Page 11 of Jace's Mate

Shaking off the strange vision, Anikka forced herself back to the present and quickened her steps down the filthy sidewalk toward the grocery store she’d seen on their drive into the city.

Eldin matched her pace, shortening his stride to walk beside her.He was quiet—but alert.His eyes kept darting from shadowed alleys to rooftop corners, like he expected something to pounce.Like he could sense the strange… something in the air.

He wasn’t just grumpy today.He was nervous.

And on high alert.

That was… weird.

Was he expecting trouble?

The city smelled different than the country—less clean, but moreinteresting.

She sniffed again, catching the briny scent of river water mingled with exhaust, warm cement, body odor, and a spicy cloud of cologne from someone who’d passed through earlier.Even the trash didn’t bother her.

Beneath the sour edge of garbage, she caught something unexpected.Pasta.

She smiled.Someone had made spaghetti last night.

Maybe she’d make pasta tomorrow.That would be a nice change.

“We need to walk faster,” Eldin muttered behind her.He was now a step behind—as if guarding her back.

Anikka smirked over her shoulder.“Relax.I went for a walk before my uncle woke up this morning, and the world didn’t explode.”

She took in the neighborhood around her, appreciating the small signs of life that marked each porch and yard.

One townhome had a folded stroller on the porch.Another had a worn recliner that still held the scent of tobacco—cigars, she thought, with a small, satisfied nod.

Several other houses had bicycles scattered out front in a colorful jumble.College students maybe?Were they near a college campus?

Despite Eldin’s growls of frustration and nervous glances, Anikka kept walking at her own pace.

Wilton had given her a credit card for groceries—something he did with no hesitation.The man didn’t trust anyone, but he loved to eat.

And, truth be told, Anikkalovedto cook.

His guards appreciated her meals, even if her uncle barely acknowledged the effort beyond barking orders.

As she passed another home with a sandbox and tiny shoes scattered across the porch, Anikka found herself wondering what it would feel like to belong to arealfamily.

Not a rotating cast of bodyguards.Not a smug, controlling uncle.

But somethingtrue.

Something warm and consistent and whole.

She sighed.

Wilton cycled through guards every few weeks.He fired them for petty offenses, yet always found replacements—odd, ragtag men with grim eyes and bruised knuckles.

But even they were better thannothing.

Anikka would take gruff strangers over total isolation any day.

Some people feared spiders.Others had nightmares about public speaking.

Anikka’s personal nightmare?