Page 34 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
“I can show you a few tricks right here and now.” Zion gripped the leg and backrest of my chair and hauled it toward his own, the bang of the collision disrupting everyone’s chatter. The clangs of utensils tapping and scraping the dishes quietened. “The view from here is better. Now, take my knife and?—”
“I’ll stab you next. Do you really want to teach me how to do that?” I interrupted him.
Sadira snorted. “There’s nothing he would enjoy more.”
Springing out of my seat, I lugged my chair toward the head of the table. I could admit to myself I was starving. I wanted to devour everything spread over the old but lovely table. But therewas no way I was doing it with the crazy one beside me and the smug one in front of me. The end of the table seemed like the best choice, vacant besides Sadira, and she appeared approving of my outbursts.
A refreshing breeze tickled my shoulders as I neared my destination. Sheer milky curtains flowed around the cracked open windows from the gusts of late evening wind, mimicking the shadows dancing on the walls.
I ripped the sheer fabric obstructing my view to the side. Lights glitteredeverywhere. The street drowned in yellow streaks streaming from the apartments, so luminous you could make out the pots of plants on the windowsills. Some shadowy silhouettes moved in the buildings, some wandered outside, both women and men mixed commingled, strolling in groups or by themselves, lingering in dimly lit corners, safe in each other’s company.
No soldiers, no guards, no wristbands.
No one had green or black bands flickering on their wrists.
Disregarding my unwilling participation in this supposed dinner, I scanned their group as they scarfed down food. Not one of them sported the mandatory bands. I checked my own wrist and blinked in surprise—I didn’t have one either.
I’d worn it for so many years, since the fertility testing at school, and now…
As if half my limb had been severed.
I felt lighter.
Freer than ever.
And no one could track me.
No bands meant neither Gedeon nor Zion could chase me if I ran. I could blend in between everyone on the streets and not a soul would know who I was or where I came from. I could sneak back into the city and figure out an explanation later on.
I bolted toward the open door.
“Good luck!” someone shouted as I left the room and turned right—we’d come from the left—aiming for the end of the hallway. It widened into a vast area, and I tripped over my feet, catching my balance at the last moment.
I already had enough bruises. Didn’t need a broken nose, too.
The space appeared to be designed for no other purpose than to create a sense of expanse. Vastness. Comfort. It wasn’t like the small, tiny, or minuscule rooms in Ilasall for efficiency and space-saving for the gradually growing population.
A door dotted each of the four walls of the enormous space. But which would lead me outside and which deeper inside? I knew we were on the first floor, having seen the on-level street view from the dining room, but I had no idea which part of the building I was in.
Multiple light bulbs hung from the high ceiling on black wires, most of them off. I took a few tentative steps into the massive hall—it could easily fit hundreds of people—and squinted to see my surroundings better. Colorful armchairs and sleek chairs occupied the corners, the leather couches filling the spaces along the walls. Time had beaten the furniture, marring it with unerasable marks and scratches visible even in the relative dimness.
“Gods, yes, do— Oh?—”
My neck swiveled so quickly toward the female voice that my nerves shrieked.
A naked woman was kneeling on a couch, the man behind her stroking between her legs.
“Who said you could talk?” he scolded.
A fire flamed low in my pelvis.
“Please, I— I can’t. I need to come,” she begged.
“What. Did. I. Say?” He delivered four loud slaps to her right ass cheek.
She jerked forward with a yelp, but the second man sitting in front of her caught her hair and jerked her head up. “Speak again, and you won’t get to come.”
My stomach tightened.
