Page 19 of Shadowblood Souls: The Complete Series

Thirteen

Riva

I tug at the sides of my hoodie as we walk up to the dance club’s entrance. It’s the only piece of clothing I’m currently wearing that I actually feel comfortable in.

I swear Jacob must have been cackling evilly to himself when he grabbed this sparkly halter top and jeans so tight they’re practically painted on. But I couldn’t even argue that my comfy tank tops and sweats make appropriate clubwear.

How the hell did I let the guys talk me into this? Oh, yeah, because it’s the first time they’ve asked me to do anything that actual friends would do.

Even if it’s hard to imagine from Jacob’s current sour expression that I’ve made any progress at all with him.

The pulsing bass emanating from the club makes me uncomfortable too, in a different way. The beat is already resonating through to my bones, tugging at my limbs.

But I’ve never danced in front of anyone before. Now I’m going to be surrounded by both strangers and three of the four guys I was most nervous of showing my few secrets to.

I can’t be glad that it’s only three out of four, because Dominic is the one I’d worry least about judging me for my physical grace. But he wasn’t going to get away with a parka or even a trench coat in a dance club, and the other guys accepted him begging off without argument.

They know why he keeps himself so covered up—I’m sure of it. One more way I’ve found myself outside of the circle of trust that was once so solid between all of us.

Well, I don’t have to let myself really tear up the dance floor. For all anyone here knows, the most I’d ever want to do under the flashing club lights is bob a little with the rhythm.

The bouncer waves us in, and warm air rushes over us with a tang of alcohol. It’s still pretty early in the night, but a lot of people must agree with Brooke’s assessment of the DJ or have a craving for cheap drinks, because figures are swaying and laughing all across the long but narrow room.

The space is painted all dark purple except for splotches of white that give off an unearthly sheen under periodic sweeps of black lights.

The bar counter that stretches along the side wall gleams glossy white too, making the drinks set on its surface glow like some alien tonic when the black lights wash over them.

A tremor runs up my legs, prickling through my flesh with the toxin that’s nibbling away at my insides. Ignoring it, I hold my head high and walk farther in as I scan the space for Brooke’s bright red hair.

It was her idea that I come, so I’d better make sure she knows I did. Maybe now that I’ve accepted one invite, she won’t feel the need to keep extending more.

Our neighbor spots me first—she emerges from the crowd at my right and taps my arm, grinning widely.

“You made it!” she hollers over the thumping music. “It’s good to see you here.”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” I say in a pre-emptive apology.

She makes a dismissive gesture and motions me over to the bar. “Get a couple drinks in you, and you won’t worry about that. They make the best cosmos here.”

The idea of gulping down the fermented liquid I can taste in the air sets all my nerves on edge.

The guardians had us try alcohol a few times, just to ensure we’d be prepared for it if we encountered a situation where we needed to drink—or decided to give it a try out of curiosity’s sake—on one of our outside missions.

But I never enjoyed the impression of my senses going fuzzy.

I’ll feel better if I can stay fully alert.

“Not right now,” I tell Brooke hastily, buying myself a little time before I have to get into any questions of why I wouldn’t drink at all, and fumble for an easy excuse. “I already had something before we left. Don’t want to go too fast.”

I think that’s the sort of excuse I’ve heard people offer in made-up stories, and it appears to work well enough in real life.

“Oh, for sure,” Brooke says without any sign of concern, and grabs me by the wrist to drag me over to where her friends are dancing.

The other girls all offer tentative smiles and then go back to shimmying with the music. Thankfully, this isn’t the kind of place where anyone would expect a proper getting-to-know-you conversation.

Maybe Andreas was actually brilliant suggesting that we take Brooke up on her invite. Not only are we putting on a better show of being regular college students, I’m getting in some normal socializing without actually needing to be all that social.

And soon we’ll be moving on from the campus and we won’t need to pretend anymore. I hope.

I shuffle from side to side and wiggle my arms with the beat, feeling incredibly dorky but at least in control. One of Brooke’s friends catches another’s hand and spins her around. Another throws back a shot and weaves away from us to order another.

Brooke giggles with them and bops along with the music, doing nothing more elaborate than I am but somehow looking like she fits in here perfectly. I guess most people around us aren’t pulling off fancy moves anyway.

My gaze travels over the crowd—and snags on Jacob about ten feet away. He’s turned with his profile to me, but there’s no mistaking the breathtakingly chiseled planes of his face, turned even more ethereal when the black lights hit his blond hair and pale skin.

I’m not the only one who notices that either.

A couple of women in club gear skimpier than mine, strapless corset tops and pleated skirts, are fawning over him. As I watch, one trails her hand down his arm from shoulder to elbow. Another leans close to murmur something in his ear, a sly smile curving her darkly stained lips.

My fingers flex automatically, my claws itching at the tips. I squeeze my hands into balls and yank my gaze away.

Going feral cat in the middle of a dance club will not help our cover one bit. And who am I to get possessive over Jacob?

He’s made it one hundred percent clear that he has warmer feelings for a piece of used gum stuck to his shoe than for me.

But the next place my gaze lands is on Zian, standing a couple inches taller than even the biggest of the other guys around, and the ring of girls clustered around him, twirling their hair with their fingers and peering at him coyly through their eyelashes.

My stomach lurches, and I rip my eyes away again—only to find myself watching Andreas aiming a flirty smirk at a dark-haired woman in a skintight dress as they move with the beat together.

Is that why he wanted to come—why the other guys agreed? So they could find a pretty girl or two for a quick hookup?

It shouldn’t bother me. We were never together that way, no matter how much I craved an even deeper connection before. But a now-unsettlingly familiar vibration resonates through my chest, scraping against my insides.

The guys are all rubbing it in my face: how much they prefer the company even of strangers over mine.

I close my eyes for a moment, willing the thrum of anger down. The bitterness keeps creeping up my throat.

At a gentle nudge of my shoulder, I glance up and find Brooke studying me. “Are you okay, Rita?”

“Yeah—yeah, I’m good,” I mumble, and focus abruptly on the fresh drink in her friend’s hand.

Maybe having my senses a little muddled would be helpful for getting through tonight. Just one cocktail shouldn’t affect me very much.

It’ll simply dull the sharp edges of that awful feeling inside me.

“I think I’m ready for a cosmo now,” I add, not entirely sure what a cosmo even is. If Brooke likes them, they’re probably okay.

She grins and comes with me over to the bar, where she orders one for herself too. The pink concoction arrives in a wide-mouthed, narrow-stemmed glass that I raise cautiously to my lips, half afraid I’m going to snap the stem by accident.

The cool liquid slides down my throat, both tart and citrusy sweet, with a sour tang potent enough to make me shudder. I only take a few small swallows, and then I follow Brooke back into the crowd.

I go back to my bobbing and swaying, taking sips in between to drain the glass. By the time I set it on the tray of a passing staff person handing out shots, there’s nothing left in my chest but a soft fizzing sensation.

There, that’s better. Now I might as well enjoy myself.

It feels perfectly natural to meld into the bass, to let the melody flow through my limbs and direct my muscles. A sense of elation washes over me.

I swivel and dip, sidling one way and twisting another, and the music holds me in its grasp like the perfect partner. It always tells me exactly where to go to match it.

As one song fades into another, Brooke gives a little cheer. “You’ve got some moves!”

One of her friends shoots me a thumbs up, and I grin hazily at her.

Was I worried about this before? Everything’s good.

I’m getting hot, though, sweat trickling down my back under my hoodie. Everyone else is wearing short sleeves or none at all. Even having it unzipped isn’t giving me enough air.

I tug the hoodie right off. It slips from my fingers and gets tugged away under nearby dancing feet, but I find I don’t really care.

My hands soar toward the ceiling, and I undulate beneath them. I can really move without the extra fabric holding me back. Now I’m soaring.

When I notice Brooke again, her gaze is fixed on my arms. I glance at one as the black light sweeps over the dance floor. The scars that mark my flesh, just a little paler than the rest of my skin, flare with a momentary glow.

Brooke is frowning now. “What happened to you?”

I consider my arms, still swaying the rest of my body with the rhythm of the song. I don’t have that many scars, do I? A few here and a few there. The cluster of tiny ones under my right arm are too small to show at all in this atmosphere.

“I got into lots of fights,” I say, pleased that I can tell her this, and it’s true, and it doesn’t really reveal anything.

Brooke’s frown doesn’t go away. “Fights about what?”

I shrug. “Who would win. Don’t worry. It was always me!”