Page 73 of Shadowblood Souls: The Complete Series

The thought makes my stomach list queasily. I don’t like tapping into that side of my powers at all.

But that’s exactly the problem Rollick is trying to help us tackle. If we shy away from the parts of ourselves we’re afraid of, how can we learn how to master them?

I might not trust him, but I don’t think he’s wrong in suggesting this strategy.

Whether bugs can feel pain or not, they can definitely die. And avoiding taking enough energy to kill them will definitely require particular finesse.

I meander forward, not in the exact same direction as Riva but keeping her within view from the corner of my eye.

As much as I hate the vicious aspect of my powers, I’ve at least had to face it dozens of times in the past under the guardians’ orders. This is all totally new to her.

She might not want me getting physically close to her, but I’ll guide her through any emotional trauma that might rise up as well as I can.

Assuming I can keep a handle on my own. Memories flicker up—the nervous squeal of a pig, the death groan of a golden retriever that’s etched on my soul—and I flinch inwardly.

I didn’t want to. I never would have if our jailers hadn’t made the consequences of refusing their orders worse than the orders themselves.

But always, in the end, some part of me couldn’t get enough.

We’ve crossed about half of the sprawling yard before I spot a fat beetle trundling along looking lost. My gut clenches tighter, but I know it’s perfect for my purposes.

I pluck it up and tuck my hand under the flap of my coat so one of my suckers can rest against the hard-shelled body.

When I’m not already trying to heal, it takes a certain amount of concentrated effort to start siphoning energy. Especially when my initial impulse is to balk at the idea.

I drag in a slow breath and focus on the soft twitching of the bug’s legs against my unwanted flesh. On the faint tickle of life I can sense inside its form.

Take just the smallest sip. Only the minutest of tastes.

Let it be stunned but not killed.

Let it recover.

I hone my attention even more and then give the slightest tug with my talent.

A jolt that’s barely larger than a splinter shoots through my nerves—a split-second tingle that’s so temptingly exhilarating I’ve grasped for more before I’m even conscious of it.

I catch myself an instant later with a mental slap. It’s too late.

With a sinking heart, I bring my hand back around and peer down at the beetle. It lies stiff and still in the middle of my palm.

I don’t need to wait to see if it’ll snap out of a trance. I already know it’s dead.

That fact becomes even more obvious when I move to set it down, and its desiccated body crumbles into dust.

Guilt tangles tight through my chest. I swallow thickly, forcing myself to step forward, to look for another target to try again.

But deep inside, all I really want to do is strangle myself with my own fucking tentacles.

Maybe this is pointless. I’ve never needed to use this part of my power outside of the guardians’ experiments. Who knows if I ever?—

Movement from the direction Riva went in interrupts my thoughts. My head jerks around in time to spot three burly, leather-vested men marching toward her where she’s standing not far from the metal wall.

Riva has seen them too—I mean, they’re difficult to miss. She braces herself defensively, frowning at them as they approach.

“What are you doing here?” one of them demands. “This isn’t some playground.”

“I’m just taking a walk,” Riva replies. “What’s your problem?”

I have no idea what it might be, but apparently the men have a pretty major one, because they all launch themselves at her without another word.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t intervene. Not even when I see one of them flash a knife.

Riva can handle herself in a fight. If I dashed in, chances are I’d only get in the way and make it harder for her to defend herself.

Her limbs slash around her petite body like a whirlwind—an absolutely gorgeous one.

But as her fist catches one of the attackers in the nose and her knee rams another in the gut, two more men who look like they came in a matching set with the first three hurtle right over the fence a short distance behind her.

One of the newcomers is gripping a knife… and the other has a pistol clasped in his meaty hand.

Alarm blares through my nerves. I’m leaping forward before I’ve even fully processed my panic.

She’s distracted by the first bunch—she doesn’t know the new attackers are coming. And no amount of feral strength can stop a bullet to the skull.

Even my powers wouldn’t be able to save her if that prick shoots her in a particularly vital spot.

I threw myself toward her believing I had the chance to save her before the threat even got to that point, but I’m no sprinter. I’m still ten feet away when the jerk with the gun raises it, his fingers curling around the trigger.

The other has swung toward me, brandishing his knife. Getting in my way.

But even without that obstacle, I wouldn’t make it in time.

Not with my hands and legs.

Understanding hits me in a chilly smack. It’s broad daylight—there are multiple witnesses—but I have no time for doubt.

I can protect her, so I will.

I don’t hesitate, despite the pang of anguish that sears through me. With one swift yank, I fling off my coat and whip my tentacles at our assailants.