Page 88 of Heir of Shadows

The vampires fell back, overwhelmed. Their coordinated movements faltered as my power disrupted their unnatural existence.

A portal appeared behind Lord Alstone and Keane, and Alstone disappeared into it.

For a split second, Keane’s magic hesitated. Just a breath of resistance before the portal pulled him in after his uncle.

That wasn’t nothing.

“What was Lord Alstone doing here?” Cyrus’s flames still burned that pure blue, responding to my nearness. “Why would he—”

Shouts from the direction of Wickem interrupted him. Professor Rivera led a group of faculty through the streets, responding to emergency calls.

Too late. Lord Alstone and Keane were gone.

“Are you alright?” Cyrus asked roughly. He wasn’t looking at me, but his flames still curled protectively nearby.

“They thought I’d be alone,” I said, watching the faculty secure the area. Scout pressed close, still trembling. “They didn’t expect…”

“Us?” Elio’s voice held none of its usual polish. Just raw, shaken honesty. “Neither did we.”

We stood together in the silence that followed—our magic still humming, frayed and tangled from what we’d just done. Something had shifted between us. Not trust, not yet. But something close.

“We’ll get him back,” Cyrus said, his voice low, ragged with guilt he wasn’t ready to name.

“And figure out what’s happening to his magic,” Elio added. His perfect mask had slipped, and this time, he didn’t bother fixing it.

We had more questions than answers, but one thing had changed—tonight, we’d fought as one. Not rivals. Just witches. And that meant something.

Cyrus exhaled sharply, then turned away, his fire flaring brighter. “I’m going to talk to my father.”

The sudden steel in his voice snapped me out of the haze. He moved like a storm gathering speed, magic burning hotter than I’d ever felt it—his flames licked blue at the edges, tainted by something deeper, older.

“Vampires this close to campus?” he growled. “After what they did to my mother? Lord Alstone has to answer for this.”

“Cyrus—” I started, reaching for him.

But he spun, eyes blazing. “Don’t.”

The word cracked through the air like a whip. With one last glance at the horizon, he stalked into the darkness, flames trailing behind him like the tail of a comet.

Elio stepped closer, his hand a steady weight on my arm. “Let him go,” he said quietly, all traces of mockery gone. “Some demons need facing alone.”

I watched Cyrus vanish into the night, my chest tightening with the weight of everything we still didn’t understand. The adrenaline faded, leaving only the echoes—fangs glinting in the dark, Keane’s corrupted portals writhing like serpents, his uncle’s cruel smile as they vanished below.

45

Cyrus

The Raynoff estateloomed against the twilight sky, all sharp angles and dark stone. I’d grown up in these halls, learned to control my flames in the training yard after Mother’s death. After vampires ripped our family apart.

But tonight, I wasn’t thinking about that.

I was thinking about Keane’s magic flickering silver for a heartbeat before Alstone forced him through that portal. About Marigold standing between us and an army of vampires, commanding death itself as if it answered only to her. About the way my fire burned blue again—not just near her, but near Elio, too.

I stormed through the front doors, still reeling from the night’s chaos. The house was too quiet, too controlled. Magic hummed through the stone, layered protection spells pressing down on my skin like unseen hands. The weight of generations of Raynoffs watching, judging, expecting me to fall in line.

Not tonight.

My father stood in the study doorway, posture rigid, power coiled around him like a barely-leashed storm. Behind him, golden light flickered—his fire magic, always perfectly controlled, unlike mine. Unlike what mine had become.

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