Read Online Blood Sins by Kay Hooper - Free Book Online Page A

added to it the far-less-princely sum he found in his mother's secret hiding place. Less than two hundred dollars.
    He put the last of her cigarettes in the duffel, weighed her lighter in one hand for a moment, then set it aside and zipped the bag closed. It was heavy even with so little in it, but he was strong for his size and lifted it easily. He picked up his mother's lighter and went to the door, pausing only then to look back at the bodies.
    He wondered idly what had happened to their eyes, because that was just weird. Really weird.
    Then he shrugged it off, life so far having taught him that if the answer wasn't obvious, it was probably best left alone.
    The lighter was the kind you didn't throw away, the kind with a lid that opened and a wheel that turned and sparked off a flint. He opened the lid and turned the wheel with his thumb, and for a moment he just watched the small flame. Then he tossed the lighter to land on the floor near the bed, where an ugly, stained bedspread lay crumpled.
    Immediately, it began to burn.
    Adam Deacon Samuel unlocked the door and left the motel room, closing the door behind him. He turned right, because it seemed as good a direction as any other, and started walking. He never looked back at the burning building.
    He was ten years old.
    T essa struggled to breathe.
    Pain. Awful, soul-rending pain that wasn't only physical but emotional as well. Pain that washed over her in waves, each one greater than the last.
    And darkness. A darkness so black it was almost beyond comprehension, so black it swallowed all the light and reached hungrily for life. Reaching . . . grasping . . .
    She could hear herself trying to breathe, hear the jerky little pants, but every other sense was turned inward as she grappled with the pain, tried to dull it.
    Hurt . . .
    Mute it.
    Hurt . . .
    Deflect it.
    Hurt . . .
    She tried to feel her way through the horrible darkness, beyond it.
    It seemed impossibly difficult for the longest time, for what seemed eons, until finally, faintly, she became aware of other things besides the continual burning pain.
    Sensations. Emotions. Fragmented thoughts.
    . . . the poor thing . . .
    . . . must get away . . .
    . . . should it feel so good?
    . . . have to get away . . .
    . . . joy . . . utter joy . . .
    . . . why did he kill them?
    . . . it won't happen . . .
    . . . why them?
    . . . have to get Lexie out of here . . .
    . . . it can't happen . . .
    . . . if that's what heaven is . . .
    . . . escape . . .
    . . . he takes . . .
    . . . takes . . .
    I'm hungry.
    Her eyes snapped open, and Tessa stared fixedly at the stall door. That last bald statement, stark in the darkness, gnawing in its hollow desperation, echoed inside her mind. For no more than a heartbeat or two, she had the sense of an emptiness so great it was almost beyond her ability to grasp.
    And then it was gone. All the other emotions, gone. The bits and pieces of thoughts, gone. The overwhelming pain was gone.
    She was safely protected, once again, behind her shields.
    Tessa drew a breath and felt her hands slide down the cold tile, felt the ache in her arms that told her she had been literally pushing against the walls of the trap she had felt in her mind.
    I see you.
    Hard as she tried, Tessa couldn't decide if that clear statement, that amazingly strong presence, had been positive or negative. She thought it was not the same "voice" that had declared its hunger, because that voice had definitely come out of the darkness.
    I see you.
    Who saw her? Who was able to reach her like that? Able to reach her mind, semiguarded though it had been, and deliver that simple, clear statement?
    She got to her feet, shaky, and automatically flushed the toilet before leaving the stall. She went to one of the sinks and stared at her reflection in the mirror, only then aware that her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes red-rimmed.
    It might, she supposed, look like grief.
    But the trickle of blood from one nostril would