Page 43 of Beasts of Shadows #1

My gaze stays trained on the upper level, where the gods are gathering above us in half-shadow. Their golden table is obscured from the mortals below, but I can feel the weight of their eyes anyway—watching, waiting, calculating.

It’s too quiet up there. Too still.

Like the moment before a massacre.

My pulse skitters against my ribs. I can still hear the shrieking wind from last time. The screams. The crack of bone on marble.

This is a trap. It has to be. A festival dressed in velvet and frost, but beneath it—blood.

I take a sip from my cider and immediately regret it. Too sweet. Too cold. Too much.

Jeremy glances down at me. “You seem worried.”

“How do we know this isn’t, like, a joint exercise?” I ask. “What if we’re on the menu?”

Jeremy laughs, plucking my cup from my grateful fingers. “This is an exercise. Just a different kind. This is about diplomacy. Etiquette and courtship rituals. Calea’s a sucker for old school.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So what—you think if we behave, she’ll let us live?”

“I think,” he says, offering his hand with a slight bow, “that if you keep staring at the upper tier like it personally insulted your ancestors, someone will start asking questions.”

I hesitate.

He wiggles his fingers. “Come on. Let’s give the people something to whisper about.”

Before I can argue, he tugs me gently toward the edge of the dance floor.

“I don’t waltz,” I tell him.

“You say that like it’s a fact, not a challenge.”

He spins me into the open space. The floor is scattered with couples—some graceful, some enchanted into submission, a few already stepping on toes.

At the far end, Reema is laughing into Geneir’s shoulder. Cat is mid-spin with Bri, and somewhere behind us, I think I hear someone groaning about enchanted heels.

“Jeremy,” I warn, “I will absolutely step on your feet.”

“Good. It’ll be no different than dancing with Bri.”

His hand settles at my waist, the other still clasping mine. I stiffen for a beat—but his grip is steady, warm. Unassuming.

Not possessive.

Not Nikolai.

And that’s the point, isn’t it?

We circle once. Twice. My body starts to remember the rhythm—back, side, together, turn. It’s easier than it should be. Easier than thinking. Easier than watching the upper tier fill with monsters who might decide we’re nothing but pretty offerings dressed in satin.

“You’re doing it again,” Jeremy hums.

“Doing what?”

“The thinking-too-hard thing.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s just my face.”

He smiles, crooked and kind. “Well, your face deserves a break.”

And for a moment, I let him give me one.

But the moment ends.

Because just as the music softens—just as I start to forget the ink beneath my skin and the weight of divine eyes overhead—I feel it.

That shift.

That pull.

That burn.

A presence brushing mine like a brand.

I glance up—and there he is.

Nikolai.

Still on the upper level, barely visible between the columns, but angled just enough that I know he’s watching. Ta?sse leans against his arm like a prize, laughing at something I can’t hear.

His eyes never leave mine.

Just stands there, expression unreadable.

But it’s enough.

Too much.

I pull away from Jeremy mid-step.

“Nari?”

“I need air.”

I don’t wait for a reply.

I slip through the crowd, past the fountains and flutes and laughter, out into the cold hall where the music fades into an echo.

I slip through the crowd, past the fountains and flutes and laughter, out into the cold hall where the music fades into echo.

Outside, the night air cuts like flint.

Snow falls in soft drifts beyond the archways, catching in my hair, my lashes. I breathe it in like punishment. Cold and bitter and clean.

I lean against the outer wall, trying to remember who I was before all this—before gods and tattoos and sacred vows under starlight.

Before I belonged to anyone but myself.

Then I hear them.

Low voices. Familiar cadences.

I round the corner and stop.

There, tucked into the archway just beyond the courtyard lights, are two silhouettes. Close. Too close.

He’s leaning back against the stone. One foot braced, hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world. She’s angled toward him—shoulders tilted, face lifted.

And their pinkies…

Their pinkies are hooked.

Not a handshake. Not an accident. Something small and deliberate and dangerous.

My heart stutters.

I step closer, just enough to catch the light slicing over familiar features.

Cody. And Reema.

My cousin. My best friend.

My lungs forget how to work.

Are they cheating on Geneir?

Or is this something older, quieter, crueler—some relic of a shared past I didn’t want to see?

Or maybe it’s nothing.

Maybe it’s just a moment. A comfort. A kindness. A thread of shared grief tied in silence.

I may not have known either long, but by now, I know what her eyes look like when she’s trying not to fall.

I know what Cody looks like when he already has.

And something inside me rips.

Because they get this.

A stolen minute under the stars.

A bond forged without blood.

A choice.

And I—I get a ballroom full of eyes I can’t trust. A god I didn’t ask for. A war I can’t win.

I want to be happy for them.

I do.

But all I feel is hollow.

And burning.

I back away before they notice. Before I scream.

Before I make it about me.

#

I keep walking.

No destination. No plan. Just motion. Just frost curling at the hem of my jumpsuit and the roaring silence in my chest. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t care. But I do. Too much. And now I’m cold, confused, and possibly on the verge of tears outside a school that would eat my weakness like a delicacy.

I round a bend, duck under an archway, and…

“I thought you were never much of a runner.”

The voice cuts through the cold like a blade. I freeze. Not the magical kind—just the kind that says: don’t turn around unless you’re ready to feel everything all over again.

I turn anyway.

Ravi stands at the edge of the overlook, arms folded.

No jacket. Just a black shirt rolled to the elbows, like the cold forgot to touch him.

Maybe gods don’t feel the cold like we do.

He’s staring out at the lights of the festival below, the blur of silk and candlelight, the music we’re both ignoring.

His eyes don’t meet mine at first.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

I swallow. “Don’t.”

He huffs a laugh—dry, humorless. “It’s not a compliment. It’s a curse. Bea wore gold once, you know. Same look. Same stubborn chin.”

“I’m not her.”

“No. You’re not.”

He says it like it’s a fact. Not a criticism. But not a comfort either.

I step closer, not sure why. Maybe because I need someone who remembers the girl I was before all this.

“Did she love him?” I ask quietly. “Bran?”

Ravi’s head turns—slow and sharp. “Yes.”

The word lands heavy, and I’m almost thankful that I can’t remember something so consuming. So devastating.

the memories would be too much on top of everything else.

“She loved him,” he says again, softer now. “More than she was supposed to. More than anyone warned her was safe. He was Calea’s husband once. You know that, don’t you?”

I nod. Barely.

“She didn’t know at first. And after a time, she didn’t care. Or maybe she did, but not enough. Not in the end. She thought love was the way forward. Thought it would redeem him. Free him. Free her.”

My throat tightens. “But it didn’t.”

“It made her a target.”

A beat.

“Calea found out,” Ravi says, almost like he’s remembering it himself. “And when she did, she made sure Bea paid the price for touching something she still considered hers. And, well, you know that ended.”

I blink. “She cursed her. Both of you.”

“She ended her,” Ravi replies. “Then cursed what was left.”

Silence. Like snowfall between thunder.

His gaze drops—zeroes in.

I freeze. Too late. His eyes are locked on my wrist.

The one I didn’t hide fast enough.

“What is that?” he says. Not a question. A threat wrapped in velvet.

I press my hand over the faint shimmer of the tattoo. “Nothing.”

“Nari.” His voice hardens. “What did you do ?”

I meet his gaze, jaw tight. “I took my fate into my own hands.”

“Is it Nikolai?” The name hits like thunder.

I don’t flinch. But I don’t answer either. I don’t need to. That’s all the answer he needs.

Ravi curses in a language I don’t understand, but feels like a wound. “You bound yourself? To Nikolai ?”

“It was a duel—.”

“Gods, Nari—.”

I lift my chin. “I won.”

He whirls around, eyes blazing. “That’s not the same as being safe .”

“It’s not the same as being his , either.”

He’s quiet. Too quiet. He glances away, fingers tangled in his hair.

Then, softly, “Did you do the concealment?”

“Reema,” I confess. His switch in topic says enough—he doesn’t want to talk about Nikolai and I anymore. Still, he studies my wrist intently.

Is he thinking about breaking the binding? Can he even do that?

“It’s strong. Not strong enough, but stronger than I’d expect.”

“That’s why I went to her. She’s a genius.”

“Hmm.”

He’s in front of me before I can think. Hands warm, breath sharp with magic and something else—panic.

“Give me your wrist.”

I hesitate.

Ravi’s voice drops to something old. Divine. “Please.”

Reluctantly, I extend my arm.

He cradles it like something sacred. Like something breakable. And then, he closes his eyes.

A rush of warmth coils around my skin—not fire, not exactly. Something deeper. Older. Like spring rising up through frostbitten soil.

When I blink, the mark is still there. But faint. Dormant. As if asleep beneath my skin.

“No one will sense it now,” Ravi says. “Not even her. Your secret is yours, as long as you wish to keep it.”

I swallow. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t let go.

His hand stays wrapped around mine like it means something. Like it remembers something. Like maybe we were always supposed to find our way back to each other.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

I look at him—really look—and for the first time, I wonder if part of him resents this. Not the binding. Not the mark.

Me.

The soul that keeps echoing through his story whether he wants it to or not. The woman who keeps coming back wearing a different name, a different shape. Always unfinished. Always dying.

What if that’s all I am to him now? A tether. A reminder.

A curse.

Your future is not in your past , Cody told me. Quiet. Certain.

I didn’t understand it then.

I think I do now.

Because Ravi isn’t reaching for me. Not really. He’s reaching for something that keeps slipping away.

And I—I don’t know if I want to be her anymore.

Whoever she was.

Whoever he sees.