Free A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) by Sharie Kohler Page B

friend.
    “Shannan didn’t say. But she’s been so busy. Between school, soccer and work, I haven’t seen much of her lately. We were supposed to go to dinner—” At this a choked cry burstfrom Mrs. Guzak’s lips. She covered her face with one hand, waving the other apologetically at Tresa.
    Her son stepped forward then, placing a hand protectively on her shoulder. “That’s enough. This isn’t a good time.”
    “I understand,” she mumbled, grabbing her bag. “I’ll show myself out.”
    Her heart twisted as she remembered the conversation. It was Balthazar’s doing . She knew it. More pain, more heartache and misery. And it wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.
    She closed her eyes in an anguished blink. He’d never stop as long as he had a new vessel… someone willing and malleable. Someone unlike her.
    She’d always fought him, resisting his wishes. And she would continue to do that once she made sure this witch was put away where Balthazar couldn’t manipulate her anymore.
    She swallowed against the sudden bitterness flooding her mouth. The moment he lost his new witch he would be on her like a parasite, sucking her life, her will. Especially if he caught her here, where he flourished.
    She forced the prospect from her head. She couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t let itfrighten her. Sighing, she rolled over on the hotel bed, hugging a pillow under her cheek, suddenly tired. The last forty-eight hours were catching up with her.
    The fading sunset glowed through the curtains, turning the yellow bedspread to gold. Her eyes drifted shut, her body easing, tension slipping away as she surrendered to sleep.

N INE
    H e struggles against his binds, his face red with exertion and fury. He’s an athlete. His body strong and young, corded with muscles. Muscles you have admired for so long, loving and caressing them with your yearning gaze. Now they’re yours. He is yours.
    You drag the knife against one of his pecs, quivering with tension.
    “Stop!” he shouts, jerking against his bindings. “Let me out of here, you crazy bitch.”
    You smile at him. So strong. So masculine.
    With a mind of its own, the knife trails down the flat, shuddering belly. Washboard abs. A powerful body… Capable of so much. Defenseless against you.
    The knife dips, tracing his manhood as would a lover’s mouth. Less impressive than the rest of him, but still nothing to be overlooked. It’s so important to him, after all.
    “Please.” He sobs now, the sounds mingling with his broken pleas. They always beg so sweetly at the end. A symphony to your ears. The knife kisses his skin, presses deeper, eager for its next meal. Deep moans fill the air.
    He’s ready.
    But not yet. Everything has to be right. A handful of rose petals, soft as satin, trail from your fingers. They fly through the air like a dove’s wings and land over the bed, over the beautiful body stretched out for your pleasure.
    His head twists and turns, his glassy eyes wide and rolling, scanning the petals that cover and surround him.
    “What—”
    “Shh.” A finger to his lips and he falls silent.
    Until the blade plunges deep.
    And the true symphony begins again.
    * * *
    T RESA WOKE WITH A scream lodged in her throat. At first she wasn’t sure if it was her voice or the vestiges of her nightmare, some echo of that young man’s suffering.
    She dragged a shaking hand down her face. No nightmare. It was happening now. She knew that. Bile rose in her throat and she lunged for the bathroom. Clutching the seat, she emptied the contents of her stomach, heaving untilthere was nothing left. Rising, she wiped her face with a hand towel.
    Panic hammering in her heart, she staggered into the room and reached for the phone. Without planning what to say, she dialed 911.
    At the operator’s greeting, she stammered out in a rasping voice, “Hello. Yes. A man is being hurt…” She wet her dry lips. “He’s being murdered.”
    “Can you tell me where this is