Page 396 of Shadowblood Souls
The curved headboard and the vanity gleam with rich brown wood and old-fashioned bronze detailing. Embroidered pillows lie on a window seat beneath a tall, arched pane that’s framed by gauzy red curtains to match the rug.
None of thislookslike a prison. It’s possibly the fanciest room I’d ever been in.
What the fuck is going on? Are King Arthur and his knights going to show up next?
I shake myself out of my daze of confusion enough to take better stock of my body. My upper arm and shoulder are bandaged, as is my side beneath the unfamiliar pastel-blue T-shirt I have on. Bruises mottle my lower arms and my calves when I tug up the legs on my equally new khakis.
They’re already fading, but given my shadowblood tendency toward quick healing, that doesn’t tell me much.
More disturbing are the metal bands wrapped around my wrists. I could believe they’re simply silver bangles if their thick, flat surface didn’t suggest a deeper layer of tech inside.
Like the tracking anklets Clancy had us wear. Although these could at least pass for regular jewelry to someone who doesn’t know better.
I tug at the bands experimentally and find them unyielding. I suspect even my full supernatural strength couldn’t snap them off.
Maybe if I could hit them with a heavy tool… but it’s probably better not to test that until I discover exactly what they do. What the consequences would be.
The glint of silver prompts my hand to my chest. But my fingers feel nothing beneath the fabric of my shirt.
My necklace—the cat-and-yarn charm Griffin gave me so many years ago. It’s gone.
Did I lose it in the crash, or did our new captors take it from me?
Through the pang of loss, a rosy, citrusy scent tickles my nose. I duck my head lower and realize it’s coming fromme.
When I sniff my arm, the faint perfume winds into my lungs. My stomach knots.
Whoever brought me here, they washed me up as well as bandaged me. Stripped me down and then dressed me up like a doll.
They even rebraided my hair. I trail my fingers over the silver and darker gray strands and feel how smooth the woven locks are, with none of the grit or straggling flyaways from our battle with the terrorists Clancy sent us up against.
As more of the haze in my head clears, I rest my hand against my collarbone. My necklace might be gone, but the three splotches like thumb-sized bruises remain, connecting me to the three men I’ve confirmed my love for in the most concrete bodily way.
Through our connection, I can sense their location and occasionally flickers of intense emotion. Right now, none of the latter is echoing into me, but I can tell that Andreas, Dominic, and Jacob are nearby. Probably in the same building.
If I can sense Dominic, does that mean he must still be alive? I have no idea how our strange bond would react if one of us died.
Clinging on to a shred of hope, I stalk to the window. As I clamber onto the cushions and brace my hands against the ledge, the scenery beyond the pane steals my breath.
Right below the window, which appears to be on the second floor of the building, lies a small stretch of tiled patio dotted with neatly trimmed shrubs and bright bursts of potted flowers. A low stone wall forms a border on the far side of the patio.
And past that wall… sweeping mountain ranges of pale brown stone and mottled greenery stretch out as far as my eyes can see, undulating waves of rock draped in warm sunlight. As if I’ve found myself lost in the middle of a stormy ocean solidified in mid-churn.
I spot what looks like a church tower on a distant hill and maybe a cluster of rooftops even farther abroad, but no human habitation close enough for me to distinguish actual people.
We’ve definitely come a long way from the tropical island where Clancy and his guardians held us. There’s an actual autumn here—some of the trees on the slopes have lost their foliage, leaving them with a vaguely fuzzy appearance. When I press my hand to the glass, a trace of a chill seeps through.
What month is it now? On the guardians’ island with its constant summery weather, I lost all sense of the time passing.
I pull myself away from the window to yank open the drawers on the vanity. They’re empty, but the closet in the corner holds an assortment of slacks and jeans, tees and sweatshirts, and even a few casual dresses on hangers.
I waver and then tug on a hoodie that makes me feel a little less like a preppy catalogue model. It’d be good to have additional pockets in case I get the chance to stash anything in them.
Then I move to the room’s main door. I grip the handle, preparing to evaluate the resistance the lock gives me.
But the door isn’t locked. The knob turns easily in my hand.
My heart stutters with shock. I nudge the door open and find myself staring out into a high-ceilinged hallway lined with more arched doorways and lit by elaborate sconces holding electric candles.
