Page 117 of Dark Bonds

I nod, guilt twisting in my gut like a knife. “What if I told you that you didn’t kill them? That I’ve been... keeping them safe and contained?”

She doesn’t say a word, only looks around the corridor with fresh eyes. I can’t bear to even look at her.

We reach another door, this one humming with protective magic. The air around it shimmers, distorting the fabric of reality. I mutter a quick incantation, disabling the magical wards I helped create during my apprenticeship with Blackwood. The thought sickens me, but right now, that inside knowledge might save our lives.

I unlock it, revealing a large, circular room beyond, and in that room, suspended in bubbles of shadow magic, are the men Frankie believed she murdered.

Frankie gasps, stumbling backward. Her gasp hits me like a punch to the gut. I can’t breathe for a second. I reach out to steady her, but she flinches away from my touch as if burned. “What... How... Dorian, what have you done?”

The pain in her voice cuts deeper than any blade. I force myself to meet her gaze and face the hurt and betrayal I see there. The way she looks at me... It’s like seeing how much I hate myself, but a thousand times worse.

“I couldn’t let you carry that burden,” I explain, my voice hoarse, scraped raw by the weight of my confession. “I know what it’s like to have blood on your hands, Frankie. I didn’t want that for you, so I... intervened. Every time you thought you killed someone, I was there, containing them and healing them if necessary.”

Frankie shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the suspended figures. They float in their shadowy prisons, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me? All this time, I thought I was a murderer, and you knew the truth?”

“I wanted to protect you,” I say, knowing how hollow the words sound. They ring false, even to my own ears, a pathetic justification for my betrayal. “I thought... I thought if you believed you were capable of killing, it would keep you from fully embracing your shadow powers and keep you safe.”

She whirls on me, anger flashing in her eyes like lightning in a storm dark sky. “That wasn’t your choice to make, Dorian! You lied to me and manipulated me just like...” She trails off, but I know she’s thinking of Valerie. The comparison stings, a lash of self-loathing across my soul.

“You’re right,” I admit, the words tasting like ashes and regret. “I’m sorry, Frankie. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I was wrong.”

Frankie turns away, her shoulders shaking—whether with anger or suppressed sobs, I’m not sure. I want to comfort her, to take her in my arms and shield her from the pain I’ve caused, but I know I’ve lost that right. My betrayal stands between us like an impassable chasm.

“What happens to them now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications.

I open my mouth to respond, but a flicker of movement catches my eye. One of the shadow bubbles is pulsing strangely, its surface rippling like disturbed water. The magic containing it seems to waver, stretching and distorting.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” I mutter, moving closer to investigate. My curse responds to the fluctuation in shadow magic, writhing beneath my skin like a living thing.

Frankie follows my gaze, her anger momentarily forgotten in the face of this new mystery. “Dorian, what’s wrong?”

Before I can answer, the bubble bursts with a sound like shattering glass. The noise reverberates through the chamber, vibrating the other bubbles ominously, but instead of releasing its occupant, the ruptured bubble reveals a hidden passage behind it, yawning open like a wound in reality.

“What the hell?” Frankie whispers, stepping closer despite herself. The scent of her fear mingles with my own, a heady cocktail of adrenaline and dread.

Curiosity overrides caution, and we find ourselves venturing into the passage. It leads to another room, this one sterile and clinical. The walls are lined with strange machines and bubbling vials of shadowy liquid. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals and the ozone scent of active magic. Machines hum and beep, creating a discordant symphony that sets my teeth on edge.

“This is Blackwood’s lab,” I realize with a jolt of horror. The curse marks on my skin pulse in response, as if answering my assumption. “He’s been experimenting right under our noses.”

Frankie’s eyes widen as she takes in the scene, her gaze lingering on the vials of shadowy liquid. They bubble ominously, their contents seeming to move with a life of their own. “Those vials... They look like what Valerie used to inject me with, only they were light.”

The implications of her words hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. “We are going to talk about that later.”

She shifts from foot to foot before giving me a curt nod.

“In all this time, the pods never once reacted.” I turn to Frankie, knowing it was her they reacted to and that somehow fate intervened.

I rarely believe in fate.

“What the hell is going on down here?” Frankie says, her voice hardening. “We have to tell the others. I won’t let anyone else be manipulated like I was—by Valerie, by you, or by Blackwood. Bishop. We need to find Bishop.”

I nod, already reaching for my phone, but as I do, I catch sight of my reflection in one of the machines. The sight stops me cold. The curse marks, usually a faint beneath my skin, are darkening and spreading before my eyes. I can feel them moving, a sensation like insects crawling under my flesh. The pain intensifies, a burning ache that threatens to overwhelm me.It’s responding to something in this lab, I realize with a jolt. The shadow magic here is... familiar, like it’s calling to the darkness inside me, trying to draw it out. Whatever Blackwood’s been doing down here, it’s connected to my curse, and that terrifies me more than anything.

Frankie notices too, her anger momentarily forgotten in the face of this new threat. “Dorian, what’s happening to you?”

I meet her gaze in the reflection, seeing the concern there despite everything I’ve done. It’s a kindness I don’t deserve, a reminder of why I fell for her in the first place. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice tight with pain and fear, “but I think we’re running out of time.”

As if in response to my words, a low rumble shakes the room. The vials of shadowy liquid vibrate on their shelves, their contents swirling more violently. The machines around us begin to emit a high-pitched whine, their displays flickering erratically.

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