Page 73 of Soulbound Shadows: Part 2

She took a second to think about it, and I felt the fogginess of her just-woken mind. “Pretty great,” she said finally. “The magic feels way better. It’s still super powerful, but it isn’t overwhelming anymore. I could still lose control of it, I think, but now it’s like… Like before I was trying to juggle chainsaws, and now I’m just using a very sharp chef’s knife. Or something? Mm. Too sleepy for good metaphors. Similes?”

“Similes,” I confirmed. “And don’t worry, that made sense.”

“How ’bout you?” Evangeline asked. She stretched and scooted up the bed a little, nestling her head against my shoulder. It was very sweet, and also possibly a ploy to avoid the sunlight. I lowered my hand. The sunbeam hit her on the chest, glittering off the remains of the ceremonial paint.

“I feel strong,” I said. “Even more powerful than when I drank from you. And I can feel you, as well, not just your magic.”

“Your telepathy?” She perked up as she always did when there was something new to investigate.

“Yes. Don’t worry. It’s not like I can hear your thoughts all the time now, and I still won’t delve in without permission. It’s more like when someone you know very well is on the other side of the room, and you can tell what they’re doing without looking.”

“Heightened awareness,” she muttered to herself. “Cool.”

“I do also feel extremely happy and well-fucked,” I added, and she grinned up at me.

“Goddamn right. Good work, team.”

“Great work,” I agreed, utterly deadpan. “Let’s hit the showers.”

The safe house was feeling generous. The shower in the bathroom could now fit both of us without barely any awkward elbowing. This was fortunate, because there was still enough magic in the pigment from the ritual that only the other person could clean it off. Luckily, the magic allowed the other person to use a washcloth, otherwise it would’ve taken even longer. As I watched the last of the shimmering pigment slip down Evangeline’s pale, freckled skin, I was tempted, so very tempted, to trace its path with my tongue, but time was short. Yesterday’s ceremony had given us a little room for luxury, but it was a new day. We couldn’t give Morgana more time.

Downstairs, Vic and Xarek were preparing breakfast. The table had stretched again to accommodate all of us, and a carafe of hot synth blood was already on the table. I poured myself a mug as Vic pulled the last of the pancakes off the stove and added them to the pile on the large platter. The synth blood still didn’t taste quite right, but it no longer turned my stomach, and with Evangeline’s magic crackling through me, I didn’t feel any hunger.

“Morning, lovebirds,” Theo drawled.

I raised an eyebrow at them, looking pointedly at Isabella’s arm slung around their waist. It was always a pleasure when a comeback didn’t even require words. Theo scowled back, but a smile twisted at their lips. They were a prickly little bastard, and I was glad to see them with someone who suited so well.

“Food’s up,” Vic announced, bringing over the plate of pancakes while Xarek followed with fruit salad and sausages. This was way too much food, especially since five of us didn’t eat the stuff.

“Where’s Marcus?” Evangeline asked. “I can go grab him.”

“No need!” Marcus said, climbing up the stairs from the workshop below. “I was just working on a little project—something to whet the appetite.” He sounded cheerful, but I knew better than to take it at face value. I was far from an expert at reading Marcus, but I had centuries of experience reading the faces of powerful men who didn’t want anyone to know what they were thinking. It was in the tension around his eyes, the twitchy way he wiped his hands on a shop rag. Marcus was worried.

We were all worried. We had done what preparation it was possible to do, and now we were in that restless in-between time, trying desperately not to think about the coming fight. I sipped at my synth blood slowly while the others ate.

At least the elephant in the room was heaped high with breakfast food. The witches and Xarek ate, and it turned out that what I had thought to be an excess of food was mostly polished off by one dragon shifter. When he caught the level of horrified fascination with which I watched him obliterate pancakes, he grinned at me.

“Dragons are big animals,” he said. “Slow metabolisms, but stomachs the size of a small room. Gonna need all the fuel I can get.”

“That makes sense,” I said as he loaded his plate again. Next to him, Marcus was picking at his food, spending most of his time looking around the table.

Lissa was doing practically all the work to keep the conversation going, slipping into full hostess mode. She was nervous and had decided to make sure no one else in the room was more anxious than her. Vic, generally her quiet shadow, gripped her hand. Across the table, Theo and Isabella joined in the chatter, the former with more enthusiasm than the latter. I suspected Theo was doing it to make Lissa feel better.

As the conversation flowed, there was a second layer of communication going on in two-person bursts. Theo and Isabella were sitting close enough that they were pressed together from knee to shoulder. Vic and Lissa’s knuckles were white where they held hands. Xarek leaned toward Marcus, who had his hand on the other’s knee beneath the table. Evangeline and I were the only couple not constantly pursuing physical contact, but that was purely because we didn’t have to touch to feel each other.

In the midst of all the reassuring touches, Damien looked more alone than ever, hunched over in his chair with his hands wrapped around a mug. He sat apart from the rest of us, expression blank. His eyes were directed at the mug of synth blood, but he was staring right through it.

Soon, the food was eaten, and the conversation stalled. Damien pushed his chair back, still not looking at any of us.

“We should go,” he said. “The longer we wait, the more time she has to siphon power.”

He wasn’t wrong. With a wave of Marcus’s hand, the table began to clear itself, and we filtered out to prepare. Theo disappeared into the room they were sharing with Isabella and returned with handfuls of mismatched bags.

“I grabbed kits last time I went into town,” they said, handing a bag to each pair and one to Damien. “Had to guess the sizes on a couple things, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I did some enchanting to boost things up a little,” Isabella added. “And I sorted out some supplies for everyone.”

Evangeline and I unpacked the contents of our bag onto the bed. Two breastplate-style stab vests—streamlined black things enhanced with subtle spells. Two sharp, wooden daggers, two lighters, and aerosol cans for burning staked vampires. A slim, sharp sword for me. Two thigh holster-bags packed with rows of tiny plastic bottles, each containing a healing potion.

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