Page 12 of Shadowblood Souls: The Complete Series

I don’t need to ask why the quietest of the guys is being left behind with me. Now that I’ve seen him by full daylight, I’ve realized that his posture isn’t perpetually hunched after all.

He’s got a small but noticeable lumpy area on his upper back, covered by the thin trench coat I haven’t seen him take off once. Did the guardians perform experiments on him that left him disfigured?

Another question I already know will only make them more pissed off with me. But it makes sense that they wouldn’t want bystanders noticing.

The other guys push open the car doors, letting a rush of cool fresh air waft over us. It’s early fall, the leaves on some of the trees we’ve raced by already sharpening to reds and oranges with the crisp weather.

Then the doors thump shut again, and Dominic and I are alone.

I squirm in my seat, my nerves twitching with restless exhaustion and overall discomfort.

I ended up dozing off for a little while on the truck and again here in the backseat after we found the car, but not nearly enough to make up for the fact that I’ve been on the run all night and the better part of the day after.

And Jacob’s poison is gnawing away at me, setting off little aches in my joints and flashes of queasiness in my gut.

His strategy is so stupid. If we’re attacked—if I need my strength?—

I close my eyes for a moment, gathering my focus. Freaking out won’t get me anywhere.

And the last thing I want is to provoke that sharp prickle in my chest again.

When I feel steady, I focus on Dominic, the sliver of his profile I can see from my current angle.

He’s pulled his shoulder-length waves back into his usual ponytail, the auburn strands dark against his light brown skin.

In the past four years, the line of his jaw has broadened a little, but other than that and the bulges on his back, he looks the same as the unassumingly handsome guy I knew then.

Dom was always the most thoughtful of the six of us: taking his time to consider every angle, stating his opinions carefully and waiting for our feedback. He wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions or gotten caught up in righteous rage.

All the others had their silly nicknames for me, but he always called me exactly who I was.

I pull my legs up on the seat in front of me, hugging my knees. “You know this is ridiculous, right?”

His head turns a little, but he’s looking toward the store rather than at me. “Getting new clothes? You’ve got blood on yours.”

I wrinkle my nose at the stains not totally invisible in the black fabric and try again. “No. Treating me like I’m allied with the guardians. You realize I’d never screw the rest of you over, don’t you?”

There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again. “I don’t think we should talk about this.”

“I just need to know that someone here hasn’t gone totally crazy. We’re blood . I?—”

Dominic swivels to meet my gaze then, the abruptness of the gesture cutting me off. His hazel eyes aren’t as cold as Jacob’s, but I don’t see any friendliness in them either.

“You have no idea about anything,” he says, quiet but terse. “You don’t even know what I’m already giving up just keeping you around. So don’t tell me I’m not doing enough.”

I blink at him—at the back of his head, which is all I have a moment later. “What do you mean? What are you giving up?”

Before he can answer, if he even would have, the other guys are hopping back into the SUV.

Jacob tosses a plastic bag at me. “Get changed.”

By the next morning when we arrive at the college campus the guys picked out, all of us look suitably student-ish, at least in attire.

I’ve pulled on a black tee, a pair of dark gray cargo pants with a wonderfully excessive number of pockets, and a navy hoodie that I’m using to cover my silvery hair.

The guys have picked out a range of clothes from Zian’s super casual sports tank and sweats to Jacob’s dressier fitted button-up and slacks. Only Dominic has left on what he was already wearing.

I suspect he’s not going to take off that trench coat in front of me any time soon. Maybe he never takes it off in front of anyone .

But from what I know from my limited and admittedly mostly fictional experience with college life, he’ll still fit in well enough as some kind of alternative punk type.

We cruise down a street lined with narrow three-story townhouses attached in sets of two. Zian went ahead of the rest of us earlier and used his penetrating sight to find one building no one’s occupied.

Since it’s a couple of weeks into the typical semester now, we’re hoping no one with more claim is going to try to move in while we’re squatting there.

Jacob parks the SUV out front, and we clamber out. Zian hangs back by the door so he can walk over to the townhouse behind me, as if I need that much of an escort.

Uneasiness jitters through my body as I scan our surroundings. Students are ambling around or hanging out on their front landings all up and down the street.

I haven’t been surrounded by this many people since my last cage match. I haven’t been surrounded by this many normal people—who expect me to be normal too—in more than four years.

It doesn’t help that the twinges of nausea I felt yesterday have expanded overnight into a ball of queasiness that fills my stomach. I only managed to swallow a few bites of the fast-food breakfast we nabbed at a drive-through—and then regretted even that for the rest of the drive.

Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, adding to the clammy sensation creeping over my skin. I have to tense the muscles in my legs to make sure I’m keeping my steps steady.

But I will not complain. I won’t give Jacob one more opportunity to accuse me of trying to weasel out of his security measures.

By design, Jacob reaches the door first. He lifts a fake key toward the knob, but we all know he’s going to use his powers to actually open the lock.

A couple of girls are hanging out on the landing across from ours. One of the girls, a statuesque redhead with freckles scattered across her high cheekbones, glances across the lane at us and smiles. “Hey! New neighbors?”

“Yep,” Andreas says in a carefully warm voice—friendly but not too encouraging. “We turned up a little late, but what can you do?”

“These places are great. So much better than the regular dorms. I’m Brooke, by the way. Let me know if you need any help figuring stuff out.”

“Will do.”

Jacob offers a brisk nod. Our neighbor’s gaze travels over the bunch of us, locking with mine just for a second before moving on. Her brow furrows.

Do we look strange after all? Maybe she thinks it’s odd for a girl to be living with four guys? Or are we giving off a vibe that says we don’t actually belong here?

Before I can worry much about that, Zian is nudging me to follow the others inside.

The townhouses come pre-furnished with basic birch furniture and a sofa covered in a denim-like fabric. We find ourselves in a living room that’s merged with a small dining room, an open-concept kitchen off to the side.

“There should be four bedrooms,” Andreas says. “Two on the second floor and two on the third. I can take the sofa.”

I’m getting my own space, then? Lucky me.

I take a step toward the stairs, wanting to find whatever bed will be mine and crash onto it. But I’m not concentrating enough, and weakness flares in my calves.

I stumble, knocking my hip against a side table when I catch myself. As I push myself upright again, my legs tremble under me. The ball of nausea swells into a boulder.

I might need the bathroom before I get to that bed.

The guys have gone silent, watching me. Jacob flicks his hand toward Dominic.

“I think she needs your first dose of healing. Don’t patch her up too well.”

Dominic nods and walks over to me. I try to catch his gaze, to search his eyes for any hint of understanding or a clue about what he suggested earlier, but he only looks at my forearm where he’s resting his hand.

A soft warmth flows through my body, melting the nausea and the clamminess. My muscles relax, able to hold me up without extra focus.

A pinch of queasiness remains in my stomach, and I still don’t feel quite like myself, but it’s a lot better. Well enough for a flicker of heat to stir beneath my skin at Dominic’s continued touch—and a pang of loss to hit me when he drops his hand.

“Thank you,” I say to Dominic as he steps away.

He simply tips his head, still not meeting my eyes.

“Upstairs,” Jacob orders with a snap of his fingers, and I find myself tramping with him up two flights to the highest bedrooms. He glances into both and points to the one he’s decided should be mine.

“You’ll stay in here unless we need you,” he tells me. He hovers his hand over the inner doorknob, and the button that should allow me to lock and unlock it twists and crackles.

He’s going to trap me inside with his powers. I swallow thickly. “You really don’t need to?—”

“Just a little extra protection for the rest of us,” Jacob says coolly. “I’m sure you get it.”

He stalks out, shutting the door behind him. There’s a rasp, and I know he’s engaged the lock.

Of course, I’m more than strong enough to break a regular dorm room lock if I need to. That wouldn’t do much to prove my trustworthiness to the guys, though.

I glance around the bedroom. At least it’s nicer than my last two jail cells.

A double-sized bed with a forest-green bedspread fills a third of the space, next to glossy birch bookshelves and a desk. The shag rug looks soft enough that I’d like to dig my toes into it.

And I have a window—the greatest of luxuries.

I walk closer to it and take in the view: the building across the lane. A figure turns by the window directly across from mine with a flash of red hair.

It’s Brooke. She must have gone inside after we did—her bedroom matches mine.

I should yank myself back, but right then she glances out and notices me. A smile crosses her lips, and she raises her hand in greeting.

I don’t know what to do other than wave back with an answering smile I hope isn’t too tight. Then I back away.

Everything is okay. I’m okay. The guys are okay.

We got away from the facility like we always wanted. The rest we can figure out as we go.

I just have to stay strong.