Page 72 of Savage Blood
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, sitting up and peeling the covers off to get some much-needed air.
The vision of those masked and cloaked Collective Nosterium members chasing a male wolf shifter soured my stomach and made my steak dinner threaten to reappear. This one took place right here in downtown Savannah.
My brows pinched together as I tried to picture the guy. There was no sign of when the Collective’s pursuit of him occurred, but no male shifters had gone missing in Savannah recently. My visions had no time pattern other than always taking place in the past.
Alicia was the only person I’d saved, and that wasn’t because of any vision. I’d been in that ritual room with her, and we wouldn’t have escaped without Roman’s help.
I swung my legs over the mattress and pressed my bare feet into the cool wood floor. My body ached as I stood, probably from tossing and turning. The stupid sickness and cravings for the Infernal Sol didn’t help.
Would I ever stop longing for that twisted power?
Nighttime still coated the windows, and when I peered through the panes, the city lights gleamed against the dark backdrop.
Sleep wouldn’t pay me another visit for a while, so I opened the dresser on the left side of the room and took out a pair of black leggings. Getting some fresh air would do me good, and maybe I could clear the vision from my mind.
And maybe I’d stop thinking about what happened—or almost happened—between Fane and me in that unused conference room earlier.
On the way out of the compound, I ran into some of Ari’s security team, each member shooting me surreptitious glances. Word must have already spread about my lineage.
Just perfect.
As if having Fane Maverick as my mate and sireandSaint Grimstone as my fated mate didn’t garner enough attention.
My sneakers barely made a sound on the sidewalk as I ambled down the deserted streets. The cool spring nightsevaporated as summer reared its ugly, sweaty head. Soon, I’d be sweating through my leggings and tank top.
A few nightworlders nodded in my direction, and even fewer humans staggered around, drunk and on their way home from bars.
By the time I reached Addison Street, I realized where my legs were instinctively carrying me. In my vision, three masked pricks had chased the shifter past the Addison Street Coffee Shop and into a back alley between a bagel shop and a brewery.
The sight of the attack could jog my memory and help me identify the shifter. Maybe it hadn’t happened yet, and I could save him.
A taunting voice laughed in the back of my mind.
Yeah, wishful thinking.
I turned down the alley anyway, stepping over a crushed beer can and a discarded paper bag from River Street Sweets. Damn, what I wouldn’t give for some of Dylan’s spicy desserts.
Scraps of trash scuttled over the asphalt like dead leaves in the warm wind. The scent of hops and barley perfumed the air as I passed the brewery’s back door, the Employees Only sign flashing red.
The neon tubes forming theOfaded and winked out. I halted, staring at it as déjà vu descended my back.
In my vision, theOhad also gone out.
My pulse elevated as I searched the alley and recognized a dingy white sneaker sitting atop a pile of wooden pallets. In my vision, the white sneaker was there, too, but the shifter smeared a huge crimson stain onto it when he fell onto the pallets.
Unease settled through my stomach as I ambled forward, my shins bumping into the tower of wooden slats.
I licked my lips and then sniffed the air.
It wasn’t blood.
It was ketchup. And it was still wet.
Fresh.
Fuck.
Footsteps suddenly hit the pavement, and a figure emerged through the opening of the alley, bolting in my direction. My heart crashed against my ribs, and fear—not mine—slid through my veins like it did in my visions as the guy pumped his arms and legs.
