Read Online Soulless (The Heartless Series Book 2) by Kelly Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: Kelly Martin
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closet.” Once I say the words, I instantly know I shouldn’t have. I can’t talk about my mother to Hart. He’ll know about my dream, even if he can’t read my mind anymore. He’ll find out about it, and he’ll use it against me somehow. I know him… at least I think I do.
“What are you talking about?” He sits up, puts his elbows on his knees and looks up at me with a very raised brow.
I know he’s worried. He shouldn’t be. Not that I’m not falling apart on the inside, because I am. I so am. But he shouldn’t be worried because he’s Hart Blackwell. He’s a demon, and demons don’t care. The bodies in my living room are a testament to that.
“I just… never mind.” I rake my fingers through my hair, which, I realize, isn’t near as dirty or messy or filled with dried blood as one would imagine a person would have after being unconscious. “You gave me a shower.”
“Focus!” He orders. “Damn, you’ve been all over the place since you woke up, and I get it, yeah, your mind has to be a jumbled pile of poo, but you’ve got to focus. It’s the only way we’re going to make it through this.”
“Thought you said I wasn’t going to anyway.” I smile sadly. I’m probably the only person who doesn’t want to make it through.
He sighs and tilts his head to the side. I’m pretty sure he’s had it with me and my crazy brain. Hate to tell him he made my crazy brain, so it’s all totally his fault. “Your mother. Why did you say you had her check your closet at night?”
I shrug, suddenly defensive. “You were there. You remember.”
“I never tucked you in. That seemed… gross.”
“Even for a demon.” I’m slightly amused. It feels wrong to be slightly amused, to be honest, in this type of situation with the bodies and the blood and the apocalypse and the demons.
“We have standards.” He winks and settles back against the couch cushions. It was his spot when he was Sam. Guess some things never change. “And remember, I never lost my humanity.”
“Oh yeah.” I scoff. “You were a real humanitarian.”
He glares. “I could’ve been much worse. What happened in your nightmares, that wasn’t me, remember? I had no control over it… doesn’t mean I didn’t like certain parts of it, but…”
“Yeah, don’t want to talk about that.” I don’t. I so don’t. If it were any other Sunday afternoon, we’d be sitting on the couch watching football. Sam played it. I loved to watch it. We were a match made in… well, not Heaven that’s for sure. As it is, I scoot around Gabriel’s body and plop in the chair no one ever really sits in because my chair has the body of a middle-aged woman in it.
All houses have that chair. The chair no one really uses. It just sits there like the black sheep of chairs. Or the chair picked last at dodgeball. It’s just sitting there, waiting to be used, waiting to be put in the game, waiting to fulfill its potential—but nothing. Day after day it just waits. Until one day, demons invade the earth, and its dreams of butt comfort are realized.
I realize Hart is staring at me. He blinks a few times, and I happen to wonder if I’ve said any of that out loud.
“Why did you bring up your mother?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
Pushy jerk. “I’ve just been thinking about her.” Not a total lie. “I miss her. Want to go home. All that.”
“Interesting.” The fact that he doesn’t come back with some snarky remark concerns me greatly.
“It really isn’t.” And since I don’t want to talk about my mother anymore, I say, “We have to tell their parents.”
“Who?” I think he genuinely doesn’t know. I bet he hasn’t even considered the possibility that they might be on some missing person’s report somewhere.
“The bodies, Hart. The bodies. You know, the ones in our living room. We have to tell their parents. People will be missing them.” I get so sick thinking about that. How all these
“What are you talking about?” He sits up, puts his elbows on his knees and looks up at me with a very raised brow.
I know he’s worried. He shouldn’t be. Not that I’m not falling apart on the inside, because I am. I so am. But he shouldn’t be worried because he’s Hart Blackwell. He’s a demon, and demons don’t care. The bodies in my living room are a testament to that.
“I just… never mind.” I rake my fingers through my hair, which, I realize, isn’t near as dirty or messy or filled with dried blood as one would imagine a person would have after being unconscious. “You gave me a shower.”
“Focus!” He orders. “Damn, you’ve been all over the place since you woke up, and I get it, yeah, your mind has to be a jumbled pile of poo, but you’ve got to focus. It’s the only way we’re going to make it through this.”
“Thought you said I wasn’t going to anyway.” I smile sadly. I’m probably the only person who doesn’t want to make it through.
He sighs and tilts his head to the side. I’m pretty sure he’s had it with me and my crazy brain. Hate to tell him he made my crazy brain, so it’s all totally his fault. “Your mother. Why did you say you had her check your closet at night?”
I shrug, suddenly defensive. “You were there. You remember.”
“I never tucked you in. That seemed… gross.”
“Even for a demon.” I’m slightly amused. It feels wrong to be slightly amused, to be honest, in this type of situation with the bodies and the blood and the apocalypse and the demons.
“We have standards.” He winks and settles back against the couch cushions. It was his spot when he was Sam. Guess some things never change. “And remember, I never lost my humanity.”
“Oh yeah.” I scoff. “You were a real humanitarian.”
He glares. “I could’ve been much worse. What happened in your nightmares, that wasn’t me, remember? I had no control over it… doesn’t mean I didn’t like certain parts of it, but…”
“Yeah, don’t want to talk about that.” I don’t. I so don’t. If it were any other Sunday afternoon, we’d be sitting on the couch watching football. Sam played it. I loved to watch it. We were a match made in… well, not Heaven that’s for sure. As it is, I scoot around Gabriel’s body and plop in the chair no one ever really sits in because my chair has the body of a middle-aged woman in it.
All houses have that chair. The chair no one really uses. It just sits there like the black sheep of chairs. Or the chair picked last at dodgeball. It’s just sitting there, waiting to be used, waiting to be put in the game, waiting to fulfill its potential—but nothing. Day after day it just waits. Until one day, demons invade the earth, and its dreams of butt comfort are realized.
I realize Hart is staring at me. He blinks a few times, and I happen to wonder if I’ve said any of that out loud.
“Why did you bring up your mother?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
Pushy jerk. “I’ve just been thinking about her.” Not a total lie. “I miss her. Want to go home. All that.”
“Interesting.” The fact that he doesn’t come back with some snarky remark concerns me greatly.
“It really isn’t.” And since I don’t want to talk about my mother anymore, I say, “We have to tell their parents.”
“Who?” I think he genuinely doesn’t know. I bet he hasn’t even considered the possibility that they might be on some missing person’s report somewhere.
“The bodies, Hart. The bodies. You know, the ones in our living room. We have to tell their parents. People will be missing them.” I get so sick thinking about that. How all these
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