Page 48 of Gua rdian of Blood and Shadow

Myheartwasheavyas I slipped from the bed filled with my sleeping consorts. Their warmth had chased away the chill for a few hours, but now purpose settled over me like frost. I gathered my clothes silently, each movement deliberate.

I dressed quickly. Black jeans that wouldn’t show blood. A dark oversized sweater that reminded me of my librarian days—soft armor I’d hidden behind while pretending to be Sophie Matthews. Sturdy boots, because practical footwear was always a good idea. My mother’s ring and Wes’s pendant felt heavier than usual, reminders of everything at stake. I added a sheathed hairpin dagger—engraved silver with tiny crescent moons dangling from the dagger’s hilt—and used it to secure my hair into a bun on the crown of my head.

I gulped down a few vials of Gavin’s blood tincture, thinking that where I was headed, I’d need as much power as I could get. If a full harem would make me a match for the Shadow King, surely being fully charged up from a gluttonouscommunionwith just four consorts and topping off with a few doses of a fifth consort’s blood tincture would be enough to face off with the shifter king.

I paused in the doorway for one last look at the four immortals, whose continued existence was as integral to me as my own beating heart. They were why I was doing this—them, and Gavin and Micah. These people who made the world worth saving.

I eased the door shut, picked my way around the organized stacks and chaotic piles of books in the study, and crossed the sitting room as quickly and as quietly as I could, silence being an impossibility on the aged floorboards. Beyond my chambers, the corridor stretched before me, ward sigils pulsing in my presence.

Down the hallway, Micah’s door stood ajar, golden light spilling out. Through the gap, I saw him hunched over ancient texts, tracing ward patterns with his fingertip.

He sensed me before I could decide whether or not to intrude, looking up with eyes too knowing for someone so young.

“You’re leaving,” he said quietly, no question in his voice. “To get Gavin?”

I nodded, the words caught somewhere between my heart and my throat.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, rising with that stubborn set to his jaw that I recognized from my own reflection.

I gripped Wes’s tree of life pendant as I entered Micah’s room, hoping Wes was around even if he wasn’t able to manifest. Micah’s desk overflowed with research—ancient texts, drawings of ward patterns, notes in his meticulous handwriting about the Shadow King.

“You can’t,” I said softly, reaching out to brush dark curls from his forehead, a gesture I’d been denied for seventeen years. “This isn’t your fight.”

“Bullshit,” he replied, the harshness of the word startling a laugh from me. “You’re my mother. That makes it my fight.”

I shook my head, my throat tightening. “I need you safe,” I said softly. I cupped his face between my palms, wincing at the unexpected sting from the cut on my left hand—a slender crescent-shaped bite wound my consorts had forgotten to heal. A faint smear of blood stained his cheek where my palm had touched him, more vibrant than it should have been, almost luminous in the dim light.

“I need to know that whatever happens, you’re okay,” I told him, wiping the blood smudge away with a sweep of my thumb.

“At least take Bastian,” he said, a plea in his voice. “Or Javier, orsomeone. Dad doesn’t count. Just—just don’t go alone.”

I smiled sadly, remembering the countless hours spent working together in the library, back when I was just Sophie Matthews, when the biggest worry in my life was whether he’d pass his midterms. “I’m not going alone. Ren’s coming, and Gavin will be there.”

“Sophie,” he said, then amended, “Mom.” The word was still new enough on his lips to carry weight, still raw with seventeen years of absence. “Please…” His voice broke slightly. “We just found each other. I’m not ready to lose you.”

Instead of answering, I pressed my bleeding palm to his forehead, following an instinct deeper than conscious thought. Marking him like this, with a mother’s blood, was the strongest protection ward I could provide in my absence. I knew it in my gut. In my magic. In my soul.Thiswould keep him safe.

The moment my blood touched his skin, something shifted between us. Not the fierce heat of consort bonding, but a gentler warmth that spread outward from the point of contact, like sunlight melting frost. My blood didn’t just smear against his skin—it sank in, absorbed completely as if his body recognized it as its own.

Moonlight bloomed between us, not the cool radiance I shared with my consorts but something warmer, tinged with gold at the edges, like the light of a harvest moon.

My vision swam as power surged through our awakening connection, and a wave of dizziness forced me to steady myself against his shoulder.

“Mom?” Micah’s voice came from far away, laced with concern.

When my vision cleared, a crescent moon sigil glowed on Micah’s forehead. It pulsed once, twice, then fractured into dozens of smaller patterns—stars, crescents, spiraling galaxies that spread across his skin like constellations before sinking beneath the surface, leaving only the original crescent visible for a heartbeat longer before it too faded.

His eyes widened, briefly flashing like moonlight on water. The light came from within, his irises ringed with an opalescent luminescence that hadn’t been there before. The ward wasn’t just sitting on his skin, shielding him; it had sunken into him, becoming part of him in ways I hadn’t intended.

“Whatwasthat?” he whispered, touching his forehead where the sigil had been. His skin radiated heat, and I could see the ghost of the ward beneath his flesh, like veins of silver running just below the surface. “It felt warm…and kind of tingly.” The uncertainty in his eyes mirrored my own.

“Just protection,” I said, certain that was the truth, just not sure it was thewholetruth. “I love you,” I whispered roughly, pulling him close one last time, breathing in his scent of books and mint and something else now, faintly metallic, like blood. “Whatever happens, remember that.”

Before he could respond, I left, closing the door firmly behind me. I placed my palm against the wood.

Something tugged at my awareness—a connection to Micah. A silver thread binding us, mother and child. Through it, I sensed him standing on the other side of the door, his hand mirroring mine, his heart heavy in his chest.

I turned from the door before my resolve could weaken further and walked away. Whatever I’d done couldn’t be undone now.

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