Page 45 of Shadebound (Dark Fantasy #1)

Before he could blink, he was soaked through.

Water lashed down onto him, a two-inch puddle on the floor in seconds.

But Maya could hardly start her plans of waterboarding him before Tyler and the other two dragons jumped in.

The trio of flamed enough to keep her occupied as the men fought on the floor.

I wanted to help. To do something. But my magic was sleeping. My body was weak. And my mind...

It seemed it was hurting. That it was now cracking just like my stones... and I had no idea how to handle it.

How to handle the fact that tears burned in my eyes, falling softly down my cheeks in little rivulets.

Alessandro let out a savage snarl, enough to draw my attention.

I saw his eyes narrow into slits, and flames burst to life in his palms. But Zayden caught him first. He gripped the bigger man’s wrist in both hands, twisted hard, and yanked him forward like a ragdoll.

Then, without pausing, Zayden drove his fist straight into Alessandro’s stomach with a crack of flesh against flesh.

The bastard doubled over, a choked noise tearing out of him, the fire sputtering uselessly across the stone floor. His breath caught in his throat, and he staggered back, clutching his middle. But Zayden didn’t release him. Not yet.

No, my wolf slammed his forearm against Fiore’s collarbone, forcing him back with a guttural grunt that rattled from deep in his chest. Alessandro twisted, snarling, his hands igniting again—blue fire slithering across his knuckles—but Zayden caught his wrist and shoved it sideways, sending the flames licking uselessly toward the floor as he shattered bone and tendons with a savage growl.

Alessandro responded with a brutal elbow, catching Zayden near the jaw. The impact cracked like stone splitting. My wolf reeled for half a heartbeat—then drove his fist into the dragon’s ribs, breath wrenching from his throat.

The two of them tore into each other without restraint as I sat there watching.

Flesh slamming against flesh, bone connecting with bone, growled threats mixing with breathless gasps and choked curses.

Zayden’s boot skidded against the stone as he lunged again, grappling Alessandro by the front of his shirt, hauling him forward like he wanted to split him in half.

The dragon clawed at Zayden’s side, heat pulsing off him in waves, skin blistering where fire grazed cloth.

The chaos drew them all and I watched as Kalamity shoved between them, teeth bared, muscles tight with tension. He grabbed Zayden by the waist and yanked him back with effort. But my wolf was in no mood to pay attention, and I knew there was only one way to end the fight.

I got to my feet, ears ringing as Alessandro took a step back, snarling blue flames into the air.

“Zayden, enough!” I yelled his name over the screams as Maya finally won out and sent a tidal wave of water onto all the dragons, sending them crashing to the floor and wall.

Zayden froze. Not taking his eyes off a spluttering Alessandro as I added, “Go into the bathroom.” I turned to Maya. “Keep them here. They can go to bed and behave, but if not, waterboard them for me. Loud enough that I can hear them choke.”

She grinned, showing her shark-like teeth. “It would be my pleasure.”

Zayden followed me into the bathroom, his breathing hard, eyes wild.

He slumped against the sink with a quiet grunt, arms braced at either side as though the weight of the fight still clung to his limbs. I moved slowly, my fingers brushing the edge of the basin as I reached for the rag left hanging from the chipped metal hook.

I ran it under the tap until the water darkened and ran clear again. Then I turned back to him.

Zayden’s knees were parted just enough for me to slip between them. His skin was flushed with heat and smeared in drying red, the split above his eyebrow crusted thick. A bruise was already forming near his jaw, dull purple blooming beneath the skin.

I reached up and began to wipe away the blood. He didn’t speak. His gaze tracked me, low-lidded, quiet. My hand trembled, just slightly, just enough to make the cloth drag a little harder than I meant it to. He winced. I kept going.

The silence didn’t feel empty. It pressed in with a thousand unsaid things. I could feel them in the way his chest rose and fell too fast. In the way I couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a heartbeat. In the way the water on the rag turned pink, then rust red, then clean again.

He shifted just slightly, not to pull away but to lean closer.

I didn’t know how to breathe through the sound of his breathing. Not until his voice broke the stillness.

“You always this good at first aid?”

I didn’t smile. “You always this bad at staying out of fights?”

His lips twitched at that as I dragged the rag lower. Down the line of his cheekbone, over the curve of his chin, rinsed again, and came back to it. His blood was warm against my fingers.

I had the urge to lick them, but I didn’t think I was in the right headspace to be making such a display of gross romance.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “You didn’t have to clean me up. I know how to deal with bruises.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that for me,” I said, as he pushed his thigh between my legs and I felt the hard expanse of his muscle. “I can handle my own fights. You don’t need to protect me.”

“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do for you.” He growled.

My brows rose as I dabbed at the cut above his eyebrow. He flinched when I pushed harder. “Sorry.” He muttered. “I didn’t mean to growl at you. My wolf is a little bit... bit stressed out.”

“You can growl at me anytime.” I muttered before I cocked my head. “You okay?”

He looked at me like the question didn’t make sense. “Are you?”

I didn’t answer. Not until my heart stopped racing so much, and I sighed over two decades of stress out with a single breath.

“You know the headless roses I had?” My voice was low, not wanting anyone to overhear.

He nodded.

I broke eye contact, needing a second to not see the weight of his stare as I blurted out, “They’re a gift. From a stalker. A nice stalker.”

There was a beat of silence before he laughed. “You have a stalker? That’s so on brand.”

I snuck a glance at him, seeing no signs of distress. “Yes. Since Bells’ funeral.”

“And they leave you thorns and headless flowers?” He asked.

“It’s an inside... not a joke. But a sort of thing. It means something; it isn’t random.”

He smiled softly as he moved his hands, gently resting them on my waist. “And they left you some here?”

I nodded. Pretending that I didn’t feel all sorts of ways about him holding me and the conversation at hand. “They— he , has followed me to Mors. I presume to keep watch over me.”

Zayden didn’t bat an eyelid. “And he does that? He looks out for you?”

“Yes. It was only once or twice until you left. He just stopped me from feeling so... so awful . But then...” I ran a hand over my face. “Then it was every couple of days. I think he knew I needed someone. So he helped me in secret until... until it wasn’t so secret anymore.”

“What happened?”

“You know how I made a list of everyone I thought might have killed my sister? Well, when I took the first name off it, my stalker just appeared. He helped me clean up the scene.” I bit the inside of my cheek.

Zayden cocked his head, eyes softening. “How come you were caught then?”

“Because I confessed.” I breathed the worst of my sins. “I finished my list and then made an anonymous tip. With all the evidence they would need to kill me.”

He closed his eyes, breathing in a sharp breath. I waited. Once, twice, three more breaths.

Silver eyes met mine, with a thousand questions I knew he would not ask. “Thank you for telling me, J. I’m glad you had someone to take care of you whilst I was gone. And I’m glad they’re still here.”

He reached up, trailing his fingers over my cheekbone.

“You’re not... not bothered?” I wondered.

He shook his head. “How can I be bothered that someone wants to take care of you? That’s an insane thing to hate.

” He snorted softly. “I do want to meet him, though. Just so I can make sure he’s the right kind of.

.. of stalker. The kind who would do your laundry and kill your enemies .

Not be abusive in the name of possession and make you sad. ”

Something soft tugged at the jagged pieces of my heart, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer with words. Only a nod.

When we eventually stepped back into the dorm, the screaming had finally returned to background noise.

The others had tucked themselves into their beds, faces turned toward the walls, shoulders rigid beneath threadbare blankets.

They weren’t sleeping. They knew better. Especially when sodden to the bone.

I scanned the room, my muscles still coiled from the fight, breath still uneven.

Zayden lingered behind me, his eyes tracking each bed like he expected someone to rise and try again.

But there was no movement. Only the sharp scent of sweat and scorched cloth still hung faintly in the air, and the occasional, shaky exhales from someone pretending to dream.

No one looked up. No one acknowledged us.

Maya had clearly scared them into submission. I was proud. Even if I was disappointed she hadn’t had an excuse to waterboard Fiore.

Zayden’s bunk creaked beneath him as he climbed in without a word. I slid in next to him, grateful he didn’t ask questions. The mattress dipped beneath our weight, thin enough to groan at our combined bodies.

I adjusted my weight, trying not to think. He didn’t look at me or say anything, just moved over slightly. I eased down beside him, careful not to let our limbs touch, not because I didn’t want to—but because I wasn’t sure I could survive the feel of warmth I hadn’t earned.

My head rested back against headboard, eyes fixed on the pockmarked ceiling above. The shadows there weren’t moving, but they were alive. More alive than my beautiful creatures, even if deep down, I knew they were still there.

I tracked the uneven lines in the stone, counted the flakes of paint peeling in slow, curling slivers.

Anything to distract from the pressure building in my chest. The silence didn’t break.

It pressed down harder instead, swollen with all the things I couldn’t say, all the grief I couldn’t name, all the rage I couldn’t bleed out.

My throat itched with unspoken thoughts, but I didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Eventually, Zayden signed, I need to tell you something .

A weight pressed down low in my gut, like something thick and wrong was settling inside me. The sensation clawed through my insides, not panic, not quite dread either—just that awful tightening that came when the truth began to unfurl, and I wasn’t ready to see where it led.

He shifted his weight, adjusting his position on the mattress. His hands stayed still, fingers slack in his lap, but his eyes didn’t. They flicked to mine, and then away again, jaw tightening with something that looked a lot like guilt.

The thing Maya was trying to tell you before... I should have let her tell the truth. But I didn’t want to add more to your plate. I didn’t want you to be worried.

Heart pounding, I waited for him to get his full confession off his chest.

Someone’s been killing students , he said, finally. These deaths—whoever’s behind them—they’re like a sacrificial killing. Murders for the sake of something.

I didn’t realise my hands had curled until my knuckles ached.

He glanced at me again. Every one of them was found the same way .

He didn’t have to finish that sentence. My heart was already clawing at my ribs.

He stared at me, and I knew what was coming even before he said, It’s just like how Bells died. It’s the same pattern. The same injuries. Same timing, even. Almost like a ritual, or a schedule. And I know it sounds crazy, but I think the Salem serial killer is in Mors.

I stared at the wall behind him, blinking fast as the shapes started to smear, the hard edges bleeding into shadow.

You think it’s going to keep going , I signed, until they kill thirteen like they did last time.

His jaw got tighter as he nodded.

The chill that moved through me wasn’t from the stone floor, or the cold that clung to everything down here—it came from deeper, darker places. From somewhere I didn’t have a name for. Somewhere I wasn’t sure I wanted to find.

I swallowed hard. Why are you telling me now?

I thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I was wrong, he ran a hand over his face. You’ve already lost too much. The least I can do is make sure you’re prepared.

My throat burned. My heart thundered louder, and I had no idea how I managed to lift my hands to explain that I knew.

I knew the killer was here. That Eris had told me. That... that they had left me notes. Invited me to play a game.

All I knew was that I spilt all of it to Zayden, and he listened intently. He didn’t yell at me for keeping secrets, nor did he complain when I said I didn’t want his help figuring out who the killer was. He just listened. Nodded. Told me I could come to him at anytime, for anything.

I had been foolish. Not with the killer. My life. Or anything other than with him .

So I stayed awake, counting the hours like they owed me something—like if I tallied enough of them, I could make time behave, bend it backward, stop it from dragging its bloody heels toward whatever was coming next.

And the entire time, as I lay next to a man who somehow always did the right thing, I wondered how I could live with myself. Not because I had done something wrong, or immoral, or damaging.

But because I was in love with him. And love was a hideous, treacherous thing. Yet, for some reason, I planned to tell him anyway.

Even if the thought of saying the words out loud made me want to die far more than I already did.