Page 42 of Beasts of Shadows #1

I deal with my vision about Reema the same way I deal with most things.

I don’t.

Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. It was just a glimpse—one of a hundred possibilities, right? No point panicking about what might happen months or years from now.

Tonight, I have more immediate concerns.

Like surviving the Winter Solstice Festival without tipping Calea off that I know what she has planned for me.

“Okay, final fit check,” Cat announces, spinning in front of the mirror. “Do I look like the most kissable menace at this school?”

“Yes,” Reema and I say in unison, deadpan.

She does. Her outfit is worse—and by worse, I mean better—than I feared.

It’s a stunning, floor-length black evening gown, with a form-fitting silhouette that hugs every curve.

The high neckline and sleeveless design is modern and sleek.

The thigh-high slit on one side, however, really offers a sultry touch.

But it’s the silver rose on her hip that really kills me—ornate, glinting like a weapon, pinned just where her thigh disappears beneath the fabric. A warning. A dare. A promise that she knows exactly how lethal she looks.

On the other end, I’m an outcast in my rust-toned satin jumpsuit. Butterfly sleeves tickle my biceps, and the low slit up the side makes me feel self-conscious about my thighs. Especially after I spot Reema’s dress clinging seamlessly to every curve. She looks sophisticated, while I just look…

“Gold is a masculine color,” Reema reminds me while styling my hair. “It instills the wearer with success.”

She braids my coils up into something almost regal—tight plaits wrap around my head like a crown, the kind you earn, not inherit. Each twist feeds into a bun at the back, pinned so securely it might survive a war. Reema said it would hold through a duel. I’m starting to believe her.

A few curls slip free at my temples, softening the sharpness. I leave them. Let the others think it’s intentional—romantic, even. Like I didn’t just sit through an hour of yanking and pinning and burning scalp.

I catch my reflection and barely recognize myself. The girl staring back looks dangerous. Beautiful, too—but in the way of broken glass or venomous flowers. And maybe that’s the point. If I’m going to walk into a room full of gods, I might as well look like I belong.

“You’re going to give Bri an aneurysm,” I tell Cat at last.

Cat strikes a pose in the mirror. “And Jeremy. Once he’s done with you.”

That’s right. I took the third wheel in Cat’s polyamorous trio as my date for the evening. It seemed best. Subtle. Hardly suspicious.

“I’m nothing if not an equal-opportunity chaos demon,” Cat says, fastening a snowflake pin at her collar with the flair of someone accepting a crown. “Besides, it’s Frost. Monogamy takes the night off.”

Reema doesn’t respond. She’s too busy squinting at her reflection, tilting her face left, then right, then left again like a girl trying to solve an equation in the curve of her own cheekbone.

Her dress is bone-white and elegant, tailored to the inch, but she keeps tugging at the neckline like it’s going to betray her at any second. Her hair’s in a braided twist, pinned with pearl combs, and her eyes are rimmed in kohl—not too heavy, not too soft. Calculated. Like everything Reema does.

But it’s the lipstick she keeps fussing with. Bright, academic red. Like she’s trying to prove something.

She catches me staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

She studies me for a beat too long. “I’m fine, Nari.”

“Good,” I say. “Because I don’t have time to emotionally babysit anyone tonight.”

She rolls her eyes—classic Reema—and gives a little nod. “You never do.”

But I catch it. The faint tremble in her hand as she finally caps the lipstick. The kind of tremble that says this matters, even if she doesn’t want it to.

Is she upset that I haven’t asked Cody about her, yet? There just hasn’t been time.

We step into the corridor. Snow flurries fall from nowhere—suspended by old magic, cold and perfect as glass. Candles flicker midair, casting pale gold light over frosted arches and marble tile.

“I love when the gods actually try to impress us,” Cat says, stretching her arms. “Makes up for the whole unrelenting torment and existential dread vibe they usually give off.”

“Sure. Minus the part where we’re relegated to only the first floor, like second-class citizens,” I mutter.

We drift down the stairwell to the grand courtyard. The transformation is breathtaking—arches of carved ice, tables draped in pale silk, platters of white grapes and sugared pears and blades that glint like starlight. Music hums from nowhere and everywhere.

Above us, golden balconies ring the upper levels, reserved for those with divine blood or patronage. The rest of us remain below, on polished stone, pretending it doesn’t matter.

Geneir waits beneath an ice arch, dressed in green with silver cuffs, watching Reema like she’s the sun breaking over snow—cautious, reverent, already half-melted.

She approaches with deliberate grace. Not timid. Not proud. Just… sure.

Thankfully, Picca was called home for the week because her grandmother passed away, which means she’s nowhere in sight to mess things up for them.

Of course, there’s my cousin, right beside him.

Cody dressed, appropriately, in all white.

He’s pulled his blond locks out of his face and into a man bun, the scar cutting over his temple more prominent.

I don’t recognize the girl at his side—another sophomore, I presume—but his eyes are too busy consuming Reema.

Oh, Cody.

Cat peels off at the second landing. Bri’s waiting in a low-cut lavender wrap, cheeks flushed. Jeremy’s nearby, pretending not to stare. Cat greets them both with a kiss—Bri’s on the lips, Jeremy’s on the cheek—and links her arms through Bri’s like some smug, bisexual deity ready to smite.

Jeremy reluctantly offers an arm to me.

We stand there, outcasts in a sea of blues, whites, blacks, and dark purples.

“Any sign of her queen godness?” Cat wonders, taking a proffered cup.

“Not yet,” Reema replies. “They usually save all that for during the feast.”

“They’d better get the food fired up quickly, then,” Cody adds. “I’ve been starving myself all day.”

The music shifts before anyone can reply—a faint, eerie trill beneath the usual festive strings.

And then I see him.

Nikolai.

Draped in frost-gray and black, all sharp lines and easy grace, hands tucked into his coat pockets like winter itself is a fashion statement.

There’s a snowflake pinned at his collar—silver, maybe platinum—and I know without asking that it’s real.

Forged from something ancient. Dangerous. Just like him.

But it’s the girl on his arm that steals the breath from the room.

Ta?sse.

All sculpted cheekbones and venom-smirk, she walks beside Nikolai like she owns the ground beneath their feet.

Her gown is glacial blue and gauzy, woven from something sheer and shimmer-spun, barely clinging to her in strategic places.

She looks like a curse come to life. A living frostbite.

A girl built to be worshiped or warned about—maybe both.

Her red hair tumbles over her shoulders in elegant waves, and when she smiles—viciously, purposefully—two boys near the buffet drop their drinks.

I’m not sure if it’s magic or instinct that makes people step aside when she passes. Probably both.

And Nikolai lets her. Offers her his arm like it was always meant to be hers.

He doesn’t look at me.

Not right away.

But I feel it—that almost imperceptible thread snapping taut between us.

And Reema… she feels it too.

She’s watching him. Then me. Then him again.

She doesn’t say a word. But she’s putting the pieces together.

Smart girl.

Nikolai’s gaze finally meets mine, and it’s not a greeting. Not quite. It’s the flick of a blade, slow and deliberate. A test of nerve. A reminder.

Of what we did.

Of what we are.

My fingers twitch against my side. The ink beneath my skin responds to his proximity—not in a romantic way. Not even a magical one. Just like heat bleeding through fabric. Quiet. Possessive.

I wonder if he hears it—the hum beneath our skin, the mark that binds us quiet and invisible, like a curse spoken too softly to break.

I don’t let myself react.

Neither does he.

Ta?sse, however, is another story.

She notices the way his gaze lingers and drapes herself more fully against his side, whispering something into his ear with her lilting accent. Her lips brush the shell of his ear.

His expression doesn’t change.

But I see the tension in his jaw. Whatever she’s promised, it doesn’t make him happy.

Ta?sse turns her gaze on me like I’m something she found clinging to her shoe. Then she smiles. The kind of smile that’s all teeth and no warmth. The kind of smile that promises games I don’t have time for.

My spine straightens instinctively. I meet her gaze, unblinking.

Bring it, princess.

Beside me, Jeremy coughs awkwardly and mutters, “Do you want something to drink, or…?”

“I’m good,” I say, eyes still locked with Ta?sse’s.

It’s only when Nikolai finally guides her away—up toward the high table, where the gods gather above us, hidden from the lower floor’s view—that I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Well, that was unnecessarily dramatic,” Cat mutters, appearing at my side with another flute of cider. “Who brings Ta?sse as their date unless they’re trying to start a war?”

“She’s been trying to start a war since she learned how to walk,” Reema adds. Her voice is calm, but her eyes are still on me. Quiet. Assessing.

I ignore them both and pretend I don’t feel the bruise of Nikolai’s gaze still trailing over my skin like a ghost.

But even without his touch, I feel burned.

#

The music shifts—again—and this time it’s something slower. Strings and bells, soft and glimmering like snowfall. A waltz, maybe. Or the kind of melody that begs to be danced to in candlelight.

I don’t move.