Torn Souls (Soul Ties Book 2) Read online

  Torn Souls

  Soul Ties #2

  L J Swallow

  Contents

  Copyright

  About Torn Souls

  Dedication

  Part 1

  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

  Part 2

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  The Soul Ties series

  Sample of Between, a paranormal romance

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 Lisa Swallow

  Cover designed by Najla Qamber Designs

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  TORN SOULS (SOUL TIES #2)

  Jack spends his life plugged into an imaginary online world he shares with his friends -- and his fantasy is about to turn into reality.

  Forced to leave home for the real world and college, Jack meets Dahlia. His gaming life continues but Jack soon discovers his new girlfriend is better at killing demons than he is. Only the ones Dahlia kills are real -- and he's not 100% sure she's human.

  Soul-hunter Dahlia's mission is to retrieve stolen souls from demons and return them to her superiors. The quietly spoken girl rarely draws attention and she keeps herself distant from the people she lives amongst. However, when she meets Jack, she can't avoid her attraction to him, or explain the strange connection they share and steps into the human world.

  Drawn away from her life and into Jack's, Dahlia makes a choice which ties her to his world forever. But leaving her old life behind isn't as easy as Dahlia thought. When her past catches up with them, Dahlia and Jack are left facing a future they never imagined.

  Torn Souls is Jack and Dahlia’s story and partially overlaps the events in Soul Ties

  Dedication

  To everyone I spent Epically Challenged days standing in the fire with.

  Part I

  1

  November 2009

  JACK

  “Where’re the goddamn heals, man?” I slam my hand on the desk and push myself backwards in the chair, away from my laptop.

  Tonight, this game is killing me. Repeatedly. One by one, my friends die too. Their green health bars empty, the magic finishes, and I'm pulled back to the here and now by the yelling in my ear.

  “You stood in the bloody fire!” A disconnected female voice crackles down the line. Faith needs to fix her mic; it doesn't help when I can't hear half of what she says.

  I hit a button on the keyboard. “Gonna res me?”

  “No, run the hell back yourself.”

  A cacophony of voices argues in my ear, laying blame. Three times a week, me and my mates come together online to play this game. For years we’ve banded together to kill demons and dragons or whatever Boss the game throws our way. But our Guild is struggling to kill this final Boss—six-hour raid nights and getting nowhere. Why the hell can’t we do it? We have a reputation to uphold. Rankings to maintain. This isn't just a computer game; we're a serious team. I put days of my life into this.

  The avatars lie forlornly on the laptop screen, corpses spread around the dungeon. I glance at my phone. Two a.m. The recriminations continue through the headset; ten people can make a hell of a noise. When Tristan starts his diatribe about how crap the guild is and how he's had better offers elsewhere, I yank my headphones and the wire flies out of the laptop.

  Screw this.

  I rub my face, needing a break from six hours in front of this pixelated world; the adrenaline charging through my body with no outlet isn’t good. Out. I need out.

  My jacket lies scrunched up on my unmade bed, over the empty pizza boxes and drink cans. Mental note—clear up before the parents come to visit to see how their darling son is going at uni. Parents who shouldn't be so pleased to push their nineteen-year-old son out the door into a different city. Surely. At least they stuck me in halls of residence and didn't make me hunt amongst the damp and dirty student houses for somewhere to live.

  The thick, brown curtains in my halls room remain open and the courtyard outside glistens white. Great. Snow. Already. Not very inviting, but I need food. Wriggling my toes in anticipation of the walk, I look down at my thin Converse and picture how wet my feet will get if I walk over to the nearest vending machine. Why didn’t my parents buy me boots? Shrugging on a jacket, I zip it up tightly, shove my phone in my pocket, and leave.

  A blanketing silence surrounds campus; large flakes flurry down as I pause undercover of the lit porch. A gauntlet of weather rests between me and the brick building opposite where the vending machines live. The normally dry and paved path leading between the two blocks is covered in snow, impassable without getting cold, wet feet. Crap. Is it worth braving the weather for a chocolate fix? The light beckons me. Nobody else's footsteps have spoilt the perfect white carpet; no one else is insane enough to climb out of bed and wander campus at 2 a.m. on a winter night.

  Apart from her.

  I haven’t seen the girl since last winter. She’s standing near the building I want to walk into, illuminated by the light from the window. A puffed ski jacket envelops her tiny figure, and long brown hair falls from beneath her hood.

  Why is she standing immobile in the middle of the courtyard, watching the snow? She turns her face towards me and a shiver crosses my neck—I think she recognises me too.

  This year I'll talk to her before she disappears.

  The girl's expression doesn't change as I approach. Towering over her at six feet, I expect a step back or a hint of nervousness around me, but she remains motionless.

  I can't do it.

  I can't talk to her. Instead, I veer away towards the welcoming light in the door opposite. And pause. This girl has haunted my dreams for the best part of a year. This has to happen.

  I turn and approach her. Not too close.

  “You okay?” Casual. Caring guy. Not trying to hit on you. Honest.

  A smile creeps around the girl's mouth and up to her eyes. Eyes the same colour as the chocolate my mind fixated on until a couple of minutes ago, set into her pale, red-cheeked face. I recognise her delicate features from my dreams and want to touch her, connect to the real girl. My heart rate picks up—is this really her?

  “I'm good, thanks.” Her voice is quiet, and I can't pick the accent.

  “Why are you out here?”

  “Why are you?”

  “I wanted chocolate.” I cringe. Omigod way to make myself sound like a ten-year
-old.

  The girl laughs, and the sound echoes through the emptiness around. “That’s as good a reason as any.”

  “Why’re you wandering campus at night on your own?” I'm genuinely concerned. Doesn't she know the history around this place?

  “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.” I summon what I hope is a friendly smile.

  She shakes her head. “I don't think so.”

  My head grows cold as the snow piles onto my dark hair, a mop I wish I’d combed today. Cold water trickles down my neck, and I shiver. But I don't care anymore; I could stand and stare at her all night because she's the same girl. In my dreams, she falls down a lot, and I catch her.

  “I never caught your name,” I say.

  “What?”

  “I'm Jack.”

  “Hey, Jack.”

  I need to say something. If I don’t she’ll go. The girl scratches her nose with a gloveless hand, with fingers stained black.

  “Are you an art student?” I ask.

  “What?”

  And they say my social skills are lacking. “Your hands. Paint.”

  Her brow puckers as she hastily shoves her hand back in her pocket. “No. Not art. Computer science.”

  Yes. This is good. “Really? Same as me. I haven’t seen you.”

  “You've been missing class.”

  “Umm.”

  What a response. Smooth, Jack, oh so smooth.

  “You're turning into a snowman, Jack. Best go find that chocolate.” Her tone teases but it doesn't matter. I want to stay and listen to the voice I've waited a year to hear.

  The girl graces me with a smile, which could melt the snow in my hair, and she leaves, trudging back across the courtyard. Her slender figure disappears into the white flurry; small footprints trail behind.

  I grin. She'd noticed I'd missed class.

  DAHLIA

  I push open the door to my room and flick on the light. The bare bulb shines on the drab room's neatly made bed and rough, brown carpet. Shaking the snow from my coat, I cross to the window and draw the thin curtains against the unwelcome weather. Why couldn't they send me in summer? Or at least spring? I hate this season. The sensation of my hands and feet reheating, after hours outside in the cold, makes me nauseous. I wish here could be like my world, where the temperature is always even, no extremities. Not like this godforsaken world.

  How long will I be here this time? If they keep sending me back to the same place, someone will pick up on how I never age. Perhaps that person will be the guy I avoided last year. The same guy I saw ten minutes ago, standing across the courtyard, snow falling onto his dark hair. When he approached, I saw he'd matured; grown taller, chest broader than last year. The boy who watched me before is now a man.

  I expected him to stay away, like before, but he approached and broke my determination never to speak to him. Brown eyes full of confusion and desire pulled me into him, as if he’d taken hold of me himself, and surrounded me with the warmth extending across the cold between us. Something unexplainable hovered between us, a something that flipped my insides and took away my breath. But I kept my distance; I can’t step too far into his world.

  At least I never told him my name.

  Why has his face stuck in my mind all year? Who is he?

  I blow away the cold on my hands, aware there’s dark blood staining them, and perch on the edge of the bed. He noticed my hands. Not good.

  I think back to the previous year. Drifting around campus as I waited to hear who to kill next. The students didn't expect the small girl with the quiet voice to be the one saving their backsides.

  The demons haven't learnt to stay away.

  So I've been sent back.

  2

  JACK

  I roll onto my stomach and squint at the brightness filtering through the curtains. Groaning, I pull the sheets around my head. It's bloody cold in my room. My phone lies on the floor, and I look down, check the time. Eleven a.m.

  Crap.

  I hop out of bed and root around on the floor for my clothes. The T-shirt and jeans worn yesterday lie in a crumpled heap on the carpet. I pick up the T-shirt, hold it to my face, and breathe deeply. The T-shirt still has a vague odour of washing detergent. All good. I pull it over my head, then yawn and rub my face, stepping around the rubbish on the carpet and into the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, I step from foot to foot at the bus stop. Students and locals hang in groups around the road edge. The slush left from the cleared roads sends dirty water streaking across the pavement. What the hell am I doing? The last time I headed onto campus in the morning was… well, never.

  She'd better be there.

  I rub the condensation from the bus window and rest my head against the cool glass. The bus crawls along the city streets as we head towards the university. I still can't figure out why the halls of residence are so far away from campus—my parents could've found me somewhere closer. Living so far out is a mistake; getting to uni is too hard so I don’t attend a lot. Plus organisation isn't a strong point of mine, and it's not my fault I never know where I need to be and when. I do a bit of study when I have a chance, but avoid as many classes as I can for now.

  Not today. I dreamt about the girl in the snow again. Things I probably shouldn't dream about her doing, but I've no control over my subconscious, right? It's not my fault she was naked and her long brown hair swept across my bare chest as she... No. I can't think about that now. Think about the real her, not fantasies. She's a person—I can hear Faith saying the words in my head: “Don't look at that stuff. Women aren't objects; you should respect them.” Yeah, yeah. Three sisters—how am I going to see chicks as anything but people? Larger than life, complicated people. The things some of my mates see and do, now that stuff's weird. I close my eyes and try to picture the girl I saw last night. The real one, not the one in my dreams.

  The clock tower above the main university building dominates the skyline, white brickwork shining through the grey city. Running up the expansive stairs two at a time, I fumble in my bag for the timetable. The girl was right. I've missed a crap load of computer science classes. Most of them. Like I said, early days yet. I'm smart. I'll catch up. Hell, most people are new to this, and checking out the latest clubs is more interesting than checking out campus seminar rooms. Not that I can be arsed with their scene; gave it a go for Fresher's Week. Cheap beer, drunken parties. Meh. Gets boring after a while.

  Most guys on my corridor are dicks who get drunk and hook up with a different girl each night. I've seen the mess of the morning aftermath, bleary-eyed girls, some in tears, tripping down the hallway in night-before clothes. Not my idea of amusement, I hate guys like them anyway. All perfect hair and teeth. Predators. See, I do respect chicks. Some of my mates jumped into that scene—like Craig. He's failing miserably, hasn't had a relationship before; so beyond the one night, he's no clue about relationships, and he can't figure out how to juggle a needy girlfriend and friends. Same with some of my other mates: hot nights that fizzled within days, sometimes ended with a bang. Loud arguments. Demands. Nope. Relationships and girls are in my too hard basket.

  I stumble into the computer lab with minutes to spare.

  “Jack! Dude! You made it?” Kyle slaps me on the back. He's leaning back in his chair, straggly, brown hair curling in all directions. I wrinkle my nose; his clothes don't smell of detergent.

  “Yeah.” I scan the half-empty rows of computers and dump my rucksack on the floor.

  She's there. Sitting alone near the front. The girl’s hair hangs loose down her back, shining brown against the blue jumper. I imagine touching her hair, wondering how it smells. I bet she smells of flowers, fruit, and all the strange crap my sisters keep in the bathroom. Don't think about last night's dream. I concentrate on the other dreams of the girl falling, hair swirling around her face in a cloud as she reaches out to me.

  I push down my hood. “So, know anyone in this class?”

/>   Kyle shrugs. “Nope.”

  “What about the chick?”

  Kyle follows my gaze to the girl then tips his head. “Why would I notice a chick? Unless she was hot. And how often do you find hot girls on our course? Y'know, sometimes I think I should've done an arts degree. Been all sensitive and brooding.” He laughs. “Reckon I could've pulled that off?”

  “Yeah, the death metal T-shirt telling the world to fuck off really screams sensitive.”

  Kyle pushes his disorderly hair from his face, green eyes shining. “Yeah. Plus I hate books.”

  The girl lifts her hair and ties it back, delicate fingers twisting around the ponytail. Her pale skin stands out against the dark strands. Yeah, maybe she isn’t hot to Kyle, but she’s really pretty. She's small and vulnerable, and my heart pushes against my chest. I’m overwhelmed by a need to hold this girl and keep her safe. I shake my head. What the hell is happening to me?

  After class, I hover outside, wishing Kyle would stop talking so I can concentrate on the girl. She stays in her seat, facing away from the door, the only person left in the room. Even the lecturer leaves, frowning at me over his glasses. Yeah, okay, I'll catch up on my studies.

  How long can I wait until it's obvious what I'm doing?

  “You coming, man?” asks Kyle. “What’re you waiting for?”

  In the moment of hesitation, which follows his question, the girl stands and turns. Kyle's eyes follow mine and he slaps me on the back so hard my breath is knocked out.

  “Dude! You're waiting for her!”

  My heart thumps as she approaches but she totally ignores our scrutiny and passes.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. Kyle interrupted; I was going to talk to her. Seriously, I was.