Page 47 of Beasts of Shadows #1

It’s the January Bonfire Moon.

Nearly two weeks have passed since the solstice. But the cold Calea left behind hasn’t. It lingers like a bruise—quiet, deep, and pulsing.

It makes the air feel wrong.

Thicker. Stickier. Like the island’s been holding its breath all day, waiting to exhale something awful. The sky’s a shade too dark. The wind is too still. Every leaf feels like it’s listening. Like it knows something I don’t.

We huddle around the edge of the dining patio, trying to stay warm beneath heat lamps that only pretend to work. Our table’s half-covered in steam trays and crumpled napkins. A bowl of something gelatinous jiggles in the center, untouched.

Cat stabs a fried root wedge with unnecessary aggression. “Bonfire Moon is sadistic. Period. Why are we pretending it’s a party when the whole point is sanctioned terror?”

Reema snorts into her cider. “Because ‘monthly emotional trauma ritual’ doesn’t look as good on a college flier.”

“It’s not even a ritual for us,” Cat mutters. “It’s a buffet. They let the shades out, let them chase us around like chew toys, and the faculty calls it exposure therapy.”

Geneir stretches, casual as ever. “I mean… it’s kind of exhilarating. Like being in a horror movie where you might actually die.”

“That’s the attitude that gets mortals eaten,” Cat says, pointing her fork at him.

Geneir grins. “Come on. Dancing, drinking, maybe a little screaming in the woods—what’s not to love?”

“Being dragged off by a shadow with a hunger kink, for one,” Cat says.

He winks. “I like to live dangerously.”

Reema rolls her eyes. “Then you better learn how to run faster.”

I’m not really listening.

Cody’s not here. He hasn’t sat with us in a week.

He hasn't spoken to me since the steps.

Every time our eyes meet across the dining hall, he looks away like I burned him.

I keep waiting for the frost to thaw. For some sign that he’ll talk to me again.

But he doesn’t.

I’m not even sure what he’s upset about. I made his promise.

And in the meantime, I’ve finally cleared the bottom ten in the rankings. Not that anyone’s congratulating me. But at least I’ll be safe at the next semester. For now.

Geneir nudges my side. “Hey. You good?”

I nod, plastering on a smile. “Yeah. Just tired. I’m going to crash so early tonight.”

Geneir rubs Reema’s back without thinking. She doesn’t lean in. Just keeps eating, lips pressed thin. They’ve both been tense lately, and I wonder if she told him about Cody and the formal, or if it’s something else entirely.

I look down at my tray, suddenly too aware of the silence stretching between the four of us. Like it might snap.

And that’s when she shows up.

“Room for one more?”

Picca’s voice is sugar-laced venom, all warmth and warning wrapped in wine-colored lipstick. She’s wearing one of those fitted academy jackets over a navy miniskirt and thigh-high boots like the cold can’t touch her. Her hair’s twisted up with gold pins that catch the light like claws.

I didn’t realize she was back on campus. I haven’t seen her since our last session. Where we watched me kill Reema. I tighten my finger around my spoon, hoping she won’t bring it up.

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Just slides into the seat beside Geneir and rests her chin on her palm like she’s known him her whole life.

“Well, aren’t you cozy,” she says, voice smooth. “You make devotion look almost appetizing.”

Geneir blinks. “Uh—.”

“Picca,” Reema says, too bright, too brittle. “Did you need something?”

Picca smiles lazily. “Just wanted to see who was playing house. You know how Bonfire nights go. People forget themselves.”

Cat leans forward. “You mean lose themselves?”

“Same thing,” Picca says. “And some of us have been waiting a long time for that.”

She taps the rim of Geneir’s drink with a single nail. “Save me a dance?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at her, wide-eyed and maybe a little pink. Reema’s gone stiff beside him.

“I’m not going out tonight,” he says at last.

“We’ll see,” Picca retorts, ripping viciously into her slice of bread.

#

An hour later, Cat’s draped across a stone bench near the torch pit, whispering nonsense to a group of frost spirits like they’re old drinking buddies.

I should be concerned. We should be inside by now. Locked away in our roos before the night gets carried away.

Braving the full moon last month was dangerous enough. Since I still have no clue where Nikolai and I stand, despite our nuptials, and since I’m still not a full-blooded goddess like he promised, remaining outside at sundown is a terrible idea.

But all I can feel is this humming beneath my skin. A low, slow warmth. Like I’ve just stepped into a fevered bath and forgotten how to get out.

Every sound feels louder. Every light, too bright. My clothes cling like I’ve grown a second, slightly drunker skin.

By the time the screaming starts—light, playful at first, like someone got caught mid-foreplay in a broom closet—I’m warm in my skin and floating just a half-inch off the ground.

The laughter echoes too long. The shadows stretch too far.

Someone darts past me wearing nothing but antlers and glitter. No one blinks.

Bonfire Moon always pushes boundaries, but tonight? It’s different. Looser. Like reality is unraveling at the seams.

And still, all I can think about is him.

Nikolai.

I shouldn’t be. Especially after how he’s avoided me lately.

But gods help me, I am.

His mouth. His hands. The sharp line of his jaw when he’s calculating something cruel. The way he looks at me like I’m both prey and poison. Like he can’t decide whether to devour me or drown me.

The knife-edge tension from our last encounter hasn’t left my skin. I still feel it, tingling just under the surface. Like a bruise I keep pressing to see if it still hurts.

I tell myself I’m just curious. Just checking. Just wondering if he’s around. That maybe I’ll bump into him and we’ll trade barbed insults until I can walk away, satisfied.

And then—Ashki flashes through my mind. That quiet moment after the field trial, when Nikolai tried to keep her calm. How gentle he was. Not just kind— reverent . Like Ashki was someone worth honoring. Not humoring.

I didn’t imagine that.

Just like I didn’t imagine the way he stood between me and Ta?sse, calm and cold and very clear: Not her. Leave her alone.

He didn’t have to do that.

And then after the solstice, when we stood on that overlook and he handed me the cloak off his shoulders without a word. No smirk. No show. Just a small, unexpected kindness. Like he knew how cold I was but didn’t want me to feel weaker for needing warmth.

He can be cruel. But he doesn’t always choose to be.

And maybe—maybe the reason he hasn’t touched me isn’t because he doesn’t want to.

Maybe it’s the vow.

The contract.

The marriage he claims was for power, but hasn’t backed out of.

Maybe he’s waiting . Gods, maybe he’s holding back for me .

The thought makes something twist in my stomach. Something tight and aching and foolish.

Because I’ve been waiting too. Hoping.

And tonight—I’m done waiting.

I tell myself it’s just to settle things. To get clarity. But my pulse knows better. This isn’t about curiosity. It’s about heat. Hunger. Power. It’s about him.

My feet are already moving.

I don’t even pretend I’m going somewhere else. I know—I know —that it’s not curiosity pulling me toward him.

It’s something darker.

Hungrier.

#

I find him near the upper training green, surrounded by torchlight and the glint of autumn-wet leaves. The air here smells like bonfire smoke and sweet rot. Apples going soft. Sap curling out of wounded trees.

There’s not as much screaming as usual for a full moon. At least, not a lot of screaming in pain. In fact, I passed two couples going at it on my way here.

And it seems Nikolai is no different.

Of course it’s Ta?sse.

Ta?sse’s pinned him against a tree.

Of course it’s Ta?sse.

And he’s not complaining. In fact, he looks quite cozy, with his usual arrogant grin taking up his cheeks. Her hands fist in the collar of his shirt, her mouth inches from his. Her laugh is a sharp, glittering thing—knife-edged and soft at once, the kind of sound that promises ruin.

He’s not pushing her off.

Not pulling away.

Not even pretending to be bored.

I stop. My breath catches in my throat like it’s trying to claw its way out. Something primal rips in my chest—hot and furious and sick.

I shouldn’t care.

I don’t care.

I don’t.

Except I do.

Because he can’t even touch me. Because he promised not to. Because I made him promise. And whatever magic or curse binds us through our vows—he’s honored them.

And it’s only made me want to touch him more.

And yet—he lets her. Like the vows were only meant to bind me.

I stumble back a step.

He turns—like he senses me—and for one breathless second, our eyes lock. Across the torchlight and twisted roots and space I wish I’d never crossed, he sees me. Really sees me.

His sea-glass eyes are wide and bright. Sharp against the dark. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just holds me there, caught in that glint of green like I’ve wandered into the jaws of something ancient and hungry.

There’s a question in his gaze. And something else.

Something I can’t name.

Not warmth. Not guilt. Not even surprise.

But hunger, maybe. Regret. Or worse—indifference.

My throat closes. I’m suddenly too aware of my own heartbeat. Of how ridiculous I must look—lips parted, flushed, too desperate to pretend otherwise.

Just last week, he stood between us. Told Ta?sse to back off. Looked at her like a nuisance. Looked at me like I was worth protecting.

And now—this.

Then Ta?sse moves—brushing her mouth along the curve of his jaw like she owns him.

And he meets her lips, ignoring me once more.

And that’s it.

I turn.

I run.

#

The sophomore dormitory is quieter. Not quiet, but quieter. Still smells like burnt sage and sex—like the walls soaked it in and no amount of cleansing salt will ever get it out.