The Soul's Mark: Changed: The Soul's Mark, #4

CHAPTER 1

––––––––

Mitchell had a cold.  He was coughing.  His nose was running, and he was driving Amelia crazy with that stupid bell.  The bell was something Eric had seen on TV and he’d thought it would be funny to give one to Mitchell.  It wasn’t.

For most people, a cold was just that ... a cold, but for Mitchell, well, he hadn’t been sick in more than eight-hundred years, and with the way he was carrying on about it, if Amelia didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was dying.  He’d only been human for two weeks now, and it had been the longest two weeks of her life.

Amelia was pleased that life in Willowberg had returned to normal—quiet and uneventful.  To her relief, and utter astonishment, Eric had stepped up, and with Megan’s help, he’d taken over most of Mitchell’s day-to-day town running stuff, whatever that was—Amelia still really wasn’t entirely sure.  But Eric was actually good at it.  Things were running smoothly, and for the first time in, well, since Amelia had arrived in Willowberg, there were no disasters to deal with.  But most importantly, so far, they’d managed to keep Mitchell’s ... condition, and Amelia’s change, a secret.

But the problem with keeping it a secret was that Amelia couldn’t leave the house.  And not leaving the house meant being stuck twenty-four hours a day with a whiny, eight-hundred year old man with a cold.

Sunlight streamed through the French doors, making the marble floor glimmer where it touched.  It danced off of the weathered black cabinets and granite countertops, coating the kitchen in a warm glow.  The cherry wood island was littered with newspapers, and unopened mail was piling up in a toppled stack off to the side.  On the top of the pile, Amelia spotted the electricity bill.  Her brow knitted together and a pang in her heart made her swallow hard.  The mail, the bills, all of it had been Mabel’s responsibility.

Amelia stared at the stack for a long moment and sighed.  God, she missed Mabel.  She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, remembering Mabel’s bright, motherly smile and her warm embrace.  The memory helped a little and when she glanced back at the stack, she made a mental note to go through the mail, and talk to Mitchell about paying the bills.

Amelia picked up the ladle and gave the chicken noodle soup a quick stir as it simmered on the gleaming stainless steel stove.  She sucked in a deep breath.  She’d always liked the smell of soup before, but now, with her new senses, it was fantastic.  The salt.  The chicken.  Even the noodles had their own aroma and mixed together, it was delightful.

The soft chime of Mitchell’s bell sounded, followed by a painful, hacking cough.  Millie, Lola hollered.  I’m going to kill him if you don’t make that bell stop!

Amelia choked on a strangled laugh.  Lola.  Their new relationship still seemed weird.  Weird and exciting.  As far as makers went, Amelia guessed she couldn’t have asked for anyone better, but it was still Lola.  Grumpy.  She had little tolerance for anything, and Mitchell was no exception, especially now that he really couldn’t do anything to her.  In all honesty, Amelia thought that their family was giving Mitchell a hard time just because they could now.

I’m on it, Amelia yelled back.  She grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and ladled out the steaming chicken noodle soup.  Setting the bowl on the tray, she snagged a spoon from the drawer, and then turned off the burner.

The bell sounded again and she grinned.  Who would have thought it would be her taking care of Mitchell?  Amelia surely hadn’t.  But she had to admit, even though he was driving her batty, she loved every minute of it.  She picked up the tray, and made her way through the house to their bedroom.

As she weaved through the crisp white hallways of their massive house, Amelia noticed that the rich wood floors were starting to look a touch dimmer than usual.  Every surface she passed held a thin layer of dust and the windows were looking a bit grimy.  Amelia had really tried to stay on top of the housework over the last two weeks, but by the time she got from one end of the house to the other, it was as if where she’d started had never been touched.  She didn’t have a clue how Mabel had done it all, and Amelia was starting to think it would take an entire army to come close to keeping up with everything that Mabel had done.

Amelia sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down the pulsing ache in her throat that always seemed to appear when she thought about Mabel.  When she was certain that she wasn’t going to burst into tears, she pushed open the door to her bedroom, juggling the tray in one hand.  How are you feeling, Mitch? she asked, giving him what she hoped was a bright smile, but it felt a bit forced and stiff.  She kicked the door shut with her heel and padded over to him, climbing the steps of the raised landing to the bed.

Mitchell looked up at her and croaked, I’m dying, love.  How do you think I’m feeling?  His nose was all chapped and cherry red, and his eyes, puffy and watery.  He was curled up in their bed, with the bold blue comforter pulled up to his chin so only his face was visible, and he had a box of tissues beside him.

Oh, stop being so dramatic.  It’s just a cold, Amelia said with a laugh, as she perched on the edge of the bed, setting the tray on the nightstand beside him.  He shot her what she thought was meant to be a dirty look, but it was ruined by a sneeze, and she laughed again.  I made you some soup.

My voice hurts, he whined and sniffled.  He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose loudly.

Amelia tried to forge her face into a serious expression, but it didn’t work.  She giggled.  Mitch, I don’t really think that’s possible.

You know what I mean, he said and groaned, and then he gave her the saddest puppy dog look she had ever seen.  Amelia, love, can’t you do some witchy thing and make this go away?

Oh, honey, she said, trying to stifle another laugh.  She failed miserably.  Suffering strengthens the soul.

He arched an eyebrow at her, and Amelia wasn’t sure if the look he was giving her was disbelief or amazement.  You can, can’t you? he said finally, after a long moment of silence.  Is this payback for something?  Disbelief it was, then.

Amelia smirked.  Now what in the world would I want to pay you back for?

Mitchell frowned.  Even without the bond, she could guess what he was thinking.  It was written clearly in each one of the crinkled lines that were indenting his forehead.  The truth was she had tons of reasons to want payback.  Because of Mitchell, she had cursed all vampires, created vampire hunters, lost her parents, almost died—twice, killed someone, and now, she was a vampire.  He had literally turned her world upside down.  And that wasn’t even counting the time when he had taken away her free will without so much as telling her he was real and not just a figment of her imagination, or the lying and manipulating he had done to get her to Willowberg in the first place.

But he had also shown her what it was like to love and be loved, needed, and wanted.  He had given her a new family.  Shown her a new world.  And brought her back to the world she had always been meant for.  He had given her a new start, a new life, one that she wouldn’t trade for anything.  Mitchell may have been a big jerk sometimes, but he was her big jerk, and she loved him (and sometimes hated him) for it.  If she knew how to fix him, she would have in a second.

Again, she found herself wishing that the movies about vampires were real.  So many of them portrayed vampires to have healing properties in their blood, and they did—kind of.  Vampire blood could heal during the changing process, but that didn’t help them.  Mother Nature, Amelia’s mother, had made it extremely clear that Mitchell wouldn’t survive the change again—yet.  His body needed time to adjust and strengthen, before it could handle another shock like that.

Amelia rested her hand on his forehead, brushing back his sweaty curls.  You’re burning up, she said, feeling his cheek and neck with the back of her hand.

It’s probably just your heightened senses, he said, pushing her hand away.

She furrowed her brow, searching his chiseled face and taking in a deep breath, looking for the telltale signs of a lie.  This was the eighth day he’d been sick and each day he only seemed to be getting worse.  It was also the first day that she’d felt any sign of a fever on his clammy skin, and she was certain that the sour odor that was coming from him was infection.

He sat up and reached for the bowl of soup.  After slurping a big mouthful, he said hastily, Stop worrying.  It’s just a cold.

Just a minute ago you said you were dying and now it’s just a cold?  Amelia glared at him long and hard.  His heartbeat picked up, she could hear it thrumming rapidly in his chest, and his breathing became strained, too quick, and too shallow.  What are you hiding, Mitch?

Mitchell slurped another large spoonful.  I’m not hiding anything.  I promise.  It’s like you said, suffering strengthens the soul so I’m sucking it up.

Good, Amelia said and smiled, although she wasn’t really convinced.  She was pretty sure that he needed a doctor.  She could smell the sour stench of infection on his skin and on his breath.

She watched him silently as he finished his soup.  She could see that he was struggling, his hand trembled with every spoonful he brought to his lips, and she didn’t know what to do for him.  If they took him to a doctor, they’d risk exposing his secret, and if they didn’t, he could get worse.  If he hadn’t been a vampire for eight-hundred years, she wouldn’t have worried, but she couldn’t help but wonder what that could have done to his immune system.  She fiddled with the blankets, tucking them around his legs, and fluffed the cushions, trying to hide her building concern.

How’s everyone coping? he asked after he swallowed the last bit of soup.  He reached over to the nightstand and set the bowl down.  I feel like I haven’t seen them in days.

Amelia looked away from him, unable to meet his eyes.  It was true.  He hadn’t seen most of them in days.  The truth was their family was avoiding him as much as they could.  Seeing him so fragile was hard on all of them.  Amelia had never really realized how much of a role Mitchell played in keeping them all together.  She’d always been so caught up in fighting with him that she hadn’t noticed he was the glue to their little family.  And without him being well, they were slowly falling apart.

She sighed.  They’re good, I think.  Eric and Megan have been pretty busy repairing the damage the hunters left behind.  Ty hasn’t been around much.  He’s been staying at his apartment more.

Mitchell took her chin in his hand and tilted it up so she had to look at him.  He was quiet for a long moment, his expression hardening as he searched her face, and for that moment, he almost looked like himself again—almost.  If it weren’t for that speck of guarded weakness in his eyes ...

I thought he was okay with what happened, he said, his tone tight and tinged with doubt.

Tyler had never been okay with the whole drinking blood thing; Amelia knew that.  But she had really thought he would have been able to get over Angelle’s attack on him when she’d lost her soul.  And for a day or two, he’d been okay.  They had been close.  Really close.  They hadn’t left each other’s side, but then, seemingly overnight, things had changed.  Amelia almost wished they would argue it out, but they didn’t.  Instead, they just ignored each other.  Drifting apart.

I thought so, too.  He was, but I don’t know ... She sighed, a gusty sound.  Mitchell dropped his hand from her chin, and clasped her hand, running his thumb along her palm in soothing circles.  He’s been pretty distant the last few days.  Honestly, I think something else is bothering him, but he won’t talk to me about it.  And then, wanting to brighten the subject, she grinned and said, But on the plus side, Erin is doing great.  She has a date tonight.

Out of everyone, Erin was the one person that Amelia worried about the most.  Losing a soulmate to the final death couldn’t have been easy, not even one as vile as Tristan.  But Erin ... Erin was okay.  Amelia figured she had accepted losing him long before he died, most likely when Amelia had destroyed the bond between them.

With who? Mitchell asked, although it came out more like a demand.  She guessed some things would never change.  Even as a human, Mitchell was still overly protective of his family and after all, Erin was one of his vampire children, or she had been until he had become human.

Amelia smirked; she couldn’t help it.  She knew it didn’t matter who it was with, Mitchell would find something wrong with the poor guy.  With Drew.

Mitchell groaned long and loud and then he shocked her.  I guess it could be worse.

Was that an approval?  Amelia wasn’t completely sure.  From what Amelia knew of Drew, he’d lost his soulmate a few years ago.  She didn’t know the details, but she did know that his soulmate had been a vampire when she’d died.  Drew isn’t so bad.  He’s better than Tristan, that’s for sure.  Even though she said it, the statement lacked conviction.  Tristan might have been psychotic and he may have tried to kill them all (Erin included) a few times, but in the end, he had still been Erin’s soulmate, and she had loved him, whether she had wanted to or not.

Mitchell opened his mouth to say something but then closed it.  He scrubbed at his face roughly before looking back up at her, his sky-blue eyes taking her breath away.  Amelia, I want the bond, he whispered.  I miss you.  Even with you sitting here, I feel like we are worlds apart.

Amelia held his stare.  Her gums throbbed, and everything in her told her to just give in.  She wanted to give in.  She wanted to taste him, and to claim him.  It was ingrained in her blood.  The vampire inside her wanted nothing more than to see her name scrawled across his neck and to have the bond, and him, at her beck and call.  And it was that very reason why she couldn’t—wouldn’t—give into the need.

I can’t, Mitch, she whispered, dropping her eyes.  I won’t do that to you.

Suddenly, the door flew open, cracking against the wall.  Mitchell, Lola hissed.  Her eyes were blazing crimson and everything about the way she stood in the doorway screamed fury.  She’s not ready for that and if you keep it up, I’ll keep her away from you.  Her nostrils flared then, and her complexion turned paper white.  She focused on him with wide, scared eyes and breathed, You smell like death.

CHAPTER 2

––––––––

Lola flew across the room in a heartbeat, and suddenly, she was beside Mitchell.  She ripped the covers off of him and tossed an overabundance of cushions to the floor.  Amelia sat rigid on the edge of the bed, watching her cautiously, as Lola scanned him from head to toe.  She ran her hand along his forehead and cheek, as Mitchell half-heartedly swatted at her, grumbling something completely incomprehensible.

Mitchell started coughing, violently.  His shoulders shook, and his chest heaved.  Amelia shoved Lola aside and quickly reached behind him, pulling him up to a sitting position, and rubbed his back until the coughing eased up.

How long has he smelled like this? Lola growled, glaring at Amelia with barely hidden rage.

Amelia trembled slightly, completely involuntarily, and before she could stop herself, she hopped off the bed, putting some distance in between them.  She had never seen Lola this mad before.  Everything about her, from her tight and thin lips, to her flexed and twitching muscles, and her crouched, ready stance screamed fury and attack.  Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but when nothing came out, she snapped it shut again.

How long, Amelia? Lola yelled, balling her fists at her sides.

Amelia cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the plum-sized lump that had formed, and whispered, Just today.  She didn’t mean to whisper, but her throat kept closing up under Lola’s completely disappointed and extremely furious glare.  She felt like a little kid who had been caught stealing.

Lola, stop yelling at her, Mitchell said calmly, with more than a little annoyance in his raspy voice.  I’m fine.

It was a lie.  Amelia could smell it and she could hear it.  His heart hammered and a different kind of sweat began to bead along the base of his neck.  She followed his gaze, noticing that it was focused on Lola’s chin.  He couldn’t even look her in the eyes and say it.

Amelia’s stomach twisted and her gums throbbed.  If she did it, just gave in and bit him, she wouldn’t have to guess.  He’d be an open book.  She’d know everything.  She’d be able to see how bad this cold was.  She’d be able to feel how much pain he was in, and he’d have access to her magic again.  It could soothe him.  It could help him.  And you could hurt him, her conscious reminded her.  Remember the burning pain the bond had caused.  Remember the hatred it created between you.  Remember.  Remember.

Lola shifted her glare to him.  You’re not fine and you damn well know it.  Then she turned to Amelia and paced towards her.  Her little floral summer dress brushed at her knees as she moved.  She should have looked sweet with her blond pixie style haircut, and soft features, but right then, she didn’t.  Why didn’t you say anything? she demanded.  A pinprick of red flared in the center of her eyes again.  You can’t keep this stuff a secret, Amelia!

I thought it was just the cold, Amelia said, taking a large step back.  I only noticed it a few minutes ago.  I was going to tell you.  And she was.  She really was going to tell them.  He needed a doctor.  She’d already figured that out, she just hadn’t figured out how to get him to one.

You should have gotten me immediately, Lola snapped.  "Don’t