Read Soulless (The Heartless Series Book 2) for Free Online

athlete, all around American guy.
    And then there’s the night Gracen, who is tied to a table and tortured in a dingy room by a demon named Hart Blackwell.
    It’s like… I know I’m the same person. But it feels different now. The dream has always stayed in the dream world, save for this week at least.
    Now that everything is jumbling together, I don’t know. It’s weird. I hate it. I hate the dream I had about my mother. I hate that I can’t tell Hart about it. I hate that I am too weak to stand for very long. I hate that I’m dependent on demon blood to not die.
    Demon.
    Blood.
    To.
    Not.
    Die.
    I remember last week when my biggest worry was getting to Professor Mitchell’s class on time. Oh, how those days are long gone. Gone like the Professor. I wonder if the angels caught up with him, if they killed him. Do angels kill things ? They sure wanted to kill me.
    All the thinking about angels makes me think about Lucien. I haven’t asked Hart about Lucien much because I don’t know how Hart will react. I suppose I should, but what do I say? Sorry the brother angel you’ve hated all this time fell into Hell. We need to talk about it, except I figure Hart wants to talk about it about as much as I do… which is none.
    Honestly, I just want to sleep.
    I’m so tired. Everything hurts. I broke the world. I want to ignore it.
    Tina has messaged me about fifteen times with dates going back three days. She’s getting increasingly worried about me. Her last message says: The world has gone to hell… CALL ME!
    That’s a bold move for Tina since I’ve never called her in my life, and I know we both hate phones. Hate with a fiery passion.
    I hesitate with my fingers over the keyboard, not really sure what to tell her. I want to ask what she means by “it’s gone to hell.” Surely not literally. And second, how do you tell someone what you are when what you are is the most evil creature that has ever been created, or will be after she fully turns?
    Sam used to say, back when he was Sam, that once people knew me, the real me, they wouldn’t like me. I remember the fight when he told me that as clear as yesterday. I was in my room, sitting at my computer desk working on some assignment, and he just came in mad—and drunk. He started spouting off about decency and humanity and his mother, which I didn’t really understand because I liked his mother for the most part. I don’t know if she liked me, but that’s beside the point. He talked about his mother and whatever; I don’t think I was listening very much. I was too busy talking to Tina.
    Then, out of the blue, he started yelling about how I wasn’t who I said I was, who I thought I was, and how when people really got to know me, they’d hate me. I wouldn’t have any friends if they knew how heartless I was inside, how soulless I was. If they knew how black my insides really were, they would run the other way.
    That was the first night I noticed something was very, very different about him.
    It wasn’t the last.
    Anyway, I hold my fingers over the keys, trying to think of anything to say. Hi sounds too empty, too blah, too jovial for the torture I’ve been put through, the torture I’ll put the world through. I can’t say, “Hey! Sorry, I’ve been busy opening the gates of Hell, how’s California treating you?”
    Or… “Hey, you know those boyfriend problems I’ve been having? Well, don’t worry about them. There is no Sam! Only Hart. Hooray!”
    Hallmark doesn’t make a card for this. Facebook doesn’t suggest a status for it. It doesn’t fit in 140 characters for Twitter. What it is… what I am… what has happened, it can’t be explained.
    “What?” Hart says from my doorway, and I jump like I’ve been shot. Ouch! “What, you yelled for me?”
    “Like five minutes ago.” I huff and slam my computer shut. I’ll pretend to be cross at Hart because it’s just easier that way. I don’t want him to know I’m glad he’s around, glad