he said, “Did you try looking for her?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Eric said. He waved his arms around and rolled his eyes. He fiddled anxiously, wringing his hands together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “I meant through the bond.” Mitchell eyed Eric, taking in his gray jogging pants and hoodie, which was on backwards, the hood pushing against his chin. There was a pinprick of red flaring in the center of his panicked green eyes, and his hair wasn’t in its usual perfect mess—it was just plain messy. Mitchell’s stomach sank.

  The pinprick of red grew to the size of a darning needle. “Oh, uh, yeah,” Eric said, and scrubbed at his face. He couldn’t seem to stand still, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and the dot of red in his eyes kept spreading, washing the normal vibrant green with crimson. “It’s like she’s sleeping. I can’t pinpoint a location.” He looked Mitchell full in the face. “Where’s Millie?”

  “She’s supposed to be here,” Mitchell replied, his voice cracking on the words. He searched the bond frantically, and his stomach sank further. The hum of an unconscious brain was the only trace of Amelia he could find. His chest tightened, caving in, and all the air rushed from his lungs.

  “You don’t think that they left us, do you?” Eric asked. The panic he had been trying to cover showed itself with a slight tremor in his voice, and he rang his hands together again.

  All the what ifs came back with a vengeance, and suddenly Mitchell couldn’t breathe. He felt cold; a chill rushed over his skin, and his heart felt as if it had exploded within his chest. “Go get Luke,” he whispered, gripping at the pain in his chest.

  “Dad.” Eric took a step towards him. He looked so lost, so scared. His blazing eyes were wide as saucers and glistening with tears. Mitchell wanted to comfort him, tell him everything was okay—the girls were okay—but he couldn’t. The words were there, he could taste them in his mouth, and they tasted like dirty lies. Mitchell knew Amelia might leave, but Megan, not a chance. He was certain of it. She was love struck, totally smitten for Eric. And knowing that made his stomach twist into painfully tight knots, because if Megan was gone, he was certain that it was not by choice.

  Heat rushed over his body and his muscles tensed. “Go!” Mitchell bellowed, and just like that, Eric was gone.

  Mitchell ran to the closet, and quickly
began searching for his clothes, which was no easy task. Where did she put my stuff? he thought, as he spun around inside the huge walk-in closet. With every beat of his heart, it shattered again, like shards of glass pulsing under his skin. Tears snaked down his cheeks and burned at his eyes. He dug through the racks upon racks of dresses, blouses, skirts, women’s jeans… before finally stumbling upon a shelf of his clothes at the back of the closet. He grabbed the first things that touched his fingers, shed his towel, and began pulling on a t-shirt.

  “What’s going on?” Luke asked groggily from behind him, just as Mitchell buttoned up his jeans. He wore a pair of red and green-checkered pajama pants and no shirt, and he looked dazed, as if Eric had woken him from a deep sleep.

  “We can’t find the girls,” Mitchell said. He spun around and emerged from the closet.

  Luke narrowed his hazel eyes, looking him over, and the color slowly drained from his face. “Did you check the media room?” he asked after a moment, looking towards the ceiling. “The television’s on.”

  “That was me,” Eric said. “Meg and I were going to watch a movie. She said she needed Advil and went to the kitchen but never came back.”

  “Amelia needed Advil,” Mitchell murmured. His chest squeezed. He tried to tell himself it was just a coincidence. The girls probably got a few bruises during the fight. But his subconscious wouldn’t have it. She left, he thought. And somehow, she had convinced Megan to go with her. He knew it was only a matter of time before she would. He had never believed for a second that she would stay with him, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped she would.

  “They wouldn’t leave, so stop thinking it,” Luke said firmly, but Mitchell didn’t miss the doubt in his voice. Luke had never believed that Amelia would stick around, and he had never kept his thoughts a secret, at least not from Mitchell.

  Mitchell closed his eyes. Amelia? he called desperately through the bond. Amelia, love, please talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.

  The only response was the buzz of a sleeping brain. But that didn’t make an ounce of sense. It was in that moment that a new, gut wrenching fear rushed through him, and for a split second, his brain actually started to work. If Amelia had left, she wouldn’t have stopped to sleep. Not this soon. She’d be running, putting as much distance between them as possible.

  Mitchell’s eyes snapped open, and he stretched his senses to their outer limits, listening for anything out of the ordinary. He took in a lungful of air and caught a scent. His fangs extended, sharp as knives. “Do you smell that?”

  Luke cleared his throat, and Mitchell cut him a look. Luke paled under his gaze. “Um, Lola and I …” Luke said, wiping at his mouth and looking uncomfortable, “Err …We had um … company.”

  “You what?” Mitchell growled, and then physically shook himself, trying to get rid of the disgust that was flooding over him. He scrubbed at his burning eyes, wiped his dampened cheeks, and focused on the scent again. Floral with an underlying sweetness. “It’s Amelia’s.”

  Mitchell and Eric took off running, taking different routes, searching for the source of the smell, before the words completely left Mitchell’s mouth. He couldn’t think. The only thing that ran through his mind was the scent of blood—her blood—and if he thought about it … He pushed the idea out of his mind as quickly as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough. Before he could banish it away, an image of Amelia lying motionless on the ground flooded his vision.

  He ran through the house, trying to find the source of the scent. It became stronger as he reached the foyer. He stopped, spun around in circles, and breathed it in.

  His heart was racing. A cold sweat beaded along his forehead, and his back became damper by the second.

  The motion light at the front door flicked on. “Out here,” Eric called, and Mitchell bolted out the door, with Luke right on his heels.

  The blood drop was the size of a penny, just a tiny drop. The three of them hovered over it, staring down at the glistening scarlet droplet as if they were hypnotized, not able to look away.

  Luke was the first to speak, asking the question that shouldn’t have needed to be asked. “Did the girls put the protective shield back up?”

  Mitchell and Eric locked crimson eyes and in unison replied, “No.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The first thing that Amelia saw when she opened her eyes was her body lying in a crumpled heap below her. “Crap,” she breathed, as she scrutinized herself. “No, no, no,” she whispered, shaking her head violently from side to side. “I can’t be dead. I just can’t be.” And if I’m dead, then Mitchell… she couldn’t finish that thought, just couldn’t.

  Her body rolled, seemingly on its own, smacking against a metal wall with a thud that reverberated around her.

  “Cole!” Josh’s voice growled from somewhere nearby, but Amelia couldn’t pull her eyes away from her lifeless looking form on the ground. “Secure them!”

  “Amelia, what’s happening?” Megan’s small, scared voice smothered Amelia, suffocating her, and it felt as if she was drowning in the sound. “Are we dead? Did they kill us?”

  Amelia couldn’t make her mouth work. She wanted to reassure Megan. She wanted so much to tell her that they were okay, but she just couldn’t. There were no words, no thoughts, nothing that could make this okay.

  Cole materialized in Amelia’s line of vision, and he began straightening her legs, and moving her body around until she was lying flat on her back. For a fleeting moment, he was gone, but then he was there again, lying Megan down beside her. He rolled what appeared to be an old wool blanket up and lifted their heads, placing the bundle underneath them as a makeshift pillow. He wrapped them snuggly together in another itchy looking blanket before whispering, “I’m so sorry, Megs.” He bent and brushed his lips against her cheek and then vanished again.

  Why would Josh care if we rolled around? Amelia wondered. If we’re dead…

  Megan stepped beside her, threading her arm through Amelia’s, which to her utter surprise felt strong, stable, and solid. She narrowed her eyes further, studying their bodies closely. She fixed her eyes on their chests, waiting forever (or at least that’s how it felt) for them to rise and fill with air, but it didn’t come.

  “You’ll both be fine,” a lilting voice reassured from behind Amelia. “Sorry about the dramatics, but this is the safest way to talk to you.”

  The sound of a familiar voice filled her with an agonizing mix of fear and delight all at once. “Madame Crystal?” Amelia spun around to see the clairvoyant witch, who had helped her—and came close to ruining her life—not so long ago, floating a short distance away from her face. Her knee-length jet-black hair swayed around her as if there was a breeze that only reached her. Tiny laugh lines littered the corners of her almost completely black eyes, which held just a touch of violet around the pupils.

  “Hi, Amelia,” she said with a big, gleaming white smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Amelia gaped at her for a moment before she lunged forwards and threw her arms around the psychic, crushing Madame Crystal in a fierce hug. Madame Crystal laughed, a singsong kind of sound, and squeezed her back just as fiercely.

  Megan cleared her throat loudly. “Sorry to break up this little reunion, but seriously, I think the whole us being dead thing is a bit more important here.” Her voice squeaked, a high-pitched squeal, on the last word that sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

  Amelia’s eyes flitted over her lifeless body again, and then she buried her face in Madame Crystal’s shoulder. This can’t be happening, she thought over and over. We can’t be dead. Because if they were dead, then that meant Madame Crystal was dead, and most likely her entire family were dead, and that was something that Amelia couldn’t believe—wouldn’t consider.

  “You’re not dead, dear,” Madame Crystal said. She gave Amelia another squeeze and then stepped back, grinning widely. “As I said, this was the safest way to talk to you guys.”

  Amelia’s
jaw dropped, and her forehead scrunched. Not dead? She opened her mouth to demand an explanation, because seriously, their spirits were floating over their bodies and they looked … dead. Megan made a frustrated sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl, stopping Amelia before she could blurt out her questions. Megan’s lips were a thin line of annoyance, and she glared daggers at Madame Crystal. She drummed her fingers on her hips, and her eyes narrowed to little slits.

  “Meg, stop it,” Amelia said, watching her cousin’s reaction. “She’s a psychic and a witch, and she is my friend.” Amelia held the glare until Megan backed down, and then she turned back to Madame Crystal. The psychic was grinning widely. It seemed so out of place and wrong. But the grin sparked Amelia’s curiosity. “How are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Magic,” she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. “And with a little help from your mother.” The twinkle fizzled away as if a candle had suddenly been put out, and her face darkened. “There’s someone working with the hunters. He’s manipulating them, working them like puppets.” She raised her hands, her fingers dancing through the air as if she was working the strings of a marionette.

  “Who?” Amelia asked. Or maybe the better question was what. The hunters, Cole and Josh specifically, were strong. They had easily squashed her attempts at using magic against them, and the thought that someone, or something, was actually controlling them sent shivers rushing over her skin.

  “I don’t know,” Madame Crystal said with a small shake of her head. “My visions only stretch so far, and he is masking my attempts. It’s like he knows someone is watching.” A small shiver visibly ran through her, and her eyes hardened. “I’ve almost reached Mitchell. I’m going to lead him to you, so be ready. That is, if I can tell him where you are before he kills me for helping you the last time.”