Page 70 of Tainted Souls
“My turn,” Haden chirps, rescuing me from my thoughts. “Evan, truth or drain: what’s the real reason you dyed your hair baby blue?”
“First off, can you not call it that? It’soceanblue.” Evan sighs, his elbows on his knees. “Truth is, I lost a bet to Seraph five years ago.”
“What?” the whole table exclaims in unison, their heads swiveling between us.
I smirk, fond memories of that night flooding back. “He bet me I couldn’t take down three vampires by myself in under five minutes.”
Evan puts his hands up. “In my defense, she was completely wasted, and I’d never seen her in action before. Well, notthatkind of action.”
Jaxon whistles low, knowing just as well as everyone else here what was implied by that.
I slap Evan’s face. “Not the other kind of action either!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, putting his arms up to shield himself from any more potential slaps. “That was a joke.”
“Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” I remind him, unable to keep the smugness from my voice. “I picked the brightest blue I could find.”
Evan runs his fingers through his vibrant locks. “I hated it at first. Thought I looked like a cartoon character from those comics Haden reads.”
“But then the women started noticing him more,” Haden explains, disregarding Evan’s attempt at mocking him.
“You should’ve seen him,” I say. “The man went from threatening to shave it all off to suddenly deciding blue was his signature look.”
Beth ruffles Evan’s hair. “I like it. You made a good choice, Seraph.”
Kyla reaches over and slides her hand through it as if inspecting the ‘work of art.’ Ivy does the same, brushing a lock behind his ear with a teasing smile. Jaxon smacks his foreheadgently, tugging at a stubborn strand. Evan groans, but his grin betrays how much he secretly enjoys the attention.
As the night progresses, I find myself withdrawing, observing rather than participating. My friends’ faces blur slightly as fatigue and alcohol catch up with me. Their laughter sounds distant, though they’re right beside me. The pendant in my pocket seems to grow heavier, a physical reminder of the strange woman’s words.
Those caught between worlds. Marked by fate.
By the time we stumble out of Hot Shot, the night has deepened to its darkest point. The others head toward shore for a midnight stroll, or a skinny dip, but I beg off, claiming exhaustion. My body aches with a weariness that has little to do with physical exertion.
“You sure?” Evan asks, concern breaking through his tipsy haze.
“I’m sure,” I reply, already signaling for a transport. “I want to visit Max tomorrow, and I have to be moderately presentable for that.”
He nods, giving me a quick hug before rejoining the others.
I watch them continue down the street, their figures receding into the neon-lit distance, occasionally glancing back at me until they turn the corner. For a moment, I feel a pang of something like envy. Despite the war and constant threat of violence, they’ve managed to carve out normal lives. They have futures that don’t revolve around hunting monsters, or being hunted by them.
During the momentary solitude, my fingers move to the pendant in my pocket, tracing its irregular edges. What had the woman meant? What services had I rendered, or was I yet to render?
That’s when I see her.
Not in dream nor hallucination—I think—but in reality, walking up to me with a smile that reaches her crinkled eyes. She looks exactly as she did hours ago, yet somehow more substantial in the moonlight, her weathered face cast in relief by the neon signs flickering above.
“We meet again,” she says, stopping to stand beside me. “Though you are not wearing my gift.”
My hand instinctively moves to my pocket where the pendant rests. “Just waiting for the right moment. I don’t typically wear jewelry I get from strangers.”
She clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Caution is wise, but there is such a thing as being too careful. Especially when protection is freely offered.”
“Protection from what exactly?” I ask, skeptical yet curious.
“The storm that is coming, Seraph Rosen.” Her eyes twinkle. “Wear it. If not for yourself, then for those who will depend on you.”
Her cryptic manner of speaking is starting to irritate me. “How do you know my name?”
