Page 30 of Shadebound
Now I was feeling a gut-deep fear that I knew I would never forget.
My chest stilled. I didn’t gasp. Didn’t twitch. Just lay frozen, measuring the shape of the threat one breath at a time.
Measuring and calculating how I had no strength to beat him. No powers to hurt him. And the hideous knowledge that I was wearing a skirt and a top that showed off more than it hid.
My eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dimness. The real shadows stirred, restless, drawn by my magic even when numb. I reached for them without thinking, barely brushing the edge of power still drained by the bastard cuff. Enough to see. Not enough to do anything useful.
With a single look I knew he really wasn’t Zayden. And this wasn’t a mistake. My heart thudded louder, only made worse when I glanced around the room.
First, there was a doll on the foot of my bed that I presumed Maya or Zayden had gifted me. It was a porcelain one, like had been on Death’s statue. But this one was presented as female. It had the same outfit; black trousers, black top. This time there was a bounty of green curls on her head. Her eyes had been painted a pretty brown shade, and she had a yellow rose rucked behind her ear. A folded up note had been stuck to her chest that read;
I missed you, shadow girl,
Missed the way you hate the world.
With your eyes like poisoned raspberries,
And the darkness you haven’t killed.
It was a sweet notion, and I did adore dolls that most found creepy. With their dead stares and hollow cores. Especially with bizarre attempts at poetry. But I had no time to appreciate the present, what with my current situation, so I went back to looking for help.
Draven was asleep in his bed, arm thrown over his face, unaware. He would have come to me if I screamed. But he couldn’t hear it.
There was nobody here to hear me if I screamed.
Maya’s bed was still empty. Zayden’s sheets were untouched, and he was nowhere in sight.
There were three other unknown men hovering by the door, sneering, smirking, and watching things unfold. Clearly shifters, based on their brawn and glowing eyes.
No help was coming then. It was just me, my sharp tongue, and my natural urge to be a bitch to people.
I was going to be fine. I had to be fine, because I refused to think of any other alternatives.
The man above me didn’t speak. His face hovered close, and I could make out the harsh neon glow of his eyes even though they were dull. That unnatural brightness told me everything I needed to know. He could see without trouble. Probably better than I could during the day. Shifters always had that advantage—sight that didn’t rely on torches or magic. I still wasn’t sure what he was exactly. All I knew was that he was the same dickhead who’d called my family filth and tried to use his magic on my brother.
The same one I’d killed.
His gaze didn’t move. He just looked at me as if I didn’t belong. Like I was something in his way. The only bit of relief I had was that he looked like he was disgusted by me. Enough I thought he wasn’t here to do the things situations like this usually led to.
His black hair was still tied back, the braids neat and kept from his face. As I perused him, his body stayed over mine, tense and unmoving. I felt every ounce of him, and he was too calm for my liking. Especially when he didn’t speak or blink. Just stared. Silent and cold enough to make me want to shiver.
It was like he already knew how this would end, and he wasn’t imagining anything that left me standing.
I didn’t move either. I didn’t panic enough for him to see it. No, I just looked at him flatly.
“If this is some weird shifter mating ritual,” I breathed, voice rough, “I think you’ve skipped a few steps.”
He still didn’t blink. He didn’t smile either. The stranger just leant in closer, lips barely two inches from mine. Everything inside me braced for an impact that would kill me just a little more and then...
“You’re not special, Draconis.”He breathed in Italian.
My brows rose, another sliver of relief at his words coming, rather than a kiss. But I had no time to respond before he carried on telling me his pathetic thoughts, as though I was interested in what ailed him.
“I don’t care what kind of power you have. I don’t care who your father is. If you ruin my chance of getting picked in the next selection, I’ll kill you.”
He pushed the blade harder against my throat. The pressure was just enough for me to feel it, but still not enough to bleed. His expression remained blank, with not a flicker of doubt or nerves.
I presumed this was not the first time he’d brought a knife to a throat. I almost felt bad for his exes. Their sex would have been rather dull if this was as good as he could give with a weapon.
