Page 15 of Gua rdian of Blood and Shadow

With a final, lingering look, he turned and strode away, leaving me standing alone in front of Micah’s door, my heart racing and mind reeling.

“What the fuck?” I breathed, replaying his words in my head.I am weak, and you must allow me my revenge.“What the actual fuck?”

I stood frozen outside Micah’s door, Javier’s parting words echoing in my mind. The dark promise of vengeance, the barely leashed violence in his tone, had shaken me to my core. A part of me longed to call him back, to beg him not to do anything rash.

But another part, the broken girl who still lived inside me, wanted those men to suffer as I had suffered. To feel a fraction of the pain and degradation they had inflicted upon me. To take as much from them as they had taken from me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep, steadying breath. No. I couldn’t let myself go down that path. Revenge would solve nothing, only breed more darkness and despair. I had to be better than that, stronger than my own worst impulses.

I jumped when the door to Micah’s suite cracked open.

“Sophie?” Micah’s face appeared in the gap, and he grinned broadly, opening the door wide. “I thought I heard you.”

I pasted a smile onto my face because what else was I supposed to do when I was pretty sure Javier had just promised to beat up my abusers? Oh, who was I kidding? This was Javier. He wasn’t just going to beat them up.

Micah stepped back, making room for me to enter. “You’ve got to see this place. The closet is bigger than my dorm room!”

Javier was going to kill them. But they killed Wes, so it was only fair, right? All my time in the human world told me his vigilante justice wasnotokay—but he wasn’thuman.Iwasn’t human. Wes hadn’t been there when the guys first took me in, but when he did join the group, when he realized how truly twisted the situation was, he had put a stop to it. He had saved me. From them. From me.

“Soph?” Micah stepped into the doorway and touched my arm, frowning. “Are you okay? You look—not good.”

I coughed out a laugh. “Thanks.”

He gripped my elbow and guided me into his sitting room. The tantalizing scent of freshly baked bread, tomato sauce, and basil finally floating over to me, and my mouth watered even as my stomach churned.

“You’re shaking. Are you hungry?” He led me to the cozy-looking couch near the fireplace, where an array of pizzas awaited us on the coffee table. “They just brought all this food, and I think it’s more for you than for me, so you should eat. Right? You do eat food, don’t you? Not just…” He pulled back his lips like he was baring vampire fangs and made a hissing Dracula sound. “You know…?

Another, weaker laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Yes, I eat food, you nerd. You’ve seen me pig out like a million times before. Andyes, I’m starving.” I sank onto the couch, tucking my foot under my leg, and he followed, sitting beside me. “I just—” I shook my head, unwilling to dump any of the emotional baggage I carried around from the dark times onto Micah.

It was too closely tied to Wes and my pregnancy and Micah’s entire existence, and I would never—never—make him feel guilty or in any way responsible for any of the awfulness that happened before he was even born. It sucked more than words could ever express, but it also led me to Wes, which led to Micah…

Gods, what a mess.

I sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

Concern etched into Micah’s features. “Do you want to talk about it?” He frowned. “Unless it has to do with that thing we agreed to never talk about again, in which case…” His frown transformed into a comical grimace. “No, thank you.”

As he spoke, moonlight slanted through the window behind him, briefly illuminating his profile, and I caught my breath. For just a moment—so fleeting I might have imagined it—his skin seemed to shimmer with a subtle silvery light, not unlike the luminescence that pulsed beneath my own skin when my power surged. I blinked, and it was gone, leaving me to wonder if exhaustion was making me see things.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. “It’s nothing,” I said, forcing a brittle laugh. I gestured to the food on the table. “May I?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah.” Micah reached for the stack of two plates on his end of the coffee table and handed one to me.

Static electricity sparked between us, and I jerked away. “Sorry!” I hissed.

“Ow,” he said, his faux wounded expression striking me like a physical blow. It was exactly the way Wes used to tease me whenever I accidentally hurt him—that same whine, the same pouty lip, the same crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

For a moment, superimposed over this capable young man, I saw the nervous thirteen-year-old I’d watched at his parents’ house. I’d stood across the street with a dog I’d taken on as a dog-walking client purely because of the proximity of her home to Micah’s. My heart had hammered as I watched him ride his bike down the steep driveway. He’d been lanky and uncoordinated, caught between childhood and adolescence, and both his bike and his helmet had seemed too big for him. I’d prayed to any divine force who would listen to watch over him. To protect him.

Now here he was, so grown up—a perfect blend of Wes’s sharp intelligence and my stubborn resilience. The contrast between that uncertain boy and this confident young man stole my breath. He needed that divine protection now, more than ever.

Micah watched me as I piled a few slices of pizza onto my plate—one sausage and mushrooms, one Canadian bacon and pineapple, one caprese drizzled with balsamic. His concerned stare was impossible to ignore.

I lifted a slice to my mouth but paused before taking a bite, glancing at Micah sidelong. “I’m fine, really,” I claimed. I even kind of believed it.

Micah scoffed and eyed my pizza dubiously. “Says the lady about to eat pizza with pineapple on it.”

I flashed him a cheesy grin, then took a large bite of said pizza. “Mmm…fruity pizza,” I moaned around the mouthful.

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