Page 102 of Shadows of Nightshade
The light was impossible to block, and I groaned, burrowing under the blankets.
I was going to kill him.
I lowered the foul-smelling blanket to my nose with a growl and glared at him. In response, Julian was blinking down at me, wearing an expression of concern despite the lightness of his voice.
I narrowed my eyes. How dare he presume to—
“You’re awake,” he said. And, suddenly, my malice was drowned under the force of his smile, and my body felt weightless. “I’m so glad.”
Why. Why…
Why was I angry again?
Then the events prior to my sleep slammed into me like a punch, and I sat up so quickly that my head spun. The world swayed as I panicked, pressing myself against the headboard.
Everything that happened—the dream that wasn’t a dream. And there was no doubt, from the aches and pains moving over me, that it’d been real. This time, I was back in Damen’s room again, and the atmosphere was much different than before.
Damen was sitting at the bottom of the bed and, even now, was still without a shirt. His arms were crossed in a way that inadvertently showed the crimson mark on his chest.
Titus stood near the door, quiet and statue-like. His gaze briefly lingered on me before his nose twitched, and a muscle in his jaw tightened, as his stewardship drifted elsewhere. It almost appeared as though he was guarding the room, and I wondered what he was protecting us from.
And then there was Miles, standing beside the bed. His post to my left was still warm. He’d changed since the fight, and, upon seeing my attention on him, cautiously returned to his abandoned seat.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was awkward, and he touched my knee with a shaky hand. His worried demeanor made me wonder—was he the poor soul tasked with changing me into this too-large T-shirt?
While that was embarrassing, it wasn’t as though they hadn’t seen everything already.
“Hi…” I answered. His nervousness was contagious. Did he think I was going to yell? I would never. As I looked into his sweet brown eyes, I knew I couldn’t be angry at him.
But what was this uncertain mood? Had I done something weird?
“What’s up?” I asked. Somehow, I was able to keep my voice from wavering. There were any number of things that could be wrong, and I mustn’t jump to conclusions.
“Bianca.” Julian was sitting in a chair to my right. He leaned forward and braced his elbow on his knee. “We need to talk.”
My skin grew cold, and this time, when I spoke, my voice was not so clear, “Wh-why?”
His stoic expression cracked, and, before continuing, the corner of his mouth lifted in what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “You don’t need to be worried. You’re not in trouble.”
I nodded, squeezing the blanket closer to my chin. The horrid thing was now my lifeline as I was stranded in this room with such serious, apprehensive boys.
His attention moved toward my chest. “How long have you had that mark?”
“It’s…” My throat went dry. I pressed my wrists together, and my shoulders drew toward my ears. “It’s my birthmark.”
Julian nodded. “You were born with it?”
That was… the definition of a birthmark. “Yeah…”
His dark brows drew together in perplexed confusion. “How old are you?”
They already knew this; we’d talked about it before.
“Eighteen,” I answered him anyway. “I’ll be nineteen on October thirteenth.”
Then he asked a question that made my teeth clench. “Where were you born?”
“I—” I stared at him. Why did it matter? “I don’t know.”
