Page 7 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 6

Matteo

My reflection in the medical wing window shows shadow marks spreading across my skin like spilled ink, darker against my brown skin in the fluorescent lighting. The sterile hospital scent mixes with antiseptic and something else—corruption, hovering just at the edge of my enhanced senses. Inside the room, my mother’s voice rises and falls in familiar healing chants, the Hindi syllables that once soothed my childhood nightmares now a stark contrast to the violence itching under my skin.

The midnight corridor feels too small, too contained for what I’m becoming. Every sound echoes—the steady beep of monitors, the hum of machinery, the soft whisper of my mother’s sari as she moves between patients. My new senses catch everything, cataloging threats and exits with predatory precision.

“Matteo,” Leo calls softly from his position by the stairs. He’s been my anchor since high school, always knowing when the darkness rises too close to the surface. His familiar scent—sunshine and citrus and something uniquely him—cuts through the hospital sterility. “You’re doing the thing again.”

“What thing?” I force my fingers to uncurl from fists, watching shadow marks ripple across my knuckles like dark water. My jaw aches strangely, like something trying to reshape itself from within.

“The I’m-about-to-murder-someone-but-I-can’t-because-my-mom’s-watching thing.” He steps closer, his presence a warm counterpoint to my growing cold rage. His shoulder brushes mine in a gesture as familiar as breathing. “It’s kind of hot, not gonna lie, but also slightly terrifying.”

“Only slightly?” I try to joke, but it comes out more like a growl.

“Well, you know me,” Leo grins, though his eyes remain alert. “I like a little danger with my morning coffee.”

A growl builds in my throat as another wave of foreign scent hits me. Someone doesn’t belong here.

Through the observation window, I watch my mother’s hands glow with healing energy as she works. Her sari sleeve slips, revealing the henna patterns she always wears—designs for peace, for healing, for gentle things that seem further from my nature with each passing day. The same patterns she used to draw on my palms when the darkness first stirred in me, trying to guide my power toward healing.

It didn’t work then. I’m not sure it ever could have.

The intruder’s scent grows stronger, carrying hints of chemical corruption that make my new fangs itch beneath my gums. Valerie’s spy, has to be. But I can’t leave the twins unprotected to hunt. Not with Finn still unstable and Frankie drained from their power merging. The predator in me paces against its cage, demanding action.

My fingers trace the ghostly remains of old henna patterns on my palm—protection, peace, healing. My mother’s attempts to gentle my nature. But watching her in Delhi, the way she’d handled threats to her clinic... maybe she wasn’t trying to change me after all.

A shift occurs inside me—a realization, a decision. I straighten, my senses sharpening with new purpose.

“Your aura, beta,” my mother says without turning, her hands steady over Finn’s chest where light pulses erratically. Her wedding bangles chime softly with each movement, a sound that used to mean safety in my childhood. “It grows darker.”

“There’s someone here who shouldn’t be,” I reply in Hindi, the language of home feeling strange around what seems to be... fangs? The sudden sharp points against my tongue should probably concern me more than they do, but somehow they feel right. Like my body is finally catching up to what I’ve always been. “They carry corruption.”

“Then protect us,” she says simply, continuing her healing chant. But I catch her quick glance at my changed features, her healer’s mind already analyzing what I’m becoming. “But remember—violence is not the only way.” Her voice carries the same tone she used when I was ten, after I broke a bully’s nose for hurting Leo.

“Says the woman who once threw a scalpel at a would-be thief in her clinic,” I mutter, still in Hindi. The memory is crystal clear: her perfect aim, the way she’d pinned his sleeve to the wall while continuing to bandage a child’s arm. Not a hair out of place, not a break in her healing rhythm. “You could have killed him.”

“I aimed for his sleeve, not his throat.” Her lips twitch, though her hands remain steady over Finn. “And I had excellent reason to believe he was after the children’s medicine. Just as you have excellent reason to protect your pack.”

Leo shifts to stand beside me, his natural warmth cutting through the icy fury building in my chest.

“That’s because she likes to pretend it never happened,” I tell him, grateful for his attempt at lightening the mood. “Very un-healer-like behavior.”

“Please,” my mother sniffs. “A good healer knows how to handle a scalpel. For medical purposes only, of course.”

“Of course,” Leo agrees solemnly, though his eyes dance with mischief. “Just like Matteo only growls at people for medical purposes.”

The potential pack bonds pulse with increasing tension, cutting through our banter. Through them, I feel the sense of urgency—something needs to be done now. Frankie’s exhaustion, Bishop’s strategic focus, Dorian’s irritation—all of it compels me forward.

And Leo, right beside me, sunshine wreathed in shadow. His presence has always been my anchor, even before these new bonds started forming. He reaches up, tracing my jawline where the bone structure seems to be shifting. The touch sends heat through my veins despite the situation.

“That’s new,” he murmurs. “Kinda sexy though.”

“Only you would flirt during a security threat,” I growl, but lean into his touch anyway.

“What can I say? Danger turns me?—”

Another scent hits me—blood. Not the normal medical wing smell of bandages and antiseptic, but something... wrong. It carries the sour stench of corruption, reminding me of infected wounds I’d watched my mother treat in her Delhi clinic. The memory is vivid: her steady hands, the careful way she’d drawn poison from flesh, always gentle even when it hurt.

The campus might be empty, evacuated as the shadow realm’s collapse creates dangerous rifts, but our medical supplies are all that stand between us and disaster. Especially with the barriers between realms growing more unstable by the hour.

“The blood stores,” I realize, my new fangs making the words sharper. “They’re contaminating our healing supplies.”

My mother’s hands falter in their healing patterns for just a heartbeat, though her voice remains steady in her chants. Through our growing connection, I feel Frankie stir at my alarm.

“Those supplies are all we have until the rifts stabilize enough for deliveries,” my mother says, her professional calm wavering slightly. “Without them...”

“We lose our only backup plan,” Leo finishes, his usual playful demeanor falling away. He shifts automatically to guard the door, a move we’ve perfected since high school. “Go. I’ve got them.”

“Leo—”

“Dude, how many times have I watched your back?” His grin carries an edge now. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Dr. Sharma can throw a scalpel faster than I can run.”

“Three milliseconds to deploy,” my mother confirms without looking up from her work. “Four if I’m wearing a formal sari.”

The predator in me roars, but it’s not just mindless violence now. This is the same fury I felt watching thieves steal medicine from my mother’s clinic, watching bullies target Leo in school. The need to protect twisted into something darker but no less purposeful.

Still, I hesitate, torn between hunt and protection. The potential pack bonds pull at me—the twins need guarding, but this threat needs ending. My mother’s gentle healing and my violent nature war inside me.

“Beta,” my mother’s voice catches me. When I meet her eyes, I see no fear of my fangs, my shadows, my darkness. Only understanding. “Sometimes healing requires a warrior’s heart.” She touches the henna patterns on her wrist, the same designs she used to draw on my skin. “Why do you think I learned to throw scalpels?”

A shift occurs in my chest—something clicks into place. All these years watching her heal, learning the body’s meridians and pressure points—they weren’t just lessons in healing. They were lessons in how bodies work.

How they break.

Permission or understanding or something else entirely settles into my bones. My mother has always taught through example, through quiet wisdom. Even her violence served a healer’s purpose.

“If you die,” I tell Leo, already moving toward the storage area, “I’ll kill you.”

“Aw, you say the sweetest things.” His smile carries steel beneath the sunshine. “Try not to terrorize them too much. Unless they deserve it.”

“Children,” my mother sighs, but her lips twitch. “Less flirting, more protecting.”

I flow through the medical wing shadows, following the corrupt scent to the storage room. The fluorescent lights flicker, casting uneven shadows that respond to my passing like eager pets. The predator in me moves with a healer’s precision—another gift from watching my mother work. Every step calculated, every movement efficient.

A figure in Shadow Locke medical scrubs methodically works their way through rows of hanging blood bags with a syringe, each injection precise and practiced. Their own shadow gives them away—too sharp, too hungry, writhing against the wall with unnatural malice.

Not a shifter. Something else. Something that reeks of Valerie & Blackwood’s corruption.

They sense me too late. I have them pinned before they can reach for what’s probably a weapon, my hand around their throat. My new fangs ache with the need to tear, to destroy the threat before it can hurt what’s mine. The predator howls for blood.

But my mother’s voice echoes in my memory: “The body is a system, beta. Everything connected, everything flowing. To heal—or harm—you must understand the paths energy takes.”

“The poison,” I growl in their ear, feeling the changes in my jaw, my teeth, my very nature. My fingers find pressure points automatically, years of watching her work guiding my grip. “What is it?”

They laugh, a wet sound that carries corruption. “Corrupted shadow essence. Already in the system.” Their smile shows teeth stained with darkness. “Your pretty pack will wither without healing supplies, yes? Your mother’s power will fade? Such a shame.”

Red fills my vision. The predator howls.

Then—a crash from upstairs. My mother’s pain lances through me, sharp and bright like a surgeon’s blade. Leo’s alarm floods our tentative bond, followed by the surge of multiple hostile presences.

And my mother just collapsed from handling contaminated supplies during healing.

“Choose, protector,” the spy laughs, blood black with corruption dripping from their lips. “Hunt or heal? Can’t do both?—”

Their words cut off as I slam them into the wall, my mind suddenly crystal clear. Every lesson my mother taught me about the body’s energy points flows through my memory. The way she’d press here to ease pain, there to promote healing. The precise knowledge of how life energy flows.

How it can be redirected.

“Actually,” I say conversationally, testing my new fangs against the words, “my mother taught me multitasking.” I lean closer, letting them see the predator’s smile. “Did you know there are exactly thirty-seven major meridian points in the human body? Each one a gateway for energy.”

Their eyes widen as understanding hits. “You wouldn’t?—”

“Or corruption.” My fingers find the first point, precise as a surgeon’s blade. “Let me demonstrate.”

I drive shadow-wrapped fingers into specific meridian points, channeling power the way I’ve watched my mother do thousands of times. But where she pushes healing, I pull poison. Where she soothes, I tear. The shadow essence they used to contaminate our supplies responds to my call, drawn to these new fangs like they evolved specifically for this purpose.

The spy’s laugh turns to screams as I rip corrupted shadow essence from their body. My mother always said understanding how to heal means understanding how the body works. How it breaks. How it can be purged of poison.

“Fascinating,” I tell them as black corruption flows into my fangs. “Did you know the body can’t tell the difference between healing touch and killing stroke if you hit the right points? My mother used to say?—”

“You talk too much,” they gasp. “Just like your little sunshine boy upstairs.”

Wrong thing to say.

I hit the next meridian point harder than strictly necessary. “That ‘sunshine boy’ is under my protection. Just like my mother. Just like my pack.” Another point, another scream. “And you threatened all of them.”

By the time I finish, the spy is unconscious but alive. Their corrupted essence—a twisted perversion of natural shadow magic created by Blackwood’s experiments—has been drawn from both their body and the contaminated supplies. The poison had been designed to react with healing magic, turning our own remedies against us. But these new fangs seem specifically evolved to filter and neutralize such corruption, another adaptation from the shadow realm itself.

I’m transforming it.

Racing back upstairs, I catch the scent of fresh blood—Leo’s—mixed with ozone from Bishop’s shadow magic. The predator in me snarls, but now it moves with a healer’s precision. Not just rage, but purpose.

I find Leo and Bishop handling the last attacker while Dorian maintains shields around the twins’ room, his usual scholarly disdain replaced with cold focus. My mother sits propped against the wall, looking pale but alive. Her sari is stained with something dark that makes my new fangs ache, but her eyes are clear as they track my approach, noting every change in my transformed features.

“That was unexpected,” she says as I check her pulse, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. Her skin feels too cool against my fingers, but her healing energy still hums beneath the surface. “Using meridian point theory for combat.”

“For healing,” I correct, aware of my fangs slowly retracting as the immediate threat passes. Through our growing bond, I feel Leo’s satisfaction as he knocks out the last attacker with a move I taught him years ago. “Just... aggressively.”

She laughs weakly. “The darkness in you doesn’t make you evil, beta. It makes you effective.” Her healing-trained eyes assess me with professional interest. “Your shadow marks are balanced now. No longer fighting your nature. And these new changes...” She touches my jaw where the fangs have retracted. “The shadow realm provides what is needed.”

“Yeah, well.” I help her up, supporting her weight. The scent of corruption is fading from her skin, her natural healing energy reasserting itself. “Someone wise once told me that sometimes healing requires a warrior’s heart.”

“Mhm.” She pats my cheek. “And sometimes warriors need to heal.” She glances meaningfully at Leo, who’s sporting a split lip and trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt. “Both of you.”

Through the observation window, I see Frankie watching us, her violet eyes filled with understanding. She nods once, her own shadows curling protectively around Finn.

“You know,” Leo says, coming to lean against me while my mother checks his injuries, “most guys just get tattoos during their rebellious phase. You had to go and grow fangs.”

“Says the man who literally glows in the dark.”

“It’s a feature, not a bug.” He winces as my mother probes his split lip. “Ow. Careful with the merchandise, Dr. S.”

“Such a baby,” she tsks, but her hands are gentle as she channels healing energy into the cut. “Almost as bad as Matteo when he was small. One paper cut and you’d think the world was ending.”

“Mother.”

“He used to demand I kiss it better,” she continues, ignoring my growl. “Even for splinters.”

Leo’s eyes light up. “Really? Do you have pictures? Please tell me you have pictures.”

“I have an entire album.”

“I’m disowning both of you,” I mutter, but my arm stays around Leo’s waist. It’s still strange, being this open about our connection after years of careful distance. The pack’s acceptance has changed everything—no more hiding, no more pretending we’re just friends. Even Bishop, usually so proper, had simply nodded and said Finally when we stopped trying to hide it. My shadows curl protectively around my mother’s healing energy, and for once, I don’t try to hide how they reach for Leo too.

Balance, finally.

Even if I had to spill blood to find it.

“Beta,” my mother says softly in Hindi, her hands still working on Leo’s injuries. “You did well.”

“I used your healing knowledge to hurt people.”

“You used it to protect.” She meets my eyes. “Just as I taught you.”

Leo leans into me, his warmth steady and sure. Through our growing bond, I feel his pride, his trust, his complete acceptance of both the healer’s son and the predator I’ve become.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re all both—light and shadow, healing and harm, love and violence. Maybe the trick isn’t choosing one or the other.

Maybe it’s finding the balance between them.

Even if that balance comes with fangs.

Leo looks at me, a playful glint in his eyes despite the exhaustion. “So, what’s next, hero?”

I glance through the observation window where Frankie is watching, her own determination mirrored in Finn’s tired but hopeful gaze. Bishop is already strategizing, Dorian jotting down notes, probably on the potential effects of corrupted essence on shifter physiology.

“Next,” I say, “we fix this mess. Together.”

Leo grins, his usual playfulness returning. “Just another day for Shadow Locke’s most dysfunctional pack.”

I smile, feeling the shadows settle around me, no longer restless, but ready. Ready to protect, ready to fight, ready to heal.

“Yeah,” I say, pulling Leo closer. “Together.”