Page 11 of Shadebound
I twisted my head, hands clenching.
She stood still at the top of the steps: an East-Asian woman in a bone-white pantsuit so pristine it looked like it could draw blood. Iridescent wings shimmered behind her, catching every scrap of light and scattering it in pale sparkles across the stone.
She was tall—easily over six feet without the heels. Her posture was perfect. Her expression was not unkind, but it wasn’t soft either. And her ears tapered to elegant points beneath a sheet of silvery-white hair, and her features were sharp enough to slice—high cheekbones, narrow eyes, lips tinted just slightly violet. The kind of beauty you’d stare at too long before realising it had teeth.
My ribs pulled tight like they could feel her authority settle in the air. With a single breath, I knew I would hate her.
There was only one kind of creature my magic couldn’t automatically sense.
Angels.
They were the opposite of everything I was. The opposite of everything a shadebound held dear.
Their magic could cleanse corruption, strip curses from the bone, and purify a bloodline all the way back to its roots. One touch, and they could make you new. Or at least new enough to be useful again. But in the same breath, that same magic could blind you. Burn straight through your veins. Tear the truth out of your mouth whether you wanted to give it or not. It could hurt. A lot.
People called it holy. Said angels existed to do what was best for the magical world. To keep it safe.Balanced.
But holy didn’t meanharmless. And what was ‘best for the magical world’ didn’t always include the people who actually had magic.
They judged. Constantly. Quietly. Like they were the only ones qualified to decide who was broken and who deserved to be fixed.
I’d never met one who didn’t look at me like I was a mistake still walking.
She stepped forward at last, white heels clicking sharply against the stone. Her smile followed a beat later—small, sweet, and disturbingly out of place.
“I am Headmaster Hightower,” she said, her eyes black and unreadable. “I oversee Mors Academy and everything that happens within it. As of this moment, I hold your fate in my hands. So I suggest we begin on the right foot.”
There was no invitation in her voice—only warning.
My posture stiffened, defiance sparking in my veins. I didn’t do well with warnings. Or orders. Or anyone who spoke as if their word was absolute. Authority figures had never sat right with me—especially the kind that thought their power gave them the right to decide my fate.
“Make no mistake, this is your punishment,” she continued, voice clipped. “In a moment, I will hand you over to a student guide, who will show you around. And you will adhere to every word of the rules they share. For my word is law, and I do not tolerate disobedience.”
Draven shifted beside me, one foot scraping against the stone. I spared him a look, seeing the panic and wonder warring in his eyes. Panic finally winning out.
Hightower turned her gaze to him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with practised grace. “We’ve made adjustments for you, Draven. A bed will be prepared, and you have been added to the schedule.”
My fists shook as I climbed a handful of steps, and he gulped. Magic stirred beneath my skin, restless and eager to please me. Tendrils of shadow coiled around my arms and shoulders, curling close like they were waiting for my signal—waiting to defend, or to strike. They didn’t like her either.
Angels could manipulate light. That alone made my magic twitchy and uncertain. Shadow didn’t trust what it couldn’t obscure. And neither did I.
“He shouldn’t be here.” I seethed. Forcing myself to have a modicum of politeness in my tone. “He did not volunteer to fight.”
She let out a soft chuckle, and adjusted the cuffs of her immaculate sleeves. “Mass murderers have no leverage here, Draconis. I do not care what you have to say,” she said, voice almost casual despite feeling like claws on glass to me, “your brother made his choice the second he touched the magic of Mors Academy. He offered his soul to us, and we accepted.”
She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Once Mors claims you, there is no leaving. He will remain until the day you do. Or he dies.”
Heat flared in my chest, andI turned my back on Hightower completely. Whatever she’d just said, I disregarded it without hesitation.I didn’t care that she was the headmaster. I didn’t care that she was an angel, or that she held power over this place and everyone in it.
Shadebounds didn’t do fear.Ididn’t do obedience. And I didn’t give a damn about authority—especially when it demanded respect I had no intention of giving.
I quickly signed to Draven:Ignore the bitch. I’ll get you out of here.
His dark eyes widened. He shook his head and lifted his hands as if he meant to reply something urgent.
Before I could pretend I ever felt regret, white fire seared across my spine.
It didn’t burn through fabric. It sliced clean through it—light wielded like a blade, gouging across my back with the precision of someone who’d done this before. I staggered forward a step, breath catching, jaw clenched. Ithurt. Of course it hurt. But not like it should have. I simply inhaled the pain like breath in winter.
