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Chapter Fifteen

FELICITY FORREST

“The Shadowborn don’t fight for the light or the dark. They fight to keep the balance. And sometimes, that means becoming the very monsters they are meant to stop.”

Talora Blackthorn Shadowhart Forrest (Banished Queen)

T he bed is buried under a mountain of rejected outfits, casualties of my war against indecision. Another dress flies across the room, landing in a heap of fabric, mocking me for daring to think I could pull off perfect date attire.

Cyn would’ve whipped me into something effortlessly stunning by now with a well-placed snarky comment about my chronic jeans-and-tee addiction. She’s getting ready for her date with Tomas. So I’m stuck floundering between who I’ve always been and whoever the hell I’m becoming. My pulse is racing, though whether it’s from nerves over Niall or the questions brewing inside me, I can’t quite say. Probably both.

I send another dress sailing through the air, landing in the growing pile of ‘absolutely not’ outfits. The sharp rap of something striking glass cuts through my frustrated muttering. I freeze, turning to the window. A raven sits there, its feathers so black they seem to devour the light. Its eyes, twin beads of onyx, are fixed on me with unsettling intensity.

“Seriously? Not now,” I snap, waving a hand to shoo it away.

It doesn’t budge. It cocks its head to the side, the movement somehow both curious and condescending.

“Fine. Be my judgmental audience,” I huff, returning to my wardrobe mess.

The raven doesn’t move, and something about its unflinching stare crawls a shiver down my spine.

I don’t spare it more thought. I send another dress flying across the room, rejected without mercy. Thank fuck for rolling everything tight and packing this suitcase to the absolute limit. The raven keeps tapping at the window.

“Not now,” I mutter, holding up a blue and white sundress for inspection. It’s simple, flirty, and casual enough to keep this date from feeling like a life-or-death negotiation. The neckline is high enough to cover the mark. I grab a white sweater for the evening chill and drape the outfit over the chair. “That’ll do.”

The raven taps again, louder this time. Persistent little bastard. I shoot it a glare but still don’t open the window. “Be my guest. Judge away,” I snap before heading for the shower.

Hot water streams over me, but it does nothing to wash away the nerves prickling under my skin. Niall. He’s not someone I can walk away from.

Our connection is magnetic, powerful, and downright terrifying. Part of me wants to lean into it. The other part? That part of me clings to the scars of past breakups, the ache of losing my parents. But as the thought settles, a strange image flickers at the edges of my mind.

A woman’s face, which is oddly familiar, surfaces in my thoughts. Not my mum. I know that. I remember that. She’s there anyway, her gaze sharp with a tough-love kind of compassion. A no-bullshit presence. The type of woman who would have told me to stop running from the truth and face it head-on.

I shake my head, swallowing hard. My memories are clear. They have to be. I was adopted. My parents are gone. That’s the truth. It has to be. Cyn is my only anchor. Trusting anyone else, especially someone like Niall, feels stupid. So why does it feel like something beneath the surface is shifting, like a puzzle I didn’t know I was solving is missing too many pieces?

I turn off the water, step into the cold air, and wrap myself in a towel. The bathroom mirror fogs over as I stare at my reflection. I crack open the window to dispel the mist. Water clings to my skin like a lover’s caress. It’s not comforting, not with so many questions clawing at my mind.

I pull the sundress on, its soft fabric brushing against my skin, and slide into the matching underwear I always save for moments like this. The kind that says I’m ready even when I’m not. I pull my hair back into a loose ponytail and swipe on enough makeup to look like I haven’t been losing my mind all day.

I’m almost done swiping on mascara when the flutter of wings and a heavy thud jerk my attention to the dresser. A sleek raven is perched on it. Before I can blink, it flits towards the bed in a swirl of shadows.

What’s left standing there isn’t a bird.

It’s a woman.

Rock-goth vibes radiate off her in waves. Black leather moulds to her like a second skin, her long, dark hair cascading over one shoulder with a practised flick. But her eyes—purple-blue and endless, like the night sky—pin me in place.

“Shade! Why didn’t you meet me?” she demands.

I blink, the mascara wand still poised in my hand. “Meet you? Shade? You must have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t even know who you are.”

Her smirk is pure trouble. “Liora Darkraven. Princess Liora Darkraven, if you’re into titles. You can call me Liora. I’m your half-sister.”

Half-sister. The word punches me in the gut, rattling around my brain without sticking. She must see the disbelief written all over my face because her smirk widens.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” I say, lowering the wand and letting sarcasm seep into my tone. “And how exactly does a raven decide to crash into my hotel room for a family reunion?”

Liora laughs. “Let’s just say our family tree has more twists than most. And you, dear sister, are about to get thrown into the deep end. I was hoping for more time, but we’re already playing catch-up.”

I stare at her like she’s sprouted another head. “Catch-up? Yeah, no thanks. I’m not playing your game, but I’ll add it to my to-do list, right under ‘lose my mind’ and ‘call a shrink.’”

Her grin sharpens. “Oh, you’re more than in the game, darling. You’re practically holding the rulebook, whether you like it or not.”

“Rulebook?” I narrow my eyes, my chest tightening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She tilts her head, looking far too pleased with herself. “Heritage. Power. Shadows. Take your pick, Felicity. But make it quick. Things are about to get messy.”

I shake my head, trying to keep my temper. “Explain. Slowly. Pretend I’m two.”

Liora raises an eyebrow, but she obliges. “Thanks to your mum, you’re part Shadowborn Witch and part demon. Shadowborn are meant to travel between the Ironlands (that’s your world), our world, then the in-between, and the Otherworld. Hunt dark fae and demons who step out of line, keeping everything neatly contained where it belongs. You’re one of the last.” She crosses her arms, her leather creaking. “And thanks to your Mum’s little dalliance with our dear old Dad, you’ve got Crimson Court blood for extra royal flair. Vampirish dark fae, specialising in shadows, shifting, and blood magic. Let’s just say you’re not exactly the girl next door.”

My jaw drops. Steam from the shower clings to the room, mingling with the scent of leather from Liora’s outfit. The grounding smell does nothing to steady me. “You’re telling me I’m basically a creature feature in a horror movie marathon?”

“Spot on, but with better hair,” Liora quips, grinning. Her humour fades as her tone turns grave. “I didn’t know you existed until recently, or I’d have come sooner. You were hidden with humans, wrapped in glamour to keep you safe. Blending in. But it wasn’t enough. When an assassin found you anyway, your Mum struck a deal.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “And what, pray tell, does a princess want with me? I thought I was just some girl from London. So, what’s the catch? Do I have powers? A kingdom to save?”

Liora nods. “The catch is, you’re more powerful than you know. An impossible combination no one’s ever seen before. But your humanity makes you an abomination to the Crimson Court, even if you’re technically the heir.”

I flop down on the bed, head spinning. “Right. So my life is a lie. I’m a walking, talking supernatural cocktail. Fantastic.”

Liora perches on the edge of the bed, her expression softening. “Not a lie. Let’s call it a strategic omission. You’re Shadow’s Choice, touched with humanity. It’s what makes you special and powerful. And royally complicated. You hold royal titles in more than one court.”

“Brilliant.” I run a hand through my damp hair, half-expecting to wake up. “When do I get my crown and sceptre? Do they come with a handbook, or do I just wing it and hope for the best?”

Liora leans forward to comfort me, but she hesitates when I flinch. “No handbook. But you’ve got me. And believe me, being a mutt has its perks.”

“Perks?” I repeat, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Oh, yeah, I can’t wait to show potential boyfriends the family photo album. That’ll go over well.”

Liora shakes her head. “We don’t have time for this. Your powers, your bloodline , it’s all coming to a head. This isn’t a family reunion. You’re in danger, and there’s more at stake than you know.”

Liora’s head snaps up, her features sharpening as if she’s heard something I can’t. “Someone is coming. We’ll talk again. Be ready.”

Her cold voice slips inside my head. -Oh, and by the way, mating with Niall? Not a smart move.-

My stomach twists as I glare at her retreating figure. “Well, that ship has already sailed. Or burned to ash,” I mutter. What the hell does that even mean for us? For me?

Liora’s lips curve slightly, as if my frustration amuses her, but she doesn’t reply. Her form shimmers, shrinking and collapsing into a sleek black raven.

“Wait.” My brows knit together as I stare at the bird. “Why did you call me Shade?”

She tilts her head in one final, knowing look before leaping into the air, wings slicing through the lingering steam. The window rattles as she vanishes into the twilight.

The door crashes open behind me. Cyn strides in, grabbing her phone from the nightstand. “Left this,” she mutters, then pauses, giving me a once-over. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Bird watching,” I blurt out. Seriously, Felicity? Bird watching?

Cyn squints, doubtful but clearly deciding not to dig into my weirdness. “Right. Well, Tomas and I are heading out. Don’t wait up!” She flashes a grin and disappears as quickly as she arrives, leaving the door swinging shut behind her.

I suck in a shaky breath. My life is an unholy nightmare. Shadowborn Witch. Demon. Fae princess. And human, apparently, though I’m struggling to feel anything close to normal right now. Oh, and let’s not forget the date looming over me. Niall, who’s somehow as caught in this madness as I am.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. Princess Liora Darkraven. My half-sister. A raven who dropped life-shattering truth bombs on me like it was just another Tuesday. I thought tonight would be about making sense of my relationship with Niall, but now it’s about piecing together an identity I never asked for and can barely comprehend.

Her warning is like a splinter burrowing deeper with each passing second. Mating with Niall? She made it sound like a death sentence. Or worse. Is this connection I feel for him some twisted family curse?

I glance at the mirror, my reflection almost unrecognisable. The same face, but the hazy lavender shadows behind the eyes? That’s new. And it feels more dangerous. I take a slow, deep breath, grounding myself, even as the lights in the room flicker ominously. A little too on-brand for my newfound identity.

I grab my sweater, slipping it over my shoulders as I head for the door. Whatever this is, this bond, I have to see it through. I have to survive dinner with Niall without spiralling into questions I can’t answer.

The lights flicker again as I step outside, the cool evening air biting my skin. The magic in my blood hums. Liora’s admission leaves me raw. I need more answers. Soon. Thank fuck, I’ve got a date with a man who might know more about my heritage than he’s letting on. If I don’t shatter us both, I plan on finding out.

* * *

NIALL O’LEARY

Felicity steps into Tí Joe Watty’s like she owns the place, and every head in the pub turns. She’s not even trying, and still, she’s magnetic. That sundress clings to her curves just enough to make my thoughts go straight to sin. Hell, even my stallion stops pacing in my head to take notice.

I push back my chair, watching as she strides toward me with all the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing. I have no doubt half the bastards in this place are already wondering what it’d take to get burned.

She stops in front of me, head tilted, lips curving in that slow, wicked way that makes my blood burn. “See something you like?”

I stand, letting my gaze drag over her, slow and deliberate. “Aye, love.” My voice dips lower now that she’s close enough to hear it. “You’re a fucking vision. Walking temptation.”

She smiles, and it’s so sexy and a little evil that I actually shudder. Fuck. “Flattery already? I thought you’d at least wait until after the first drink.”

I pull out her chair because I might as well commit to this courting nonsense Tomas keeps going on about. She raises a brow but doesn’t argue, sinking into the seat with an effortless grace.

“Oh, so you do know how to behave in public.” she teases. “Look at you, all refined.”

I lean in far enough to catch the scent of her. “Let’s not get carried away. I’m just softening you up for later, but you keep taunting me like that? It’s taking every ounce of restraint not to bend you over this table.”

She laughs, the sound curling through me like a goddamn spell. “Mmmm…What if I want to skip to the good part?”

Gods, this woman is torture. “That’s a dangerous game to play with me, a stór . You might not be able to walk out of here if we do.”

Then she shrugs off her sweater, draping it across the back of the chair, and I swear the pub gets quieter. The neckline of her dress dips low, teasing just enough to make me want to drag her out of here and back to my bed. My gaze flicks to the men around us. A few steal appreciative glances. It takes everything I have not to bare my teeth at them like a vampirish dark fae from the Crimson Court.

She belongs to us, my stallion growls, his voice dark and possessive. For once, I don’t argue.

Felicity doesn’t fidget. She doesn’t shrink. She meets my stare head-on, her lips curving in a way that’s almost challenging . “You gonna keep looking, or do you plan on feeding me first?”

I chuckle. “Oh, I plan on feeding you, love. Question is—” I lean in, dropping my voice just for her, “—are you ready for what’s on the menu?”

Her smirk doesn’t waver. “Starving.”

“Aye, I can’t imagine what worked up such an appetite, Shadow Witch,” I tease, letting my voice dip enough to make her feel it.

She tilts her head, dragging a single finger down my arm. “I’m sure you have theories, but I’ll let you wonder.”

Fecking hell, I love this woman.

I drag my gaze over her, slow and deliberate. “I’d rather hear you say it. Preferably in that sweet little voice you use when you’re begging.”

Her lips part, her tongue running briefly over her bottom lip before she leans in enough to make me insane. “Aww, did that little voice do things to you? Poor thing.”

Shite. I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re enjoying this, but you’re terrified, aren’t you?”

But just as I think she’s about to hit me with another sharp retort, her fingers drift to the chain around her neck, toying with the pendant like she’s trying to ground herself. The shift is subtle, but I catch it—the way her breath hitches, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

Not the kind of nerves that come with danger. I’m pretty sure she knows how to handle that. No, this is something else.

She exhales, straightening her spine like she’s bracing for battle. “I’m shit at this,” she admits. “Dating. Whatever the fuck this is. It’s been a long time since I’ve even tried.”

I blink. My voice is gentler but still laced with that teasing edge. “If it makes you feel better, this is uncharted territory for me too.”

She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to decide if I’m lying, not knowing I can’t without spectacularly uncomfortable consequences and the bond would probably give me away. “Really?”

I grin. “Aye, being on a date with a beautiful woman like you isn’t something I usually do.”

Her eyes widen. “I don’t believe that.”

A frown tugs at my lips. Felicity has no idea how she’s gotten under my skin, how every little smile makes me feel like I’ve won something precious. “You think I make a habit of wining and dining women?”

She shrugs, giving me a once-over. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes. I’d be shocked if you weren’t in high demand. I’m sure women throw themselves at you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Aye, but I usually don’t date them. I take what I want. I’ve never wanted anything like this .”

Her lips twitch upward, a small victory I’ll take any day.

Caitlin interrupts, dropping menus onto the table. Felicity glances at me, her gaze still holding a hint of curiosity. “What can I get you to drink?” the waitress asks.

“Tom Crean Irish Lager,” I reply without looking away from Felicity.

“And you, miss?”

“Water, please,” she says, her voice steady despite the faint blush staining her cheeks.

The waitress leaves. Felicity’s gaze sharpens, catching me off guard.

“So,” she begins, leaning forward slightly, her finger tracing the edge of the menu. “Where exactly are you from, Niall?”

Her question is innocent enough, but there’s a flicker of curiosity and something sharper. Suspicion, maybe. She’s fishing. I’m not keen on being caught. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Her brow arches, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, you’d be surprised what I’m willing to believe these days.”

Damn, she’s good. Too good. I might find her persistence annoying if she weren’t so gorgeous. Instead, it’s compelling. I lower my voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “It’s a place that’s more myth than map.”

Her smirk deepens. “That’s not an answer.”

I hesitate, deciding how much to share. “The short version? Tír na Scáil is a barrier, a world built on magic to keep ours divided from your Ironlands. Keeps the monsters where they belong, stops the past from coming back to bite us all in the arse. Beyond that, there’s the In-Between and the Otherworld. Shadows and endless trouble. And then, of course, there’s the delightful mindfield of fae politics. Seven courts, seven headaches. There used to be eight.”

She crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes. “And you? Which court do you play politics for?”

“Wraithwind. But if you’re imagining ballrooms and politicking, you’re way off.”

Her eyes search mine, and she bites her lip. “And these courts you mentioned? What are they like?”

I chuckle. “Now you’re digging for the juicy bits. Mine is full of tricksters, púca shapeshifters who’ll charm you blind and laugh while you try to figure out what’s real. Then there’s the Crimson Court. Imagine vampire fae with wings and a thirst for blood magic. Delightful lot.”

Her brows knit, a flicker of something I can’t place crosses her features until she schools her expression. “You sound like you don’t trust them.”

“I trust them to look out for themselves, which is why I keep my distance. The Obsidian Court, though? They’re in a league of their own. Shadowborn witches and demons, ruling the darker corners with an iron will and zero patience for lies. They’re not ones to cross.”

Her lips press into a thin line as she studies me. “And the others?”

She’ll find out soon enough. No point sugarcoating it. “The Aerielis Court? Sylphs. They’ve got angelic wings and magic that could light up the darkest soul, but don’t let that fool you. We haven’t exactly patched things up with them. The Uisce Court? Naiads from the lake and merrows from the sea, constantly at each other’s throats. The Shade is home to the Glimmers, who live for mischief. And then there are the reapers from Dreadmist Isle. Banshees, harbingers of death. They’re not all bad, but trust me, you don’t want to piss them off.” I keep my tone casual, but my eyes lock on hers, daring her to flinch. “That’s the short version, Shadow Witch. Welcome to my world.”

Her lips quirk into a hesitant smile. “You make it sound like some kind of soap opera.”

My grin is all teeth. “Oh, love, it’s far worse than that. Soap operas at least pretend to have endings.”

Tomas—the fae who once tore someone’s head off because he ‘didn’t like his mouth breathing’—introduced me to human entertainment on the telly back at the cottage. He makes dark fae weep with a single glare and now spends his evenings glued to Bridgerton . And I mean glued . He’s got theories about Lady Whistledown, refuses to forgive Anthony for screwing things up with Kate, and once hurled a tankard across the room shouting, ‘NOT HER BANGS!’

And the shipping. Gods, the shipping. I still don’t fully understand it, but Tomas will gleefully discuss why Daphne and Simon are endgame while sharpening his knife. Crazy bastard.

I sigh. “In our world? The drama never ends. It boils over into blood feuds and eternal grudges. It makes your soap operas look like nursery rhymes.”

Her expression softens into something more thoughtful. “So it’s all grudges and betrayals. But the Shadowborn—where do they fit in the picture?”

My smile slips, replaced by something colder. I hate talking about the Shadowborn. Not because they scare me, though they damn well should, but because the story always ends the same. Badly.

“They’re not just part of the picture,” I say, leaning closer. “They paint it. There was a Shadowborn Witch pulling the strings for every power play and betrayal. Dark fae hunters, loyal to no one but their purpose. They no longer hunt, and for all I know, they’re nothing more than ghosts.”

Felicity tilts her head, her expression a careful mask, but the glint in her eyes gives her away. “So they were enforcers? Keeping the big, bad fae from running amok?”

I bark a laugh, low and humourless. “Not enforcers. Leashes. They kept the monsters, the creatures, and the darkest parts of us from spilling into the rest of the world. Some say the shadows chose gifted mortal witches to serve the Obsidian Court. Others whisper that it was obsidian magic that made them.”

She shifts in her seat, her fingers tapping against her thigh like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “And those whispers? What do you believe?”

“I believe the myth, like most fae elders.” My voice drops, quieter now, more deliberate. “The story of Badb, Macha, and Nemain, calling on the shadows in one last desperate act to create a hybrid race strong enough to bridge all realms. Those three? The Morrígan? Not exactly around to confirm or deny, and the book that holds the truth? Still lost.”

Her gaze locks on mine. “But they’re gone, right? No one’s seen one in—what?”

I nod. “The Shadowborn don’t exist anymore. Haven’t for ages. But here’s the thing about shadows, they never really leave. And the places they live? The In-Between. Grey. The spaces where all the dangerous things love to hide.”

Her brow furrows, tension lining her jaw. “If they’re gone, why does it feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

I almost smile. Almost. “Because the question you should be asking isn’t whether they exist. It’s what might crawl out of the dark to replace them.”

The pub door creaks open, letting in a gust of cold wind that snakes around the room like it’s looking for something or someone. It’s subtle, but the chill sinks deep, dragging a foreboding that tastes too much like home.

My beast shifts. He feels it, too. And this? This is more than a storm rolling in. My gaze flicks to the window in time to catch a shadow slipping past. Too fast, too deliberate. Too other.

Shit.

Someone from my world is here.

My chest restricts as the implications hit, the danger it brings to Felicity. They wouldn’t come here without a damn good reason or unless they were looking for something or someone.

Felicity notices. Fucking hell. She’s too damn smart for her own good. Her eyes narrow as she glances between me and the window, her fingers tightening around the menu. “Niall, what’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? Everything. The whole house of cards I’ve been building could come crashing down if whoever is out there decides to stroll in and pick a fight. I can’t tell her that. Not until I know what, or who, I’m dealing with.

I paste on a casual smile, like my nerves aren’t wound tighter than a bowstring. I offer her a half-truth. “Nothing. Thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her expression doesn’t shift, but her eyes give her away. A flicker of doubt, sharp and assessing. She sees right through me but doesn’t call me out. She lifts her menu, like she’s suddenly deciding between a burger and fish and chips.

Her lips curve, but it’s all for show. The smile doesn’t touch her eyes.

I should say something to keep her from asking the questions she’s already turning over in her mind. The truth is, I’m too busy listening. The magic surrounding us hums with the promise of violence.

And whoever’s out there? They’re not leaving. They’re watching us.