Page 78 of Heir of Shadows

And then she shattered.

Her orgasm tore through her, her walls clenching around me so tightly I nearly came with her. But I held on, watching her fall apart in my arms before finally letting myself go. I came with a groan, burying myself inside her, my body shaking, magic surging around us.

Later, we lay tangled together on the cushions, my portals shimmering softly overhead, forming a dome of privacy. Her necromantic energy pulsed gently around us like a protective barrier, her dead things keeping silent watch. Scout had curled up beside Wisp, both familiars nestled together, radiating a rare sense of peace.

Marigold’s fingers traced lazy patterns across my chest, her touch grounding me. “That was…” She sighed contentedly and nuzzled closer. “We should probably do that again. Soon.”

A soft laugh escaped me, the sound surprising in its rawness. I tightened my arms around her, letting myself breathe her in, letting myself believe I could stay like this—staywhole—just a little longer. “That’s a plan I can get behind.”

She tilted her head to meet my gaze. “I care about you, Keane.” The words were simple, but they carried a quiet strength that hit me harder than I expected.

“I care about you too,” I said softly, the admission pulling something from deep inside me. I brushed a kiss across her temple and whispered, “More than I should.”

Her smile was soft but knowing, as if she understood all the unspoken fears between us. She didn’t push me to explain. Instead, she simply whispered, “Stay with me.” Not a command, just a request—one that somehow meant more than any promise.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.” But I couldn’t promise her tomorrow.

Wisp shifted at the edge of the portal dome, its form shimmering uneasily as the silver light began to pulse with irregular shadows. The edges of my portals began to waver and crack, growing more unstable by the moment. A warning. A reminder of what was creeping ever closer.

“What’s wrong?” Marigold’s voice was quiet but alert, her hand pausing on my chest.

I shook my head, forcing the tension from my jaw. “Nothing. Just… tired.” It was a lie, and she probably knew it, but I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not now.

She hesitated, her gaze lingering on me for a long moment before finally settling back against my shoulder. “Okay,” she whispered, her breath warm against my skin.

I swallowed hard, trying to push away the creeping fear, the echoes of my uncle’s magic clawing at the edges of my mind. Just a few more hours. Just a few more moments where I could pretend this was real—that I wasn’t already slipping away from her. From myself.

39

Marigold

The faint scentof burning herbs drifted through the classroom as I slipped into my seat, the smoke curling from warding braziers placed near the walls. A soft hum of layered magic, subtle but steady, pressed gently against my senses.

But beneath it, I could still feel him—the ghost of Keane’s touch lingering on my skin, the warmth of his hands, the way he had looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him.

It had felt real. He had felt real.

For once, he hadn’t been distant or held back by others’ demands. And yet, that image kept colliding with another—the dark edges of his portals, pulsing with something unnatural.

I hadn’t imagined it. His magic was deteriorating.

I tightened my grip on my notebook.Forced channeling.That was what my father’s journal had called it. Trying to redirect magic in unnatural ways, compressing it into controlled structures.

I had spent hours last night tracing the ciphered notes, recognizing my father’s frustration as he detailed how Project Cornerstone tried to reshape natural wellspring currents—forcing them through artificial constraints.

Like trying to reroute a river through pipes too small,he had written.

That was what Keane’s magic felt like now—straining, unnatural, like it was being forced into a shape it was never meant to take.

Scout clicked softly, sensing my unease as I opened my notebook. Beside me, Raven glanced over, her eyebrows quirking in concern.

“You alright?” she whispered.

“Yeah, just… distracted.” I forced a weak smile.

She didn’t look convinced, but before she could push further, Professor Esteban entered the room. His arrival was marked by the steady clink of enchanted medallions on his coat—restoration sigils designed to amplify healing magic.

“Today’s lesson will focus on maintaining magical balance,” he announced. “Specifically, how different types of magic interact to protect and sustain wellsprings.”

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