Page 62 of Shadowblood Souls: The Complete Series

Seven

Riva

I don’t know how to explain it, which is too bad because the guys will probably think I’m insane. But the longer my gaze remains on the woman down the street, the surer I am that somehow she’s one of the creatures Engel would have called a monster.

A quiver runs through my veins, small but tangible, like the faintest breeze rippling the shadows in my blood. Like I recognize her on a bodily level even if I don’t with my eyes.

Then she’s vanishing from view, slipping through a doorway on a storefront near the corner.

“I could just… feel it,” I say to the guys, who are staring after her from where they’re standing around me. “That there’s something about her that’s like us and not like regular people.”

Zian nods slowly, his eyes wide. “After you pointed her out—I think I could sense it too.”

He shoots me a hopeful smile, and my mouth returns it automatically. My heart skips a beat at the gleam of affection in his eyes even though the rest of me knows it doesn’t mean what I want it to.

What I used to want it to.

The other guys still look puzzled. Maybe it makes sense that Zian and I would have the keenest awareness of other beings that are kind of like us, since we’re the ones with the most honed physical senses in general.

There’s always been something a little more beastly about us than the others, at least in the most literal sense.

The feeling isn’t even all that strange. A different sort of shiver passes through me like an icy finger down my spine.

I’ve had the same sensation of recognition before. I had no idea what it meant at the time, but during my missions, there were at least a couple of people who set off that tiny quiver through my blood.

And that skyscraper in San Francisco—the one I couldn’t help stopping and staring at, what must have been almost ten years ago. Was that a place built by monsters, or for them?

The clap of Jacob’s hands brings me back to the present. His gaze is fixed on the building the woman slipped into.

“Let’s go see what she is and what she can tell us, then.”

His gaze flicks to me, but not in challenge or accusation. It’s happened often enough in the past few days that I know I’m not imagining that he’s looking to me for approval .

My certainty doesn’t make the act any less confusing. But really, what else are we going to do?

I suck in a breath and nod.

We cross the street and amble toward the building. I usually avoid paying much attention to Jacob at all, shying away from the uncomfortable memories his presence stirs up, but now I study him surreptitiously.

He got a little wilder in the punk venue than I’ve seen him… ever. Or at least since we were little kids.

He’s always prided himself in being coolly incisive, staying in control and on top of every scenario we could encounter. He’d dive into any exercise requiring strategy with a fierce sort of focus, tugging us all along with his swift observations and decisions.

From what I’ve seen since we reunited, those habits have only amplified.

Except after that one attack from the guardians, when we were at the campus townhouse, that is. While we were driving away, it seemed like he’d gone into a sort of daze, lost in his head somewhere.

He practically destroyed the front passenger seat with his telekinesis before I shook him out of it.

He wasn’t in a daze in the bar, though. Tonight he’s appeared as alert and focused as ever.

But then, I haven’t had much of a chance to really get to know all the nuances of who he or the other guys have become in the past four years. They’ve kept me at a hostile distance until just recently… and I can feel how much painful history they’re still keeping bottled up inside.

We ease to a stop outside the building. The cursive letters on the sign up top declare it The Royal Lounge .

Most of the front windows are covered by a purple velvet curtain, only a sliver of the interior visible near the door. There, amber light washes over pale, glossy wood and delicately pebbled leather.

The few patrons I can see are dressed similarly to the woman I spotted: subdued but elegant evening wear.

Andreas’s gaze has already slid over the five of us. “I don’t think we want to stick out in there like we did in the punk club. Jake and I are probably fine. Zee, I got you the one polo shirt in case we all needed to dress up a bit.”

Zian makes a face. “Let’s go get it then.”

We’ve been keeping our backpacks full of all our new clothes and other belongings in the trunk of the car. As long as we have them nearby at all times, we can hope that we won’t lose everything again.

As Zian digs through his pack, I open up mine. “I got a sweater that’ll look better than the hoodie.”

My dark jeans might go over better than the cargo pants in a swanky setting, but I’m not going to strip down that much. Angling my body so the side of my waist with the bandage is hidden from the guys, I peel my hoodie off and pull the soft black sweater on over my tank top.

When I turn around, Zian is tugging the collar of the navy polo shirt. His mouth is slanted at an awkward angle, but I have to suppress a swoon.

The color compliments his dark hair and peachy brown skin perfectly. And I’ve never seen him in anything other than athletic gear before.

Zee cleans up nice.

He glances toward me, and I jerk my gaze away before he can realize the flush creeping across my cheeks has anything to do with him. Instead, I find myself facing Dominic, who’s looking even more awkward in his parka.

He ducks his head, the short ponytail he’s pulled his smooth auburn hair into sliding across his shoulder. “No one needs to say it. I realize there’s no way I won’t stick out like a sore thumb.”

In a shirt or a coat thinner than the parka like the trench coat he used to wear, the lumps of his tentacles will be obvious on his upper back. He doesn’t have any workable options.

A pang resonates through my chest. This isn’t the first time we’ve left him behind.

All the childhood training sessions that required immense strength and endurance, Dominic and Griffin always faltered first. The echo of a flinch rises up from the memory of watching the guardians zap them with their electric prods if we slowed down too much to help them along.

Sometimes they didn’t mind us working together, but other times the goal was for all of us to be pushed to our limits… whether we liked it or not.

Jacob hesitates. It’s clear he doesn’t want to say anything that would make Dominic feel worse about his limitations.

I can’t help appreciating his obvious concern, as much as I want to be annoyed by everything about him.

“You can stake out the place from outside,” he says after a moment. “Pretend you’re waiting for someone to show up. Give us a warning if it looks like trouble’s brewing.”

We don’t have any reason to think we’ll face a sudden onslaught of danger from outside, but it’s a reasonable compromise.

Dominic offers Jacob a tight smile. “It’s a plan.”

Trying to look casual, we walk back to the lounge. Dominic props himself against the wall next to the neighboring building, and the rest of us venture inside.

As we step into the warmly lit space, moody classical music wraps around us, full of swelling violin and a tinkling of piano.

It smells a hell of a lot nicer than the punk venue, the alcohol tang still present but mingled with a mix of smoky florals.

I suspect there’s incense burning somewhere beyond view.

The long, narrow room in front of us holds a bar that’s only smallish, a semi-circle with a glossy black counter about halfway through the space.

In the front half of the room, several sleek leather sofas and armchairs squat in clusters around low mahogany tables.

At the far end, patrons stand clustered around taller, smaller circular tables.

A couple of groups are relaxing with their drinks on the seats near us, but I don’t see the woman in the green dress among them. Most of the activity appears to be happening at the back anyway.

We stroll over, Andreas stopping at the bar to order drinks for him and the other guys, I guess to keep up our front of being regular customers. He glances at me, but I shake my head.

I don’t have Jacob’s poison winding through my body anymore, but just remembering the dizzying effects of the one cocktail I drank while I did makes me queasy. I’d rather not even hold one.

A couple dozen people are gathered around the high tables in the back. Once we’ve approached, I see it expands to twice the width of the front, as if the lounge intrudes on the neighboring building.

The other patrons are chattering and laughing and sipping from their drinks demurely. Nothing about them looks at all monstrous.

The woman in the green dress isn’t among them. Has she left already?

Or maybe there’s a second floor or a basement level.

I’m about to suggest that to the guys when the faint quiver that drew my attention to her ripples through my veins again.

My gaze snaps to a slim man who looks to be in his late twenties, standing in the far corner by a table on his own. His fingers curl loosely around the stem of his wine glass.

He’s watching the other patrons with a nonchalant expression, but I’m abruptly sure that he’s actually sizing them up. As prey?

Zian nudges me with a brief tap of his elbow against my arm. He flicks his eyes toward another man, a little older, with a stout frame and a broad grin as he says something that gets his several companions laughing.

The moment I look at him, another quiver hits me. The sensation is more obvious now that I’m getting used to feeling for it.

Jacob motions for us to head to one of the few tables that’s unoccupied, over by the wall where we can talk somewhat discreetly. He’s only taken a few steps when one of the elegant women sashays up to him and lays her slender hand on his forearm.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” she purrs.