Page 283 of Shadowblood Souls
But he’s still one ofthem.
Just how dangerous would it be to trust him?
Five
Riva
However skeptical I might be about the intentions of the new man in charge, I have to admit that mealtimes in the mountain facility are a big step up from our past imprisonment.
No more trays of bland food chosen only for nutritional completion shoved through a slot in a door to be eaten in solitude. We get our choice from a spread of dishes set out in shifts, with a random assortment of about ten fellow shadowbloods in the cafeteria for company.
The buffet isn’t anywhere near as extensive or gourmet as the meals Rollick provided us with on his yacht, but everything I’ve sampled so far at least tastesgood. And there’s something to be said simply for getting to pick.
For this morning’s breakfast, I’m debating between omelets stuffed with cheese and fried veggies or bowls of steaming oatmeal laced with berries and brown sugar. I kind of want one of each, but I don’t think my stomach will thank me after I’ve stretched it to twice its regular size.
I end up grabbing a plate with an omelet, add a small scoop of hashbrowns and a bottle of orange juice for good measure, and turn toward the tables.
The rock-carved room holds five rectangular tables that comfortably seat six each, but I’ve never seen them full. Because we eat in shifts, I have no idea exactly how many shadowbloods are staying here.
Right now, the two of the tables on the left hold three and four of the younger shadowbloods respectively. I spot Nadia and Booker at one, her laughing hard at something he’s said and then covering her mouth as if embarrassed.
Today her shirt is neon green. She obviously has a thing for bright clothing.
Everything in my wardrobe is darker shades… Did she ask Clancy for those tees specially?
Did he give her new clothes simply because she asked?
As I’m working through my new debate of whether to be friendly and go sit with them or huddle on my own at one of the empty tables, a familiar blond head passes through the doorway at the right side of the room.
My pulse skips a beat, and my plate wobbles in my hand. For an instant, I’m not sure which of the twins I’m looking at.
Then his gaze collides with mine, and any doubt flies out of my mind. Only Jacob could look at me like a dam’s just burst open behind his eyes.
Before I can even part my lips to speak, he’s hurtling forward, straight toward me.
He doesn’t even veer around the vacant tables between me and him. With a flick of his arm, he sends them flipping over to clear his path.
Both tables clang against the stone wall. Jacob strides by without a split-second of hesitation, his gaze still fixed on me.
Then he stops right in front of me and raises his hand with a gentleness totally at odds with the aggression of his approach.
As he touches my cheek, my fingers tighten around my plate and the neck of the juice bottle as if I’m clutching them for dear life.
My heart pounds against my ribs. I’m too choked up to speak.
To say that Jake and I had a stormy time with our original reunion is like referring to a hurricane as a light breeze. But in the last few days before we ended up here, I came to understand how he acted a lot better than I had before.
To recognize that no one could hate how he first treated me more than he did himself. To see just how far he’d go to ensure nobody ever hurt me again.
And how far he’d go to make me feelgood, when I’d let him.
The maelstrom of emotion in his sky-blue gaze matches the turmoil his presence has stirred up inside me. He strokes his fingers over my cheek with nothing but tenderness, staring at me as if he can read my experiences of the past few days through my skull.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a low, taut voice, either because he can’t tell or he wants me to confirm it.
I manage to get enough of a grip on my internal state to locate a trace of my sense of humor. “I’m fine. I don’t know if the tables are.”
Jacob doesn’t spare the pieces of furniture he upended even the briefest of glances. “Fuck the tables.”
