Page 41 of Beasts of Shadows #1

“Jealousy doesn’t change prophecy,” she says coldly. “It might color the edges. But it doesn’t rewrite the center.”

“She was bound,” I whisper. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?” Picca asks. “Because it didn’t look that way to me.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t me.”

She shrugs, too casual. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I want to scream. Or cry. Or run.

Instead, I force myself to breathe.

“She’s my friend,” I say. “I would never—.”

“So? Haven’t you killed your friends before?”

I don’t answer.

Because the fact is—she’s not wrong.

#

The air outside cuts like glass.

I shouldn’t be cold. It’s barely November. But this cold isn’t weather related. It’s after. After the vision. After the knife.

Reema on her knees. Me with the blade.

No.

I press forward, fists shoved deep in my coat pockets, eyes locked on the cracked path like if I look up, I’ll shatter.

And then…

“If it isn’t my favorite little morsel.”

I cringe at the purr of Nikolai’s voice.

He draws to a stop opposite me, teeth gleaming.

“Sorry. I meant ‘mortal’.”

I join him off to the side, glancing at the strange looks a she-wolf tosses us.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t a man check on his wife?”

He tries to put an arm around me. I shrug away.

“In name, only. And I don’t feel any different. I thought this arrangement would make me a god.”

Nikolai’s grin is slow. Sardonic. His light eyes dance with mischief.

“Relax, Morsel.” I make a face. “You’re the first I’ve intended to bind. The last one was… accidental. Complicated. She’s fine now. Mostly.”

“ Nikolai .” I don’t bother to hide my frustration. He’s my husband? Fine, then he can see all of me. The worst of my temper. The limit to my patience. Anything he has that I could possibly want, he’s already promised.

And I still think he’s an ass. That never changed.

“Patience,” Nikolai retorts, arms over his chest.

“How can I take on Calea the way I am right now?” I counter, squeezing my fists.

How could anyone ever mistake him for something that is not godly?

Even the way he stands carries a flair of divine arrogance—like the world should tilt to meet his gaze, and maybe it does.

I find myself doing just that, even though there’s only a few inches between us in height.

My head tips back, neck exposed, like instinct; almost in deference to him.

Realizing I’m doing it, I walk away. No reaction. That’s what he wants.

“Running again?” he asks, sauntering to keep pace. “Or just trying to outrun yourself?”

“I’m not in the mood today.”

“I didn’t realize today was somehow different from any other.”

“I had a vision,” I tell him. Truthfully, I don’t know why I do. I mean, out of everyone to confess to—confessing to Nikolai ?

“We didn’t know each other well before binding fates, but I’m pretty sure that’s your thing?” Nikolai wonders.

It’s strange, him stepping in as my confidant when just a few nights ago, I was certain he was going to kill me. Just goes to show how absolutely that vision has shaken me.

“This one was different. In it, I did something really bad.”

“Worse than killing your bed buddy? Which, for the record, I’m very thankful we agreed to leave off the table in our little arrangement.

Given your track record with killing lovers and all.

” He wiggles his dark brows, and it’s unexpectedly endearing.

Like we’re in on something together. “Although, I suppose that worked in his favor, didn’t it? ”

I frown.

“You’re onto something,” I say, before I can really think about it.

“Oh?” He looks delightfully amused, but I don’t have it in me to take him down a notch just this second.

“It might have looked like I killed Reema, but maybe there’s more to it. Maybe I was freeing her from a curse.”

“It’s a thought,” he says, although he sounds less enthusiastic now. “What’s this about your sexy friend on the chopping block?”

I roll my eyes. Married or not, I’m glad nothing’s changed.

I debate how much to tell him. We may want the same thing for now, in terms of Calea not sacrificing me, but that doesn’t mean our goals will align forever.

Or even that he has anyone’s interest but his own at heart.

Let alone Reema’s. Something tells me his “infatuation” with her is strictly superficial.

In fact, I can guarantee he only says what he does to get under my skin.

“Your mother said you’d bow to the one who bested you, right?”

“Not in those exact words,” Nikolai relents, jaw tight.

“Did she say anything else? About my fate?”

“I told you once that everyone here plays their own games. My mother, though she is no longer welcome on campus, is no different. She’ll give you just enough to understand your role in her scheme.”

“Thanksgivings must be cryptic in your house.”

“Beats fights over politics and drunk uncles. Although uncle Malec does get quite tipsy,” Nikolai retorts.

He lifts his hand, slow and deliberate, like he means to touch my cheek.

I don’t flinch. Not this time. Let him see that I’m not afraid.

But then—he freezes. His fingers hover midair, a breath from my skin.

And they don’t move.

Something pulses between us. Old. Cold. Commanding.

He tries again. Nothing.

The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a frown, but close. Calculating.

He lowers his hand—unbothered. Or pretending to be.

“You feel that?” I ask.

“I can’t touch you.” His eyes are sharp now. Focused. “It’s the vow. Your condition. ‘There will be no touching. No affection. No intimacy.’”

He looms in my space.

My throat tightens.

He’s not angry. He’s intrigued. Like someone just handed him a new lock and dared him to pick it.

“I’m flattered that you think you need protection from me.” He grins, sharp and slow.

Of course he is.

“I wonder,” he muses, “what happens if you touch me ?”

I don’t move.

I won’t.

Because the part of me that still remembers the chaos of his kiss—how it stole the breath from my lungs and rewrote every rule I thought I had—knows exactly how dangerous touching him could be.

Knows I might not stop.

Knows he might not let me.

He leans in anyway. Close enough that his breath ghosts over my skin. Close enough to tempt.

Then turns and walks away—no backward glance, no parting insult.

Just gone.

And I stand there, heart pounding, spine straight.

Because no, he didn’t need to touch me to knock me off balance.

But he should be just as worried as I am.

Because next time?

I might touch him.