Between the Shadow and the Soul by Susanne Winnacker

Author:Susanne Winnacker [Susanne Winnacker]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Teen & Young Adult, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, Horror
Amazon: B00P1INULW
Goodreads: 23534277
Published: 2014-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Nela’s fingers were frozen stiff from holding onto the metal banister of the Hohenzollern Bridge. Its massive steel arches towered over Nela. The illuminated skyline spread out to Nela’s left with the sharp edged towers of the Cologne cathedral above it all, the ringing of its bell announcing midnight. At the fifth chime, Darko appeared at the end of the bridge, shadows spiraling away from him and then vanishing into thin air. After a glance around, he spotted her in the middle of the bridge and strode toward her. She’d been here for almost fifteen minutes already, trying to gather her thoughts by watching the illuminated ships glide over the black Rhine. Worry was plain on Darko’s face when he stopped beside her and rested his forearms on the banister beside her stiff fingers. Her chest tightened as it had done countless times since her mother had been taken. They still hadn’t heard from her – or if her dad had, he wasn’t telling her. It was driving her insane with fear.

Darko scanned her face, dark brows drawn together, his high cheek bones even more pronounced. “What happened?” His voice was like silk and Nela had to look away, toward a ship coming their way to stop herself from losing it. Her throat tightened as she spoke. “The Brotherhood arrested my mother.”

Darko stiffened. He too knew what that meant. The words about what happened rushed out of her and when she was done, her body was wrecked by tremors and she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Darko embraced her, enveloping her in his coat, his warmth like a blanket around her. She pressed her face into his chest with its steady heartbeat and smell of burnt wood and cloves. He was solid as she shook.

Nela realized that he was the only person she could trust completely when it came to her magic and the fate of her mother. He would never go to the Brotherhood. He understood pain and loss even though he hadn’t shared his story with her yet. He whispered soft words in a comforting voice. She didn’t understand what he was saying since she didn’t know the language he was talking in, but the gentle flow of his voice, the warmth of his breath against her neck, eased the pain for now and her tears subsided. She lifted her head, the breeze cold against her wet cheeks. Their faces were inches apart. From so close up, she noticed a small scar above his left temple for the first time. Why hadn’t he tried to remove it by magic? He raised his hand, stilling her thoughts, and wiped the tears from her face with gentle strokes.

It was the first time she saw true tenderness in his expression. The despair was gone from his dark eyes. For a moment she believed that everything could be alright. “What language was that?” Her voice was raw and quiet.

“Yugoslavian. That’s where I was born,” he said. His breath fanned over her face, smelling of peppermint and something sweet.

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