Page 33 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 32

Dorian

Freedom feels like falling.

For the first time in three months, time flows naturally through me—no more fractures, no more endless loops of the same moment. My skin tingles where Frankie’s mark claims me, the place where curse marks used to spider now smooth and whole. My frost patterns spread without the usual temporal distortions, pure and unconstrained.

I’m twenty-two. Just twenty-two.

No more pretending at ancient wisdom. No more hiding behind carefully constructed walls of academic distance. Just a young man who organized books by lunar phase and stress-cleaned the library during finals week. The weight of centuries lifts, leaving me dizzyingly light.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Frankie murmurs against my chest. Her shadows curl lazily around my frost, protective and possessive in equal measure. Through our newly forged bond, I feel her satisfaction mingled with lingering concern.

I tighten my arms around her, savoring how she fits perfectly against me. My frost patterns dance with her shadows, creating delicate swirls in the air above us. “It’s strange,” I admit quietly. “Feeling... normal.”

She lifts her head, dark eyes searching my face. Through our bond, I catch flickers of how she sees me—younger, softer, more real. “Normal might be stretching it. You color-coded the entire demonology section.”

“That was one time,” I protest, then pause as my frost betrays my embarrassment. “Well, this month.”

Her laugh, rare and precious, fills our hidden corner of the library. Through our newly forged bond, I feel her contentment mingling with mine—and beneath it, a curl of curiosity that makes my frost patterns shift in response.

“Tell me about growing up here,” she says softly, her shadows unconsciously reaching for my essence. “With your uncle.”

I trace patterns on her bare shoulder, watching frost follow my fingers. Memories surface without the usual temporal distortion that used to make everything blur together. “Uncle Everette tried so hard to give me a normal childhood. Even after the curse... he’d find me reorganizing the ancient texts at three AM and just... sit with me. Start telling ridiculous stories about his own academic mishaps.”

“Like what?”

“Like the time he insisted on teaching me about temporal theory using interpretive dance,” I say, frost swirling with the clear memory of Uncle Everette turning his immortal wisdom into something approaching comedy just to make me smile. “Three hundred years of knowledge, and that’s how he chose to explain paradoxes.”

Frankie’s laugh vibrates against my chest, her shadows dancing playfully with my frost. “Did it work?”

“Disturbingly well, actually. Hard to forget the concept of causality when you’ve watched your immortal uncle pirouette through an explanation of temporal loops.”

Her fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, leaving trails of shadow essence that make my frost respond. “Must have been strange though—him being immortal but not understanding the shadow shifter part of you.”

“He tried.” I catch her hand, studying the contrast of our essence in the moonlight—shadow and frost creating intricate patterns where we touch. “Spent decades collecting books about shadow essence, consulting experts. Not that it helped much when my powers first manifested. He just sort of... stood there looking panicked while I accidentally froze half the library.”

“Half the library?” Her shadows curl with amusement.

“Mother’s heritage combined with temporal instability made for some interesting childhood incidents.” I pause as memory strikes suddenly, frost patterns stilling. “Speaking of instability...”

Frankie props herself up on an elbow, catching my shift in tone through our bond. “The shadow-pushed collection?”

“Yes.” My frost spreads unconsciously as concern grows. “They’re in a temporally sealed chamber beneath us. With the curse broken...” I sit up, implications hitting hard. “The seals were tied to my curse-bound essence. They might not be stable anymore.”

Through our bond, I feel her quick strategic assessment, shadows coiling with sudden alertness. “How many?”

“Seventeen. All the ones you pushed through shadows that I managed to catch and contain.” I start reaching for my clothes, new urgency pressing. “We should check. Now.”

“Seventeen?” Frankie sits up, her shadows writhing with sudden tension. “Where exactly in this library are they?”

“Sub-basement level.” I gesture vaguely downward while searching for my shirt. “Through the old card catalog room that everyone thinks is storage. I’ve been containing them in a temporally locked chamber.”

“In the library.” Her tone is flat, though her shadows betray her concern. “You’ve been keeping seventeen dangerous criminals in the university library.”

“Where else would I keep them? The student union?” I try for dignity despite being half-dressed, my frost patterns betraying my growing unease. “Besides, the temporal containment merged well with the library’s existing wards. And I had easy access for monitoring.”

“How very... practical of you.” Through our bond, I feel her amusement warring with concern. “Should we get the others?”

I pause in rebuttoning my shirt, considering. The curse’s absence makes thinking clearer, more immediate. “Perhaps just Bishop. If the containment is failing, his Guardian magic might help stabilize it.”

“And if it’s not failing?”

“Then we can all go back to pretending I don’t have a makeshift prison under the classics section.”

Frankie stands, her shadows helping her locate scattered clothing. “Only you would hide a secret detention facility behind the card catalogs.”

“They’re an excellent organizational system that deserved better than digital obsolescence,” I say primly, frost betraying my attempt at scholarly distance. The curse might be gone, but some habits remain.

“Of course that’s what you focus on.” She finishes dressing and reaches for me, her essence automatically twining with mine. “Alright, show me this absolutely-not-concerning secret prison of yours.”

The card catalog room feels different as we descend—colder, wrong somehow. My newly mortal senses prickle with unease even before we reach the hidden door. Without the curse’s protection, I feel the wrongness more acutely.

“Something’s not right,” Frankie murmurs, her shadows stretching ahead of us like dark tentacles. “The air feels...”

“Corrupt,” I finish, frost patterns spreading unconsciously across the walls. The temporal locks I’ve maintained for months hang broken, their complex patterns shattered like ice. Without my curse-bound essence to sustain them, they’ve failed completely.

When the chamber door swings open, the emptiness hits like a physical blow. Where seventeen contained criminals should be, there’s only void-touched darkness eating through the floor. My frost recoils from it instinctively.

“No,” I breathe, watching my patterns crack and splinter as they touch the corruption. “The containment was perfect. I checked it daily.”

Frankie’s shadows probe the corruption, recoiling instantly. Through our bond, I feel her horror. “Dorian, this isn’t just void energy. It’s... hungry.”

She’s right. The darkness writhes with unnatural purpose, consuming everything it touches. My newly mortal senses scream danger as I watch her reach further with her powers, tracking the spread.

“It’s under the whole island,” she says, voice tight. “The void isn’t just pressing in from outside—it’s eating its way up through the ground. And they...” She stops, shadows curling with horror.

I know what she’s sensing. The void didn’t just free our prisoners.

It consumed them.

Used their essence to grow stronger.

“We need to warn the others.” My voice sounds distant even to my own ears, frost spreading in erratic patterns. “If it’s coming up from below...”

“The whole campus is compromised.” Frankie’s already reaching for shadows, preparing to transport us. “Everything we thought was safe...”

“Isn’t.” I take her offered hand, letting her shadows wrap around us. My last glimpse of the chamber shows void corruption spreading up the walls like hungry veins, my frost powerless to stop it.

We emerge in the cafeteria where we left the others. The party’s warmth feels obscene now, knowing what lurks beneath our feet. Through our new bond, I feel Frankie’s emotions crash against mine—horror at the loss, determination to protect, and underneath it all, a terrible certainty.

Seventeen lives.

Seventeen souls.

Consumed by the dark.

And it’s still hungry.

As Leo’s sisters continue their tipsy karaoke, oblivious to what we’ve discovered, I feel it through our newly forged bond—Frankie’s quiet resolve solidifying. The void consuming those seventeen souls has only strengthened her conviction. She’s always been willing to sacrifice herself, but now...

Now she sees it as inevitable.

“Don’t,” I whisper, gripping her hand tighter as my frost patterns betray my fear. “I can feel what you’re thinking.”

She meets my eyes, and for a moment I see everything she’s not saying. How the void’s hunger reminds her of her own darkness. How she’s already calculating what her and Finn’s combined power might do against that consuming emptiness.

“We need to tell them,” is all she says, but through our bond, I feel her love—for me, for the pack, for everyone in this room. Feel how that love feeds her determination to protect us all, no matter the cost.

The irony burns like frost in my veins. I’m finally free of my curse, finally young and whole and hers , only to feel her slipping toward sacrifice with each passing moment.

“Bishop,” I call out, my frost patterns betraying my urgency even as I try to maintain composure. His Guardian marks pulse in response as he breaks away from his conversation with Matteo. “We have a situation.”

The void pulses beneath our feet, hungry and patient. Through our new bond, I feel how Frankie senses it—like a living darkness waiting to devour everything we love. My frost spreads unconsciously, trying to protect against something I can’t fight.

Bishop’s tactical mind engages instantly—I see it in how his posture shifts, how his marks glow brighter as his eyes scan the room full of people we need to protect. “How far has it spread?”

“Under the entire island,” Frankie answers, her shadows coiling restlessly. “It’s not just pressing in from the edges anymore. It’s beneath us, eating its way up.”

Matteo appears silently at her other side, new fangs flashing as he scents the air. “That’s what’s been wrong. The corruption in the air—it’s coming from below.”

Through our various bonds, I feel the pack’s rising tension. Feel Leo’s sunshine presence dim as he catches our expressions. Feel Matteo’s predator nature rising in response to Frankie’s determination. But most of all, I feel her—our newly forged connection making her thoughts crystal clear.

If the void can consume seventeen souls so easily...

If it’s already under the island...

Then maybe sacrifice is the only answer.

“We need to evacuate,” Bishop says, already reaching for his phone. “Get everyone off the island before-”

A low rumble cuts him off. Glasses rattle on tables. The karaoke machine squeals feedback. My frost patterns splinter as I sense the temporal disturbances caused by the void’s movement.

“It’s accelerating,” I say, watching my frost spread across the floor as I track the corruption’s progress. “The consumption of those prisoners must have given it enough power to-”

Another rumble, stronger this time. Through our bond, I feel Frankie’s decision crystallizing, her shadows already reaching with terrible purpose.

“Get them out,” she says quietly. “All of them. Now.”

“Frankie-” I start, but she cuts me off with a kiss that tastes like goodbye. My frost mingles with her shadows one last time, desperate to hold on.

“I love you,” she whispers against my lips. “All of you. That’s why I have to-”

The ground shudders violently, crumbling at the edges of the cafeteria. We all freeze, watching darkness seep through widening cracks—then, inexplicably, it stops. The void pulses beneath us like something taking a deep breath. My newly mortal senses scream at its wrongness.

“It’s gathering strength,” Bishop says quietly, Guardian marks pulsing as he reads the energy. “We have maybe hours before...”

“Before it consumes everything,” I finish, feeling Frankie’s grip tighten on my hand. Through our bond, her love wars with her determination to protect us all.

“Right then,” Andy says, cutting through the heavy silence. She looks at Leo’s sisters, then at my uncle, something passing between them that makes him actually blush. “Girls, you’re coming with us. Plenty of room above the bar.”

“But Leo-” Liliana starts, eyes wide with fear, her newly manifested shadows curling anxiously.

“Will be fine,” Luna cuts in, lawyer-voice hiding her own concern. “Right, hermanito?”

Leo manages his signature grin, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Through our bonds, I feel how much it costs him to stay bright for his sisters. “Course I will. Go with Andy and Abigail. Keep an eye on Uncle Everette for Dorian.”

My uncle straightens his perpetually crooked tie, his temporal essence reaching instinctively for Andy’s shadows. “Yes, well... purely for safety reasons, of course.”

“Of course,” Andy’s lips twitch. “Nothing to do with that bottle of scotch I’ve been saving.”

Through the growing cracks, I notice Finn and Tori slipping away—their light and shadows twining together as they disappear down a dark hallway. No goodbyes, no explanations needed. They’re choosing their own last moments, just as we all must.

“The pack house,” Frankie says once the others have gone, leaving just us—her four claimed mates. Her shadows reach for each of us in turn, carrying equal measures of love and determination. “One more night.”

“One perfect night,” Leo adds softly, his hand finding Matteo’s, their shadows merging.

Bishop nods, understanding in his eyes as his Guardian marks pulse. “Together.”

Through our bond, I feel Frankie’s love for us all—fierce and bright against the void’s growing darkness. Feel her determination to make these last hours count. My frost patterns dance with her shadows, memorizing every moment.

“Together,” she agrees, reaching for shadows to transport us home.

As Frankie’s shadows envelop us, I catch one last glimpse of the cafeteria—cracks spider-webbing across the floor, darkness seeping through like hungry veins. My frost traces the patterns of corruption, documenting their spread with academic precision even now.

We materialize in the familiar warmth of the pack house living room. Through our various bonds, I feel everyone’s emotions tangling together—Leo’s determined brightness, Matteo’s protective fury, Bishop’s tactical mind already planning, and Frankie...

Frankie’s love burns brighter than the void’s darkness, but underneath it I feel her resolve hardening. Feel how she catalogs each touch, each moment, storing them away like precious things.

“Don’t start planning yet,” Leo says suddenly, his shadows reaching for all of us. “Just... be here. With us. Now.”

“The void-” Bishop starts, but Matteo cuts him off with a gentle touch.

“Will still be there in the morning,” he says softly. “Give us tonight.”

Through our new bond, I feel Frankie’s gratitude as she pulls us all closer. My frost patterns merge with their shadows, creating intricate designs in the air around us. For the first time since losing my curse, I feel truly anchored—not by temporal magic, but by them.

“Tell me about the library’s organizational system,” Frankie whispers against my neck, making the others groan.

“Really?” Leo flops dramatically across us all. “That’s what you want to discuss on our last night together?”

“It makes him happy,” she says simply, and through our bond I feel her truth—how she treasures each of our quirks, our passions, our individual ways of loving.

So I tell them about lunar phase cataloging while Leo pretends to snore. About color-coding systems that make Bishop’s academic heart sing. About the precise art of shelf organization that makes Matteo smile indulgently.

And if my voice shakes sometimes, if my frost patterns betray my fear of losing this...

Well, they love me anyway.

All of me.

Even the parts that organize books by astronomical events.

Even the parts that are just a twenty-two-year-old pretending at wisdom.

Even the parts that are terrified of tomorrow.

The void pulses beneath us, hungry and waiting.

But for now, we have this.

For now, we have each other.

For now, we are whole.