Page 143 of Tainted Souls
I find a quiet corner and sink down as well, exhaustion washing over me in waves. The ground is hard beneath me, but I’ve slept on worse. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my forehead against them, trying to block out the sounds of casual conversations and occasional laughter that drifts from the others, which feel like salt in an open wound. How can they joke and laugh when Saul is gone? When everything is falling apart around us? But I understand, too—this is how survivors cope. Finding moments of lightness in the darkness, holding onto whatever normalcy they can grasp.
I don’t have the energy to join them, to pretend I belong in their circle. Instead, I close my eyes and try to quiet my mind enough to rest.
“You should eat something,” a voice says above me.
I look up to find Irene standing there, holding out a small parcel wrapped in cloth. Her expression is guarded but not hostile.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, even as my stomach clenches painfully.
She places the package beside me. “These are from Saul’s emergency stash. You’re no good to him half-starved.”
The mention of my brother pierces through my defenses. I unwrap the cloth to find a few strips of dried jerky, some hardtack biscuits, and a handful of dried fruit—figs, maybe dates. It’s simple fare, the kind of durable provisions you pack when you don’t know when or if you’ll get your next meal. Before my mind can argue, my body is already reacting, mouth watering at the faint sweetness and salt.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking a small bite of the biscuit first.
Irene nods once, then walks away.
I finish the food in slow, measured bites, forcing myself to savor it despite my hunger.
Across the cavern, the Ravens have settled into their own spaces.
Reece and Irene are resting, while Kale and Palina are whispering to each other, their heads close in the shadows. Ace remains where he was, eyes now open and watching the group with the vigilance of a shepherd guarding his flock. Our gazes meet briefly across the distance, and I see in his eyes the same weariness that I feel in my bones.
I quickly look away, but it’s too late. He has already risen from his position, stretching his long limbs with casual elegancebefore making his way across the cavern toward me. My heart rate instantly picks up.
Did I somehow summon him with that accidental eye contact? I frantically search for an escape route, but there’s nowhere to go in this enclosed space without making my discomfort embarrassingly clear.
To my horror, he sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel the chill radiating from his body, though careful to maintain a sliver of space between us. My back is pressed hard against the wall, trying to create distance without being obvious about it.
“How’s the food?” he asks, his voice oddly conversational.
The question is so mundane, so normal, that for a moment I just stare at him.
“Fine,” I manage, swallowing the last bite of jerky. “Edible.”
“Saul always packs the good jerky.” There’s something like fondness in his tone that makes me uncomfortable. “Leaves the cheap stuff for humans.”
I clear my throat. “You bring humans to your safe houses?”
“Never know when you’ll need to hunker down for a few days.”
Unexpected, but not surprising.
The small talk feels surreal after everything that’s happened. I’m not sure how to respond to this glimpse of normalcy, this hint that beneath the calculating leader is someone who notices details like jerky quality. Is he trying to be polite, or is there some hidden purpose behind this interaction? With Ace, it’s impossible to tell.
The silence stretches between us, neither comfortable nor tense.
“What are the other clans like?” I ask, directing the conversation to something useful. Saul told me snippets, but they were far too vague to be substantial. “If we’re going to be allies, I should at least understand who we’re dealing with.”
Ace shifts, leaning his head back against the wall.
For a moment, I think he might ignore the question, but then he speaks, his voice taking on a thoughtful quality I haven’t heard before. “The Malvagi are aristocrats. Old coin, old blood. Most of them move in high circles, being famous artists or musicians of some sort. They are, at heart, romantics—passionate, obsessed with beauty in all its forms.” His lips curve slightly, almost reminiscing. “They value appearances above all else, from the perfect dinner party and the right connections to the most fashionable residence. They’re the vampires humans never suspect because they blend in so perfectly, but they’re also dangerous for that very reason. They will poison your wine while complimenting your dress.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“I was engaged to one.”
That catches me off guard. I try to imagine Ace in love, committed to someone, and find I can’t quite picture it. “What happened?”
