Page 18 of Shadebound (Dark Fantasy #1)

I fell asleep not long after dinner. I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Draven and Zayden sign in low, tired rhythm while I picked through a bowl of greyish sludge the kitchen claimed was dinner.

It wasn’t good, but it was edible in its weirdness.

And somehow, Draven had picked the exact flavour of sushi I liked from the sushi bar near our home.

It was familiar in a way that made my stomach stop twisting. Almost comforting, despite everything.

I ate in silence. I didn’t care enough to wonder how it worked, or why my mouth was both delighted and disturbed.

No, I just kept chewing, too tired to do anything else.

After I finished, I told myself I would just close my eyes for a few minutes.

Just to let my head stop pounding. Just to let the food settle.

I even promised Zayden I would put some healing balm that was in the bathroom onto my fingertips when he noticed the bloodstains and prick marks with a frown.

But my limbs ached with a dull, steady weight, every muscle tense from the constant strain of earlier.

My spine protested each breath, a low throb echoing through every joint.

The bastard cuff still bit into my wrist, draining the last traces of magic like it was entitled to what little I had left.

It didn’t just hurt—it hollowed me out. I was brittle in all the wrong places.

There was a rage in my chest I couldn’t voice, not without magic to back it up. Not yet.

I would not live like this. I was not built for suffering.

At least, not to experience it. Bring it? Sure.

I didn’t bother changing or washing away the blood on my back.

I didn’t care to pull back the covers or make myself comfortable.

Didn’t care to join in when my brother lovingly made me a goblet of our nonna’s secret recipe hot chocolate, that she’d killed four husbands to keep hidden.

My limbs were heavy, my brain fogged with exhaustion.

I dropped onto the bed still dressed, half-curled on top of the blankets with one arm loose over my stomach, muscles aching.

Sleep claimed me the second my head touched the pillow, dragging me under without giving me time to think.

It was the first time since my sister’s funeral that my body stopped fighting itself long enough to rest—and the last time I’d be stupid enough to let my guard down in this place.

Never pass out before learning who else shares your room, I would later tell myself. Mistakes like that don’t just get you hurt. They get you haunted.

I’d meant to stay up until Maya came back.

I wanted to talk to someone who didn’t lie.

Someone who might actually offer answers that weren’t cryptic or cruel.

She seemed like the only one aside from Zayden who could manage that.

And she was the preferable option with us actually just being friends.

But the exhaustion hit faster than expected.

My head had barely touched the pillow before I blinked once—and didn’t open my eyes again.

Sleep came fast. Hard.

And I woke too soon.

Only because there was a man climbing on top of me.

A man who was definitely not Zayden. Not because of his weight alone, though my wolf was lighter.

It was the reaction of my sleepy shadows that confirmed it—tense, uneasy, almost screaming at me in their desperation to wake me up.

They behaved like that only when something dangerous hovered too close.

And they had never reacted to Zayden that way. Not once.

They never worried about Zayden.

The man’s weight pressed me into the mattress before my body could process what was happening.

The heaviness was undeniable—solid muscle, unmoving force.

It was easy to notice the tension in his large arms. One of his wide hands was planted beside my shoulder, anchoring him.

The other held a cool blade. The edge met the skin of my throat. Not enough to cut. Just enough to warn.

I had never feared for my life in the dark before. Usually, I felt more powerful in the spaces most women clutched their keys between knuckles. I was more confident at times that women glanced around for the presence of another, or kept their headphones out to keep their ears sharp.

For most of my life, I’d experienced the night as though I were a man. And now?

Now I was feeling a gut-deep fear that I knew I would never forget.

My chest stilled. I didn’t gasp. Didn’t twitch. Just lay frozen, measuring the shape of the threat one breath at a time.

Measuring and calculating how I had no strength to beat him. No powers to hurt him. And the hideous knowledge that I was wearing a skirt and a top that showed off more than it hid.

My eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dimness. The real shadows stirred, restless, drawn by my magic even when numb. I reached for them without thinking, barely brushing the edge of power still drained by the bastard cuff. Enough to see. Not enough to do anything useful.

With a single look I knew he really wasn’t Zayden. And this wasn’t a mistake. My heart thudded louder, only made worse when I glanced around the room.

First, there was a doll on the foot of my bed that I presumed Maya or Zayden had gifted me.

It was a porcelain one, like had been on Death’s statue.

But this one was presented as female. It had the same outfit; black trousers, black top.

This time there was a bounty of green curls on her head.

Her eyes had been painted a pretty brown shade, and she had a yellow rose rucked behind her ear.

A folded up note had been stuck to her chest that read;

I missed you, shadow girl,

Missed the way you hate the world.

With your eyes like poisoned raspberries,

And the darkness you haven’t killed.

It was a sweet notion, and I did adore dolls that most found creepy. With their dead stares and hollow cores. Especially with bizarre attempts at poetry. But I had no time to appreciate the present, what with my current situation, so I went back to looking for help.

Draven was asleep in his bed, arm thrown over his face, unaware. He would have come to me if I screamed. But he couldn’t hear it.

There was nobody here to hear me if I screamed.

Maya’s bed was still empty. Zayden’s sheets were untouched, and he was nowhere in sight.

There were three other unknown men hovering by the door, sneering, smirking, and watching things unfold. Clearly shifters, based on their brawn and glowing eyes.

No help was coming then. It was just me, my sharp tongue, and my natural urge to be a bitch to people.

I was going to be fine. I had to be fine, because I refused to think of any other alternatives.

The man above me didn’t speak. His face hovered close, and I could make out the harsh neon glow of his eyes even though they were dull.

That unnatural brightness told me everything I needed to know.

He could see without trouble. Probably better than I could during the day.

Shifters always had that advantage—sight that didn’t rely on torches or magic.

I still wasn’t sure what he was exactly.

All I knew was that he was the same dickhead who’d called my family filth and tried to use his magic on my brother.

The same one I’d killed.

His gaze didn’t move. He just looked at me as if I didn’t belong. Like I was something in his way. The only bit of relief I had was that he looked like he was disgusted by me. Enough I thought he wasn’t here to do the things situations like this usually led to.

His black hair was still tied back, the braids neat and kept from his face.

As I perused him, his body stayed over mine, tense and unmoving.

I felt every ounce of him, and he was too calm for my liking.

Especially when he didn’t speak or blink.

Just stared. Silent and cold enough to make me want to shiver.

It was like he already knew how this would end, and he wasn’t imagining anything that left me standing.

I didn’t move either. I didn’t panic enough for him to see it. No, I just looked at him flatly.

“If this is some weird shifter mating ritual,” I breathed, voice rough, “I think you’ve skipped a few steps.”

He still didn’t blink. He didn’t smile either. The stranger just leant in closer, lips barely two inches from mine. Everything inside me braced for an impact that would kill me just a little more and then...

“ You’re not special, Draconis.” He breathed in Italian.

My brows rose, another sliver of relief at his words coming, rather than a kiss. But I had no time to respond before he carried on telling me his pathetic thoughts, as though I was interested in what ailed him.

“I don’t care what kind of power you have. I don’t care who your father is. If you ruin my chance of getting picked in the next selection, I’ll kill you.”

He pushed the blade harder against my throat. The pressure was just enough for me to feel it, but still not enough to bleed. His expression remained blank, with not a flicker of doubt or nerves.

I presumed this was not the first time he’d brought a knife to a throat. I almost felt bad for his exes. Their sex would have been rather dull if this was as good as he could give with a weapon.

If he were my lover, I would have made him bleed and cum by now. It was only polite.

With my hands clenched in the blanket, I exhaled slowly as I ignored half of his words. “If this is how you introduce yourself, it’s not exactly normal.”

The stranger stayed exactly where he was, eyes unreadable. Watching me for a reaction I wasn’t going to give him.