Page 15 of Dark Souls

I nodded quickly. “Yeah, I read his mind. This isn’t the same guy who spoke to me that night. This is the original.”

“Original?” Archer folded his arms over his chest. “Explain.”

“The killer is a supernatural shifter. They can take on someone’s appearance and scent. Whoever he is, he stole Harry Gould’s identity when he came into the bar.” And again last night.

“Like Sienna can?” Archer asked.

“No. This is more complex. She can change her features, so she looks different, but this psycho took on a whole person’s identity,” Raiden explained.

“So.” Archer turned and glanced at Raiden with a furious expression. “He could be literally anyone? Changing his appearance constantly. How the fuck are we supposed to find him?”

The corner of my lips tugged upwards. I covered my mouth with my hand before they saw my smile and faked my frustration. Even though I was disappointed I hadn’t captured him myself, beneath it all was a twisted sense of relief. I didn’t want it to be that easy. I liked a challenge. And my stalker had just taken Hide and Seek to a whole new level.

A Storm Is Coming

It’sbeenfourfrustratingdays, and my heart thief has been radio silent. It’s as if he never existed. Sienna said there haven’t been any more suspicious kills that they know of. I hadn’t felt his presence in the shadows and there were no more notes. It was messing with my head in the most insufferable way. I found myself searching for him everywhere I went, checking over my shoulder in coffee shops and taking solo strolls through dark forests, hoping to lure him out. I constantly stared into people’s eyes to read their minds and freaked them out in the process, just to check they were not my psychotic stalker. Knowing he could morph into absolutely anyone had me on tenterhooks. I knew I was becoming a paranoid freak. And my family were starting to pick up on my odd behaviour, hence why I was sitting opposite my Grandma Alina in her sunroom after she insisted we have an emergency therapy session.

To top it off, Rue was more irritable than normal. I hadn’t seen Ronnie since the men’s locker room and, therefore, hadn’t fed properly for nearly a week. The bloodthirst was clouding my judgment. I couldn’t think as sharply, which was impacting my logical brain. I should be relieved that the killer seemed to have lost interest in me, not annoyed.

Rain pattered against the glass roof above us and drew my attention as I bent my neck back to peer up at the darkening sky. The brewing of a storm. My favourite kind of weather. I always found peace when the skies raged.

“A storm is coming,” I muttered the first words between us in ten minutes. Grandma never spoke first in our sessions. She always waited. The woman had the patience of a saint. Sometimes, we didn’t talk at all. She just sat with me in the silence, allowing me to close my eyes and ground myself. Other times, I used our time to vent. To scream and shout about all the vile things I heard in people’s heads, how much I hated that I could never just give people the benefit of the doubt. Let them prove themselves to be genuine or worthy of my time. It mainly happened through my teenage years, when I was still learning how to control my telepathy. Those were my darkest, toughest times. I know every teenager goes through the hell of raging hormones, heightened emotions and just a sense of unfairness against the world. But when you can hear every horny thought of the teenagers around you, the sick fantasies of perverted old men, the traumas of other people’s lives, it is hard not to let it affect you. Especially when you hear people’s judgments on who they believe you to be as a person. I wanted more than anything to shut the cruelty of the world out and just hibernate until it was safe. But it would never be safe. Evil, sickness, suffering, hatred, and jealousy will always exist in people. So, I had no choice but to learn how to live with my curse.

“Seems so.” Grandma smiled. Her green eyes were soft and gentle as I gazed at her pretty face. “I know you love a storm. I have to say that I prefer the first moments of silence after the storm has settled, when the world seems to slowly come out of hiding again. It always feels like the storm cleanses the Earth and breathes hope back into it for a fresh start.”

“That is because you are an optimist and see the world in bright colours.”

“What colours do you see the world in?” She tilted her head and I sighed. I doubt she even realised she did it, but she had put on her therapist voice. It was softer and slower than normal, as if she was taking her time to pronounce every syllable clearly.

“Red,” I answered without thinking. “Greys, blues and blacks too. But mostly red.”

She didn’t speak to allow me the space to continue if I wanted to. A few years ago, I would have left my answer at that. I never expanded on my reasons. But I could admit that I had worked on myself a lot since then.

“That’s why I like storms. The dreary colours comfort me and for a moment, the world feels peaceful. The thunder cancels out the noise. The lightning brightens the dark. And the rain washes away the blood.”

“Whose blood?”

“Everyone’s. No one’s.” I shrugged and glanced back out of the window as the rain fell harder. The sound pelting against the glass was almost deafening. The tension in my muscles eased slightly, but my fingers continued to tap against my thigh, trying to soothe the hunger. Grandma’s eyes flickered to the repetitive motion, knowing exactly what it meant, but she didn’t dare draw attention to it.

“I haven’t fed for a while.”

“No blood bags?”

“You know they make me feel sick and Ronnie is away on some SIA task.”

Being a pure-blood vampire from one of the strongest bloodlines meant blood bags never sufficed. They would keep me alive, but I gained no strength from them and, honestly, I wasn’t lying. Drinking from a bag turned my stomach. Rue needed a pulsing, pumping vein to thrive. My grandpapi, uncle and mum were the only other vampires in my family, but they were all hybrids or tribrids, which meant their thirst for blood was diluted by their magic and wolves. Of course, they preferred a live feed but they could survive off the blood bags with no problems.

We fell into silence for a few minutes, listening to the storm. I lifted my gaze to meet hers.

“I heard what you all said about me after dinner the other night.” Her eyebrows tensed a little but smoothed when she realised what I was referring to. “It’s okay. I get it. Grandpapi was right. I am a full-blooded Romano. That will always come with fear.”

“Ilaria.” Grandma’s voice switched back to her normal tone as she sat forwards with a pained expression. “No one in this family fears you.”

“But you fearforme.” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

“We worry for you. It is different. We know you will always face challenges that no one else in this family will ever quite understand. Yes, your mum and Grandpapi can relate to you but they also know your vampire side is much stronger than theirs. Which is why we are all so proud of you, Ilaria. You are one of the strongest people I know. Your determination and resilience are outstanding to me.”

I smiled because I knew that was what she needed to see. “What is it about vampires that puts everyone so on edge?”

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