Page 19 of Shadebound (Dark Fantasy #1)

I turned my attention to the rest of the room again, giving him a moment to learn how to rub his two brain cells together and respond.

The other three men hadn’t moved much since I’d woken up, but they were still watching.

One with silver hair leant casually against the doorframe like he owned it.

Another with orange eyes sat on the edge of a bed with his arms crossed, posture easy but stare sharp.

The third stood slightly to the side, glancing toward the hallway as if keeping time.

His skinnier frame was clearly built more for lookout than threat.

All of them were quiet. All of them looked like they belonged here.

This wasn’t the first time they’d done something like this.

I wondered what else they did in the dark to people in their beds. And I wondered if things were going to get worse for me.

My hand moved as though to cover the top of my invisible drink. As the skinny one turned toward the hallway briefly, then muttered, “I can hear someone coming. Hurry up, Fiore.”

Fiore.

Of course. That explained it.

I didn’t know the man on top of me. I’d never seen him before today. But I knew that surname. My father spoke it like a curse.

Judge Renar Fiore held power the way others wore robes.

His loyalty was performative. His sense of justice warped.

There was nothing fair about his rulings.

He grinned through every one of them, as though smiling could distract from the wreckage.

My father saw it all. Said Renar was the type to keep his sleeves clean while someone else did the bleeding for him.

I hated him before I even saw his face and the awful way he smiled at me.

During my trial, Renar had spoken louder than anyone else. Pushed harder for me to be executed without mercy. It hadn’t been about justice for him. It had been personal.

So when one of this man’s friends called him Fiore, it wasn’t hard to put it together when the only others with the name were the bastard’s three sons.

“Charming.” I turned back to my unwanted bedfellow. Fear morphed into a centuries-long hatred. “Tell your father thanks for trying to kill me. I’m sure he’s delighted that I was sent here instead.”

The pathetic scourge didn’t respond. He just stared, as if waiting for me to fear him. I held his gaze, wondering for a moment if he lacked capacity at all. There was no emotion in his expression, not even pride. Just the same dead-eyed weight of someone used to getting away with things.

My eyes drifted over him, and unfortunately, my brain acknowledged what my pride didn’t want to: he was handsome.

Frustratingly so. If he weren’t currently deciding whether to slice my throat open like a poorly wrapped gift, I might’ve been irritated by that for a different reason.

But as it was, I didn’t find predators attractive.

I preferred hunting them.

I tilted my head slightly, feeling the blade dig in as I swapped to Italian. “You planning to hover all night, or do you just get off on intimidating women in their sleep? I hate to disappoint you, Fiore, but I’m not into men who don’t understand basic manners or consent.”

“Like I’d want to fuck you.” He sneered at me, but he loosened his grip and moved his weight off me further. “ This place doesn’t care about your bloodline. Neither do I. You disgust me.”

“You’ve mentioned that. I think you’re hoping it’ll start hurting my feelings.” I looked him dead in the eye, my heart rate slowing down. “It won’t. But I’d appreciate it if you moved. You’re not exactly light.”

He didn’t move at first. His eyes stayed fixed on mine.

He watched me in silence, weighing something I couldn’t quite see.

His expression didn’t shift. His hands didn’t twitch.

Everything about him made me feel like he was studying me.

As though he were trying to decide how much effort it would take to end me if I stopped being still.

I wanted to kill him so badly. It pissed me off that I couldn’t.

“If this is your version of flirting,” I added, trying one last attempt at annoying him away, “you’re going to die alone and confused.”

Still nothing. Still watching.

If I could enter Mors without getting weak, I would peel his skin from his bones for this. The dark voice in my head whispered faintly. But for now, if you aim for his kidneys, he has a weak spot there. You can knock him off you even though he is stronger than you.

Listening to the instructions, I shifted my weight, drawing in a breath. Then I brought my knee up hard, aiming for Fiore’s side with enough force to knock the bastard off me.

Good girl. Death hummed. Your siren friend keeps a knife under her pillow. Use it if you need to and aim for his heart.

Fiore shifted with quiet efficiency, absorbing the impact as if he’d expected it. His body moved easily as he rolled off the bed and landed upright without stumbling. Before he stared down at me with unsettling ease, his knife still in hand, as though the encounter had barely registered.

There was a part of me that wanted to snap.

To grab Maya’s knife and cut him open with it.

To make him pay for every second I’d spent frozen under him.

But I knew that rage would get me nowhere.

Not yet. Not when my creatures were being forced into hibernation, and I had my little brother a few feet away.

I sat up slowly, dragging the back of my hand along my neck where the blade had been. No blood. No mark. Not even a scratch to make the whole thing worth it.

I turned to where Fiore stood beside the bed, watching without a hint of guilt, and whispered in Italian back at him.

“Touch me again without permission, and I won’t be so polite about it.” I added another line for good measure, as my legs trembled a little. “I’ll show you what I did to the last man who thought he could scare me. Spoiler—he stopped breathing, and I have his heart in a jar in my garden shed.”

Then I smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make sure he understood I meant every word.

He didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked toward the far side of the room, his boots silent against the stone floor. The others followed him like shadows, one after the other, and for a blissful second, I thought they were leaving.

But no .

The hideous prick shucked his clothes, then peeled back the light blue blanket on the bed left of mine and settled in with ease.

The orange-eyed shifter dropped his bag with a thud and collapsed onto the mattress near the door, arms thrown wide like he’d just survived something traumatic (he hadn’t, but I was making a note to plan something).

Then the silver-haired fucker yanked a blanket up over his face without a word.

And the skinny one kicked off his boots and lay across the foot of his bed, hands folded behind his head, perfectly content.

I stared. Eyes wide, lips parted. Heart beating in my chest out of sheer fury and irritation at the fact I’d been... been... fuck , that I’d been a little scared.

But I was not hallucinating. They weren’t leaving. They were staying. As in living here. With me .

So that was that.

I hadn’t just been threatened in the middle of the night. I’d been introduced to some more of my new roommates. Apparently through an intimidation ritual.

What a delight .

Nothing said welcome home like the looming threat of homicide and passive-aggressive towel theft.

I wasn’t sure whether to stab Fiore and his friends.

Or ask him if he liked lavender soap and showering at three in the morning when he wanted to avoid his feelings.

Either way, I was already making a mental shopping list that included petrol and plausible deniability.

I’d see how the shifter enjoyed being woken in the night by something I could do.

Like setting his sheets on fire, with him still under them.