My Soul to Keep Read Free Page B

never smelled such a thing on a human before. Maree’s body temperature changed, dropped several chilling degrees. Sorcha smiled, slow and deep, satisfaction rippling through her. “You’re a witch,” she announced.
    Sorcha had not known until this moment if this woman was a con like all the rest she had questioned. She had faced too many brick walls to count in her hunt for a real witch. She knew they existed, knew one had started the lycan curse over two thousand years ago. Which was why, deep at her core, in her bones, she knew that a witch could lead her to Gervaise’s killers.
    â€œListen, lady,” Maree began, “you’re wrong. I don’t—”
    â€œWhen I asked you if you were a witch, your pulse quickened, your body temperature dropped. Not the reaction I would expect if I was off base.”
    Maree shook her head, tossing her black hair. “What are you, some kind of—” The witch stopped abruptly, her voice dying as a look of dread passed over her face, bleeding it of all color.
    Sorcha nodded. “It’s safe to say we’re both extraordinary females.”
    â€œWhat are you?” Marre asked quietly, her gaze darting again to the closed elevator as if she might rush it. She moved in her chair, turning her body slightly, and Sorcha knew she was about to try.
    â€œYou’ll never make it,” she warned, her blood heating up and pumping faster. The darkness inside her frothed, eager for release.
    Maree fell back in her chair and seemed to shrink where she sat.
    Sorcha stood up and moved a safe distance from her, breathing thinly through her nostrils until she felt in control again. She loathed it that her beast could rouse so quickly. It never used to. She stared at her reflection in the dark glass. The face that stared back at her was beautiful, an elegant, sculpted beauty. She couldn’t help but wonder if Jonah would have liked her this way. Would he still have pushed her away?
    â€œDo you really want to know what I am?” Sorcha’s voice scraped through the air, the words thick in her mouth. She angled her head, waiting.
    â€œIt’s safe to say we both know the world is composed of many unnatural things. Can you not guess whose den you’ve entered?” Sorcha swung an arm, turning from the window. “Why don’t you just do what it is you do, and then you can leave.” She fluttered a hand. “Forget you ever met me.”
    Maree nodded jerkily, her blue eyes overly large in her pale face.
    â€œGood.” With a brisk efficiency she didn’t feel, Sorcha reclaimed her seat. Crossing her arms over her chest, she lifted an eyebrow. “Read for me. Do whatever it is you do.” The words felt strangely thick on her tongue. Oddly, after all her efforts to locate a true witch, she felt unsettled sitting across from one. She could only think that it was one of Maree’s kindwho had started the lycan curse … which created so much misery for the world. For Sorcha.
    The witch exhaled. “This isn’t television. I do not
read.
I can’t see the future. That’s not my particular skill. Every witch has a different gift.”
    â€œAnd what is your gift?” And how could Sorcha manipulate it to find her late husband’s killers?
    The scene of Gervaise’s death had been terrible. Bloody. Violent. There hadn’t been much of his feeble body left. Their marriage might not have been real in the sense of couples who came together physically, but she had loved him. Gervaise had been the father to her that Ivo never was. Her elderly husband had known what she truly was and accepted her anyway.
    He should not have died the way he did. He should not have suffered such a horrific end. She’d known instantly that the perpetrator couldn’t be human. It was a massacre—the kind that a lycan would commit in a feeding frenzy. Tonight she would learn everything about the creature