Page 101 of Stone Cold Touch

24

I awoke to the soft flicker of candles and a pounding headache, slightly confused by my surroundings. It took me a few moments to realize where I was and what had happened in the strange room below the Palisades apartment.

Jackknifing up, I felt my heart race. There was a funny taste in the back of my mouth. Throwing off the covers, I was relieved to find that I wasn’t naked. I remembered coming here with Roth, talking to Cayman and the evil demon twins, and then the...

Oh God.

I remembered tasting the woman’s soul, the one who reminded me of a cupcake.

Oddly enough, the nausea that occupied the fading high from taking a soul was minimal. Just a slight unease of the stomach, but that was truly insignificant in comparison to everything else.

I scrambled from the bed, my eyes darting around Roth’s loft. On the edge of the bed, the small white kitten stretched out on its side. When it spotted me, it hissed. The black-and-white kitten sat on his piano. It stood, idly prowling across the keys. Each note the paws stroked was jarring. Out of the corner of my eyes, a shadow rushed in front of the glass wall, momentarily blocking out the moon and lights from the surrounding buildings. I whirled around, my heart in my throat.

Nothing was there.

My gaze fell to the bathroom door. It was open and it had been closed when I... Oh crap on a cracker,Roth.I’d thrown myself at him. Well, technically, I had knocked him over and straddled him. I had kissed him and he had kissed me back before stopping what I would’ve surely continued.

I placed a hand to my temple, wincing. In that moment, I wasn’t sure what was worse: molesting Roth and having him hide in the bathroom or that I’d tasted a soul.

I scanned the loft again, but I didn’t see Roth. My steps felt heavy, my legs disjointed. I found my shoes and hoodie next to my bag, the three items placed on a chair by the door. I didn’t even remember bringing my bag with me. I dug out my cell, tapping the screen. There were missed calls—two from Stacey and more than I could count from Zayne and my heart sank. Then I saw the time.

3:15 a.m.

“Oh shit,” I screeched, startling the kitten on the piano. The crashing of keys matched the tempo of my pulse. “Oh shit, shit, shit.”

I dug around for my wallet, finding it smashed between two notebooks. I’d need to get a cab. As I slid my phone back in my bag, I thought of the missed calls from Zayne. He had to have been panicked and he had to have thought... I couldn’t even let myself finish that thought. My hand shook as I wrapped it around the bag strap. I needed to call him, but I couldn’t focus on anything but putting one foot in front of the other.

Where was Roth?

It didn’t matter. He’d brought me here and he...he let me sleep for hours. A flash of anger shot through me, but how could I really blame him for this mess? I should’ve listened to my instincts, but I’d come with him. Then I’d danced with Sucky and Inky and, even though they had done something to me, I’d been the one to taste the woman’s soul. It was as though Roth had opened the door when he’d asked me to be bad with him, and I had bounced right on through it.

I’d gotten myself into this mess.

Walking to the door and opening it took a lot of energy. Outside his loft, the two hellhounds were sitting like sentries. Their ears perked up, but they didn’t turn toward me. As I eased past them, the muscles in their backs bulged in irregular humps. I held my breath, praying they didn’t eat me, until I made it to the end of the hallway and opened the door.

Half running, half sliding down the steps, I kept going until I heard high-pitched, mewling cries. Coming to a halt outside the door leading back the lobby, I froze. Wild laughter echoed through the stairwell, as did screams and moans.

What the...?

Backing up, I turned and spied the exit to the garage. Anywhere was better than going into the lobby or back into the bar, back into the madness without Roth. Or was he in the lobby, enjoying the party?

I pushed open the door, rushing through the dark garage and out into the streets. My thin sweater was no protection against the chilly air. I hugged myself and my bag close, barreling down the fog-covered streets. I suddenly thought about Jack the Ripper. Didn’t he always attack his victims on foggy London nights? Not that I couldn’t take out a serial killer, but still, the thought creeped me out.

I hurried on, eyes searching through the clouded streets for cabs. God, I was in so much trouble. I’d tasted a soul. My insides twisted with guilt and shame, and I told myself to stop thinking about it, because there was nothing I could do now.

But my skin crawled as I continued down the silent street. If I breathed too hard, inhaled too deeply, I could still taste her essence—frosted icing. I bit down on my lip until blood replaced the sugary sweetness. The pain did little to stop the rushing memory, the pleasure the soul had brought.

What had I done?

The withdrawals seemed not to have hit me yet and I deserved the sweats, chills and the hunger that couldn’t be assuaged. I deserved that and much more.

All the buildings lining the streets were quiet and shadowed until I crossed a street and realized that one of the shadows had broken apart from the rest. It flitted along the pavement beside me, thicker and larger that my own slight shadow. The smell of sulfur replaced the musty smell of the nearby river.

I stopped.

The shadow stopped.

Ice drenched my veins as the smell of rotten eggs increased until my eyes burned.

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