Page 18 of Shadebound
Icould not.
My shadows reacted to threats I hadn’t consciously noticed. Anyone who moved too fast, anyone whose energy flared too hard, anyone too close to Draven—all of them were hit.
All the ones who potentially held an ounce of malice towards my brother were cut down with ease.
Half a dozen people dropped at once.
I stood panting, shadows writhing around me like a living storm. My heart thundered louder. My hands shook. The silence pressed like a weight on my chest. The smell of burnt ozone mixed with iron clogged my nose.
And I couldn’t bring myself to care. About any of it.
Zayden shifted back and hurried beside me, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon.“Fuck,”he muttered, and then louder, “Are you okay?”
Draven was behind me, wide-eyed but untouched. So it was with no lie that I nodded.
“That guy was going to kill him,” I muttered. “He—he was going to—”
Zayden rubbed a hand down his face, wiping away his dark hair. “Nobody dies here, Heartache. Not permanently in sanctioned zones. The cuffs—” He gestured to the matching cuff on his wrist. “They’ll bring you back to life or heal you whenever you’re in the arena.”
I looked around. Blinking.
The students I’d struck were groaning now, twitching. One had a limb reattaching with slow, wet pops. The fire wielder bastard’s body flickered—wounds knitting back together. Brilliant blue eyes locked onto me with a look I knew I would not easily forget.
The blood was still wet, though. The smell was still thick in my nose.
Sickness rose in my gut, throat tightening.
This wasn’t a fight. It was a performance. Atrap.
And I’d played my part perfectly like a fucking amateur.
My shadows slithered back to me, slower this time. Shame thick in my throat. My breath came shallow, my fingers trembling faintly at my sides. Zayden’s hand settled on my shoulder, a firm weight of comfort I barely registered. I could still feel the magic under my skin, buzzing like static, not quite settling—a reminder I’d crossed a line I didn’t even understand.
The silence of the crowd broke with the flap of wings.
Hightower floated down into the arena, heels clicking against invisible tiles summoned from nowhere, as she descended like some holy executioner.
“Well,” she smirked. “That was certainly dramatic.” She barely glanced around. “The losing team will have a week added to their sentence here. For some of you, that means not being picked in the next selection to go to Mortavia. For others, let it be a warning not to lose again.”
Zayden straightened, visibly agitated by her presence.A dark-haired girl on his team stepped beside him, rubbing her arm against his in a way clearly meant to comfort. Her glowing golden eyes told me she was a shifter too, long before I inhaled and forced my shadows not to smite her for touching a man who belonged—
Who was just myfriend. A friend, who Hightower ignored.
She ignored everyone but me.
“Miss Draconis,” she said, with the same hollow smile curving her lips. “You and your brother will be assigned to one of the top-class dormitories with immediate effect. The regular dorms are no place for you. Instead, you’ll be under Zayden’s guidance for your practical exercises, and Draven will follow an identical schedule.”
She turned to Zayden. “You can explain the rest, I’m sure. And I’m positive you’ll ensure both of them obey the rules without exception, attend every scheduled lecture, and behave like flawless students.” Her smirk grew. “Oh, and update them on the routine for new recruits. I will waive the rest of the initiation for tonight, seeing as your team won. But it will proceed as normal after classes tomorrow.”
Zayden cleared his throat and nodded, jaw tight and tattooed fingers flexing around his cuff. He moved a step closer to me, and the girl beside him narrowed her eyes a little.
My jaw tightened as Hightower’s empty stare flicked between my brother and me, then she raised her wings higher.
“Oh, and one last thing,” she said, waving her hand toward me.
A panel on the inside of my cuff snapped open.
In an instant, dozens of razor-sharp prongs shot from the band, biting into my wrist. A searing chill—just like Hightower’s icy sting outside—erupted through my veins. A white-hot fire that made every nerve throb. I gasped as each prong sankdeeper, bone and tendon screaming under the endless burn. My vision blurred; tears stung my eyes. I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood. And my magic desperately sought to surge free, but the icy pain locked it down before it could breathe.
