Page 270 of Shadowblood Souls
His tone is dry, but I catch the more ominous implications. If we’re kept apart, we can’t plan a joint escape.
And escaping alone would leave the others in this man’s hands, possibly to punish for our rebellion.
If I scream this guy to pieces, I have no idea whether I’d be able to even get out of this room afterward, let alone get to Dominic, Andreas, Jacob, and Zian. Or how many other people might be working in this place who’d make me—or them—pay for my actions.
But the thought brings back the image of the guy who led me into the trap at the last facility I entered—the guy I grew up with but believed was dead.
My throat constricts for more reasons than just the restraint before I croak out, “Griffin?”
“I don’t think it’s time to get into that subject just yet,” the man says evenly. “Let’s focus on getting you out of that chair. I don’t want to hurt you or the others. I’ve been trying to get control over the Guardianship for years so that I could take our endeavors in a different direction. This is your second chance. But you have to show you’re willing to givemea chance.”
Every word coming out of his mouth sounds like bullshit to me. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Not. Trusting. Anything. Until. I see. Guys.”
By the end of that sentence, my vocal cords are outright throbbing. I’m not sure I’ll be able to say much else.
The man’s mouth tightens. His gaze flicks away from me, toward the door, as if something has drawn his attention there.
His frown deepens, but he steps to the side as another set of footsteps approaches.
He wasn’t the only one who came in. Someone’s been listening from just inside the door.
My body tenses all over again, not that it ever really relaxed. And then the last face I ever expected to see appears in front of me.
My heart stops.
My brain wants to think it’s Jacob I’m looking at. That’s what would make sense given everything I believed.
But just as in that final moment in the facility, I can pick out the differences. The slightly longer fall of his blond hair. The posture that looks a tad looser than Jacob seems to be capable of these days.
The emptiness in the sky-blue eyes that used to shine with every bit of shared joy we could scrounge up in our old prison.
“I’ve checked on the other guys,” says the man who must be Griffin, in a measured voice that holds no hint of emotion whatsoever. “Precautions have been taken when it comes to their powers, but they haven’t been harmed. I wouldn’t be here talking to you if I thought Clancy meant to do that.”
He glances at the older man—Clancy?
My captor raises his chin. “There. You’ve heard it from one of your own.”
Isthe guy in front of me ‘one of my own’ anymore? He doesn’t sound like the Griffin I knew.
I watched that Griffin take a bullet that tore right through his back and chest. I watched the blood burst out of him, the mix of crimson liquid and black smoke that earned us the name “shadowbloods.”
I saw him crumple like a rag doll as if all the life had already left his body.
My face twitches with a wince, but I manage to cough up one more word, my gaze trained on the impossible figure before me.
“How?”
Clancy answers. “The Guardianship has always had excellent technology at our disposal. The shot only nicked Griffin’s heartrather than puncturing it. It took some time, but between our doctors’ expertise and the innate shadowblood ability to self-heal, he made a full recovery.”
He nods to Griffin. “Why don’t you show her the scar?”
Griffin’s face remains completely placid, almost dazed, as he reaches for the collar of his button-up shirt. Has he been drugged like the other guys said the guardians did to them after our first escape attempt?
He eases open the top two buttons on his shirt and pulls the fabric down and to the left.
He’s healed, but a reminder of the injury remains. A whorl of darker, ridged scar tissue marks the pale skin of his upper chest.
