Page 55 of Stone Cold Touch

And on the bed was Dean McDaniel.

He was lying on his back, wearing only his plain socks and blue boxers. Headphones covered his ears and his feet moved to a beat we couldn’t hear.

Dean was aware of us. His heavy-lidded gaze slid toward us and then back to the ceiling, outright dismissing our presence. I followed his stare and I gasped.

There were...holy crap, drawings in marker—circles with stars through them. Lines joining to form shapes I’d seen in theLesser Key of Solomon.

Roth eyed the ceiling for a moment and then strolled over to the bed. He whipped the headphones right off Dean’s head. “Ignoring us is rude.”

The boy on the bed—the boy who’d always been quiet and had held doors open for other students—smirked as he folded his arms behind his head. “Do I look like I care?”

“Do I look like I won’t rip your head off your shoulders?” replied Roth.

“Whoa,” I said, shooting him a look. “That’s not helping.”

Dean looked over at me and sat up. He reached down between his legs and did something that made my ears burn. “You’re more than welcome to stay in here, honey. These two tools can hit the road, though.”

My mouth dropped open. “Okay. Commence with ripping the head off.”

Roth smirked.

“We’ve never met before.” Zayne stepped toward the edge of the bed, apparently trying to be the voice of reason. “My name is—”

“I know what you are.” Dean flopped on his back.“Magnam de cælo, et tu super despectus.”

“And now he speaks Latin?” This was going nowhere fast. “What did he say?”

Roth chuckled. “Something that won’t make Stony happy.”

“And I know why you guys are here. You ain’t getting shit from me. So you know where the door is.” He looked at me. “But like I said, you—”

“Finish that sentence, and you’ll be limping for the rest of your life,” I warned, and Zayne smiled. As I stared at Dean, I tried to see the quiet boy from class, but he leered back at me like a forty-five-year-old man who’d had too much to drink. “Are you still in there, Dean?”

“I think we know the answer to that,” Roth said, kneeling down beside the bed. Dean turned his attention to him. “Whatever piece of humanity is left in him, I sure as Hell don’t see it.”

I couldn’t believe that. The thought of this boy slowly being stripped of his soul sickened me. Maybe it hit too close to home. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to believe it was hopeless. I stepped around Zayne. “Do you know who did this to you?”

Dean was still for a moment and then he sprang from the bed, so fast that he was nothing but a blur for a moment. I wasn’t sure if he was heading for me or not, but Zayne intercepted him, catching the boy by the shoulder. One hard shove and Dean hit the bed on his ass. “Try that again and you’re not going to like what happens.”

Dean drew in a ragged breath and then a great shudder rolled through him, shaking his slight frame. He lay on his side, tucking his knees under his chin. His entire body quaked as if someone was shaking the bed.

“It’s constant,” he said, raising his hands to cover his ears.

My pulse kicked up. “What’s constant?”

“It.I hearitall the time.” His fingers curled into his hair. “It never stops. It never gives me a break.”

“What is it?” Zayne asked.

The boy’s face scrunched up and his cheeks paled. “Itdoesn’t stop.”

“I think he’s in pain.” I looked to Zayne for help. “What can we do?”

Zayne’s brows rose. “He’s not possessed. You can tell by looking at his eyes.”

“What’s wrong with him is that he’s missing a good chunk of his soul and that probably feels like a gunshot wound.” Shaking his head, Roth rose fluidly. “Dean, we need you to tell us what happened to you.”

“I don’t understand,” he moaned.

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