Page 398 of Shadowblood Souls
I’d take more reassurance from the fact that he hasn’t reverted back to his previous robotic state if it wasn’t for the question he asked. When I look down the hall again, I spot a couple more of the younger shadowbloods: Sully, a stout older teen who can work illusions, and Lindsay, the mousy-haired kid with an affinity for earth.
But no sign of Dominic.
I close my eyes, focusing on the mark that connects me to our quiet, thoughtful healer. “I think he’s… downstairs, somewhere.”
Jacob frowns. “Why would they separate Dom from the rest of us?”
Uneasiness twists through my gut. I can’t think of any reasons that aregood. We don’t even know who “they” are yet.
Before I can say as much, one more figure steps into view at the far end of the hall—but not a welcome one. My stance goes rigid at the sight of the tall, wiry woman I last saw aiming a gun at Dominic.
She clasps her tan hands loosely in front of her, her dark eyes studying us intently, framed by a sleek bob of similarly dark hair. “You will accompany me to the drawing room,” she says in a mild, even voice, and turns on her heel without waiting for our response.
We all glance around at each other.
Jacob’s jaw clenches, but I grasp his hand. “We should get a better sense of what the hell is going on here before we make any moves.”
He grudgingly nods. We both know I won’t hesitate to join him in leaping to the attack when the time is right.
Just minutes before we were re-captured, I slit our previous captor’s throat with my claws. The only upside of the washing our new keepers gave us is that I’m no longer splattered with Clancy’s blood.
We Firsts trail behind the strange woman warily. The younger shadowbloods follow our lead with nervous expressions.
Zian holds up his arm and flexes his wrist around the bracelet. “We’ve all got these. Have yours done anything?”
As the others shake their heads, I turn my arm, studying one of mine. “Not so far.”
Andreas lets out a halting chuckle. “Somehow I think we’re going to find out what they’re for soon.”
The woman leads us down a curving staircase with an elaborate wrought-iron banister and through a hall wide enough to be a room itself. The doorframes on either side are carved with floral motifs, and the floor glints with a geometric mosaic of tiny tiles.
But I don’t give a shit about the decor once she’s ushered us into a room full of elegant armchairs and antique wooden side tables. Because against the opposite wall stands an enclosed hospital-style bed that holds Dominic’s limp form.
Two
Riva
With a lurch of my heart, I hurtle straight to Dominic’s side. My hands thump against the transparent plastic shell covering the bed harder than I meant to, but Dom doesn’t so much as twitch.
He’s lying on his back, his light brown skin washed out to a sickly tone, his dark auburn hair loose from its usual short ponytail and strewn across the thin pillow. His two thin, orange-brown tentacles jut from beneath the hospital gown he’s wearing to rest equally limp on either side of his slim frame.
Several medical electrodes cling to his body: a couple on his forehead, others on his neck and shoulders, and more wires snake from beneath the gown. They lead through a small slot in the plastic shell to a boxy machine nearly as tall as I am that’s poised next to the head of the bed, dappled with blinking lights that mean nothing to me.
Tubes wind through the slot as well, reaching to his nose and mouth and a spot on his forearm. Delivering oxygen or medication or I don’t know what else.
My lungs constrict. For a second, horror grips me so tightly I forget how to breathe.
Then I catch the rise and fall of Dominic’s chest—subtle but visible beneath the gown.
He’s definitely still alive. Of course he’s alive, or all the medical equipment wouldn’t be necessary.
If he’s alive, then his body will gradually be healing, no matter what he’s been through. Right?
My other men have gathered around me, staring at Dominic with equal dismay.
Jacob’s head jerks around to seek out our guide. “What the fuck happened to him? What are we even doing here?”
To punctuate the sharpness of his tone, a sconce snaps off the wall overhead and careens into the ceiling before clattering to the floor. Jake doesn’t have the best control over his telekinetic ability when he’s upset.
