Page 175 of Shadowblood Souls: The Complete Series

Seven

Griffin

T he pain is everywhere already, but somehow it keeps expanding. It creeps under my fingernails, claws up my spine, and pierces through my skull.

I ache from the roots of my teeth to the tips of my toes, and it just keeps coming. Building. Sharpening.

It goes on and on until it’s impossible to be aware of anything but the physical sensations, until the wrenching scene projected in front of me blurs before my eyes and I have no room left in me to even start to care?—

I jerk awake with a cry rasping from my lips.

The room around me is dark. It takes a few seconds for my mind to register the soft weight of the blanket over me, the broad mattress beneath me.

Nothing hurts except for the pang of horror resonating through my chest when I think back to the nightmare I just escaped.

I roll over on the lavish bed Balthazar gave me, as if he thinks a fancy headboard can make up for our enslavement, and press the side of my face into the feather pillow. My pulse thumps dully on.

It wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a fragment of the past flashing back to me, haunting me.

The guardians wanted me to reject all of my emotions so thoroughly I wouldn’t be remotely affected by a single feeling of my own. They inflicted every torment they could on me to achieve their goal.

I’m gradually getting better at tuning out the automatic jolts of pain that hit me in reaction to the emotions I’ve managed to let back in. But I have no defenses in my sleep.

In my sleep, I go through the whole treatment all over again.

After all the conditioning I went through, my body’s instinctive reaction is to lock down. Shut away the slightest twinge of an emotional response. Shield myself against further physical agony.

I know I can’t do that. When I’m numb, I might not experience any regret or sadness myself, but I deal out more than I can stomach to the people around me.

I let myself get duped into helping Clancy capture my brother, my only friends, and the woman I love. I lost their trust and maybe ruined our first escape attempt because I didn’t even trust myself.

From now on, I’m going into every situation we face aware—both of what’s going on around me and what’s going on inside me. Everyone needs a conscience.

I sure wish Balthazar had more of one.

As I inhale and exhale slowly to relax my nerves, the static that’s filled my head and my heart for so long ebbs. I focus on each flutter of emotion as I recognize it, giving my respect by labeling and acknowledging.

I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to us here—and of what’s already happened to us. I’m terrified that we’ve lost Dominic in every way that matters.

I’m lonely, here in this expansive bedroom by myself.

And I care—about Riva, about Jacob, about the friends I was torn apart from years ago and the kids who’ve become our new companions. I care so much that a conditioned wave of agony rises up on the heels of the sensation.

I clench my jaw against the physical pain and push myself out of the bed. There’s one more emotion in me now—anger at the men and women who upended my entire physiology.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to function like a normal feeling human being again, and that’s their fault.

Some of the habits that’ve become ingrained in me provide comfort without sending me back into numbness. I start each day with a short shower and a brisk scrubbing, dress swiftly, and make my bed even though as far as I know no one else here is ever going to see it.

Then I get down to the little bit of work I can do that might help us survive.

I can’t tell exactly where our captor lives in the house, but we have a decent idea based on what areas remain shut off to us. I head outside into the thin early morning light and meander through the fading gardens to the outside of the western wing.

The evergreen shrubs give off an invigorating piney scent. I drink more into my lungs as I come to a stop where my impressions become clearest.

Somewhere not far from here, a person is stewing. Frustration and impatience mingle with an unshakable sense of pride.

I’ve never met the man in person, only seen his digital image on a screen, but I can recognize Balthazar’s presence now in an instant. I haven’t met many—maybe any —others like him.

I don’t know what he’s thinking or doing, but it’s possible that what I pick up on of his feelings will give us a clue about how to break free from his hold.

He’s very self-assured. I can tell from comparing his emotional responses to the things he’s said when he’s talked to us that his frustrations are all aimed outward at whatever opponents he believes he faces, not inward at himself.

The impatience speaks of things he wants that he can’t get without assistance, which he doesn’t like at all. I get the impression that he’s sure he could be accomplishing so much more if all the keys were already in his hands.

He has hopes, things that excite him. Every now and then, flickers of delight that’s almost giddy reach me.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what provokes his happiness.

I might not figure much of anything else out until we start to push. Take action and observe how he reacts.

But any kind of action that’s not within his orders is a risk. More blood could be spilled; more lives could be taken.

I want to be able to tell the others how we should handle him, but nothing I’ve felt from him has given me a solid answer. And I’ve made too many mistakes to want to gamble on my instincts now.

As I’m monitoring his inner state, Balthazar must do or receive something that works out well for him. His spirits lift with a mild but clear waft of satisfaction.

I putter around in the yard there for several minutes longer, pretending that I’m simply enjoying the scenery and the brisk autumn breeze. When no more significant shifts in our jailer’s mood hit me and the pretense wears thin, I amble to the villa’s rear door and make my way to the kitchen.

Andreas is already in there—his animated voice carries out into the hall, along with the sizzle of frying eggs. A low laugh that follows his words confirms that Riva’s with him.

When I come in, Drey tips his head to me. They both smile in welcome—the tense smiles we’ve all been making since we figured out what our new prison entails.

“I made enough eggs for everyone if you want some, Griffin,” Andreas says, scraping a bunch onto an already heaping plate. “But no pressure. I’m sure Zian will plow through everything the rest of us leave.”

I’m about to say no, because I’m not particularly fond of scrambled eggs, but my newer mental habits kick in, honed by years of having only practicalities to guide my decisions.

Protein is an important aspect of any meal. We need our minds keen and bodies strong to get through this latest trial.

I smile back, sure my expression looks just as tight as theirs. “Thanks. I’ll have just a little.”

As I pop a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, Riva comes up beside me. She slips her arm around my waist, letting her hand tuck under the hem of my sweater to rest on the bare skin of my waist.

The contact sets off a flare of heat and a swell of affection through me in tandem—two emotional responses that my old conditioning can’t touch. The guardians could never replicate what I’d feel when this woman is near me, so they never burned the feelings her touch stirs up out of me.

I want her, always, with a hunger that radiates through my veins. And I love her even more than I already did for the simple gesture she’s just offered.

She knows that her embrace has done more to wake me up than anything else could come close to. It’s automatic to her, to give me whatever she can of herself to help me return to the man I should be.

The man I owe it to her to be.

“Did you sleep all right?” she asks, leaning her temple against my shoulder.

I kiss the top of her head. “Not too bad.”

I haven’t told any of them about the nightmares. It’s not as if they could do anything to stop them, after all.

Andreas has already gotten an assembly line of toast going. He leaves the frying pan to slather butter on the pieces, and Zian arrives as if on cue to add dollops of jam.

When the toaster dings with my additions, they slide both condiments my way. Riva lets go of me after one last squeeze and pours out glasses of orange juice for all of us.

It’s become a sort of ritual, these joint breakfasts. A way of giving ourselves some semblance of normalcy in this horrible situation.

We carry all the trappings to the dining room on serving trays. Jacob has just finished setting the long table.

The six of us usually sit around one end while the younger shadowbloods gather at the other.

Riva looks at the few empty chairs between us with a quiver of disappointment, but I think the kids need their allegiance to their own smaller group just as much as they need to belong with the rest of us.

They know how to move over if they want to mingle.

It’s a little easier to pretend this is somehow normal if they avoid the strategy discussions the six of us inevitably fall into while we dig into our meal.

As we sit down, Jacob gives my shoulder a swift pat that’s almost a cuff. He’s never been the most demonstrative guy, even when we were kids, but he’s been offering that brief contact at least once a day since we got here.

I don’t think he imagines he’s helping me like Riva is. From the constant storm of emotion inside him—and the shudder of relief that runs through it at the gesture—I suspect he’s reassuring himself that I really am still here.

A lump forms at the base of my throat. I’m grateful that my presence matters that much to my brother, after everything.

Picking up his fork, Zian glances over at me. “Anything interesting this morning?”

They all know about the most important new part of my morning routine. The trick is discussing it without potentially giving away to unknown listeners what I’m actually up to.

Reluctantly, I shake my head. “I saw a flower that made me happy, but I don’t know what would make more grow.”

Jake lets out a huff. “We could give ‘you’ plenty to feel something about.”

Riva shoots a warning glance his way, and he clamps his mouth shut. He doesn’t need my power to know she’s worried about retaliation if he expresses too much of his hostility toward our captor.

But he doesn’t know what else is churning inside our woman with her hair like moonbeams through the night. Only I can taste the fury simmering under her fear-driven caution.

She’s in almost as much turmoil as Jacob. It barely shows in her movements, in the occasional brusqueness of her words, but she’s got her own storm raging to be let out.

She found a way to get us free from our former jailers. Twice .

And yet here we are.

I don’t have any words that could make her feel better about how badly our hopes have been upended. So I don’t say anything about it.

I can’t tell if she’d want me to try to comfort her anyway.

Zian compliments Andreas on the eggs—both the flavor and the quantity—and Drey launches into a tale of a mountain climber whose memories he once sifted through.

Jacob and Riva chew thoughtfully as they take in his account, Jake tossing in a few sardonic questions.

A subdued laugh ripples through the group that I don’t totally understand.

They went through an awful lot before I pushed my way back into their lives. And for a lot of the time afterward, I was working against them, even if I didn’t see it that way.

Even sitting right here with them, I can’t shake the sense that I haven’t really returned. I’m not even as much a part of their group as Dominic is.

And with what I’ve been through and who it’s turned me into, this might be the best I’ll ever get. Hanging on the fringes, playing a supporting role to the five people who used to be my entire world.

Unless I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt how fully I’m standing with them.