The Soul's Mark: HUNTED Read Free Page B

Fiona.  “Let her go,” she said with a ringing authority that she didn’t even know she had in her.
    Fiona threw her head back, her long jet-black hair fanning wildly around her face, and her laugh was pure evil.  “Oh, Millie, I thought I told you before.  You’re nothing; Mitch is the one who rules, not you.”  Fiona gave a big toothy smile, and her gold nugget eyes streaked red.  “Besides, he’s the one that gave me permission to hunt here.  If you have an issue with this, you should take it up with him.”
    Amelia opened her mouth and then closed it, completely stunned.  Had Fiona just said what she thought she said?  Mitchell gave her permission ?  The idea was ludicrous.  Or was it?
    Right then, Eric made a move towards Fiona and everything after that happened in a blurry mess.  Fiona sunk her teeth into the girl’s neck.  The girl screamed a terrifyingly, agonizing sound.  White-hot rage surged through Amelia, and she bellowed through the bond, Mitchell!
    That was all it took for him to tune in, and she instantly felt the hum of him sifting through her thoughts, picking out her location, her surroundings, and looking for any danger.  When he put all the pieces together, a mix of panic and rage flooded in so fast she staggered back.
    Get away from them, Amelia! Mitchell shouted, the thoughts erupting inside her mind as loud as the booming thunder above.
    Eric wrestled Fiona off the girl, and she collapsed in a bloody mess.  Amelia dropped down beside her and pushed herself into action, quickly checking for a pulse.  When she finally found the faint heartbeat, she let out a pent-up breath.
    “Eric,” she hollered.  “Eric, help me!”  She frantically ripped off her top, balled it up, and pressed it against the girl’s neck, trying to stop the steady stream of blood.  She had never seen anyone bleed so much from a bite, and she was sure Fiona must have hit an artery.
    Amelia wanted to scream.  The girl couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old.  She was dirty and ragged looking, as if she hadn’t been home in months, maybe years.  Her jeans were torn, her hair was a knotted, blondish-gray mess, and Amelia couldn’t even begin to make out what color her shirt had been through the layers upon layers of dirt and grime.
    Mitchell’s panicked yells ruptured through their bond in a tidal wave of fear, but to Amelia, it was just a buzz of noises as she tried to stop the bleeding.  How could he permit hunting?  And Fiona.  Did he really know Fiona was back?  He had sworn to her that it would stop—it had stopped.  No one was allowed to hunt, not here, not in Willowberg.
    The blood was soaking right through her top, and no matter how hard Amelia pressed, she couldn’t make it stop.  She was talking to the girl; she was vaguely aware that her lips were moving, but she didn’t know what she was saying.  It sounded mumbled, distorted, and nothing like her own voice.  Suddenly, the girl’s eyes flew open, and a small tear slid down her cheek.  “I’m cold,” she whispered.
    Amelia stared down at her, incapable of speaking, unable to move.  The blood.  So much blood.  The last time she has seen that much blood, gushing like the rapids of a river, was when her parents died.
    Suddenly, Mitchell was there, pulling her away and into his arms.  “No!” Amelia screamed.  “Let go!”  She pulled and struggled, trying to get out of his grasp.  “I have to help her,” she pleaded, as she thrashed about in his arms.  “We have to save her.”
    “She’s gone, Amelia,” Mitchell whispered, caressing her hair and holding her tightly to his chest.
    “No!”  Amelia cried, looking up at him.  “She’s breathing.  Do something!  Change her.  Please don’t let her die.”  She watched a montage of expressions cross his brow—contemplation, guilt, pain, anger, before finally settling into a cold and closed remoteness.
    “I’ll do it,” Eric offered.  He shot a