Page 133 of Shadowblood Souls
We leave through her outer door, Riva stepping close enough to me that I catch a whiff of her sweetly metallic scent. My fingers itch to stroke over her hair or trail along her jaw, but I curl them into my palms.
She’d only flinch away.
She tucks herself into the passenger seat of the sedan we made off with—clunky but functional enough. I let her sit in silence as I start the engine and turn onto the country highway toward the suburban mall about ten minutes down the road, nestled between a couple of minor towns.
There isn’t a whole lot else on the highway other than a diner that looks like it caters mostly to truckers and a building that’s not much more than a shack with granite lawn ornaments poised for sale out front. Just after noon on a weekday, the mall’s parking lot is pretty desolate too.
That suits our preferences just fine.
Riva tugs her hood up over her distinctive hair before we get out of the car. I run my hand over my tight coils and hope that they and my brown skin won’t stand out too much in small-town Manitoba.
The guardians always sent us to decently big cities for our missions. I’ve gotten more uneasy glances roaming across the more out-of-the-way parts of the continent in the past couple of weeks than in my whole life beforehand.
Before we reach the mall doors, I pass several bills to Riva. “Grab whatever you want, wherever you want.”
Another flicker of surprise passes through her eyes. “You want me to go off on my own?”
As we push inside, I offer her a crooked smile. “As much as I’d like to offer my services as bodyguard, I know you can kick a hell of a lot more ass than I can.”
We both know that’s not what she meant, but she ducks her head in acknowledgment. As she takes in the sprawl of shops ahead of us, just a hint of a smile touches her lips.
I spot a clock mounted near the entrance and point to it. “We’ll meet back here in an hour?”
“Sounds good.”
Riva sets off at a more energetic pace, making a beeline for a store with sporty tank tops and sweats in the display window. I watch her go for a few seconds before propelling myself in my own direction.
I don’t actually like leaving her to her own devices, but only because I won’t immediately know if she’s under threat.
There isn’t a whole lot I’d be able to do that she couldn’t. What I said to her about our relative self-defense skills was accurate, though.
And there’s no denying how much the freedom meant to her.
I’ve tried apologizing for my epic screw-up with my words, and that hasn’t been enough, understandably. So I’ll just have to prove how much I trust her—how much she matters to me—with how I act as well.
It’s not as if I’ve completely lost track of her anyway. As I move briskly through the men’s section of the one department store grabbing the shirts and pants I know the other guys will want that aren’t too pricy, as I pick up cheap but sturdy looking backpacks at a luggage shop and four more prepaid phones at an electronics kiosk, I’m constantly aware of Riva’s position relative to me in the building.
But I can’t sense anything other than where she is—no emotions, no other impressions. If she was in distress, I’d have no idea.
I work through my mental shopping list so quickly that I still have plenty of time left when I reach the end. I pause by a store directory and scan the other options.
What else could I offer Riva as a gift of sorts? A token of my affection?
I riffle through my large collection of captured stories—from other people’s memories, from TV shows and movies and books. How do you pamper the woman you love?
I’ve never had the chance to before. I doubt Riva’s ever been pampered enough to have any idea how she’d like it to happen.
Which only makes it more important thatsomeonestart doing it now.
She’s already getting whatever clothes she likes. I can’t imagine her wanting any jewelry other than the necklace from Griffin that I’ve never seen her take off except that one night when everything went to hell.
My gaze settles on a bath and body shop. If even Zian can appreciate a nice soak in the tub, why wouldn’t Riva?
It seems like as good a place to start as any.
I pop into the shop, the mingling floral perfumes flooding my nose, and try to pick out something to Riva’s tastes. I don’t think she wants to smell like a rose garden—but then, what do I know?
In the end, I grab a selection of different options and stuff the bag into one of the backpacks so I can keep it sort of a surprise.
