Page 32 of Shadebound
I sat up slowly, dragging the back of my hand along my neck where the blade had been. No blood. No mark. Not even a scratch to make the whole thing worth it.
I turned to where Fiore stood beside the bed, watching without a hint of guilt, and whispered in Italian back at him.
“Touch me again without permission, and I won’t be so polite about it.”I added another line for good measure, as mylegs trembled a little.“I’ll show you what I did to the last man who thought he could scare me. Spoiler—he stopped breathing, and I have his heart in a jar in my garden shed.”
Then I smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make sure he understood I meant every word.
He didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked toward the far side of the room, his boots silent against the stone floor. The others followed him like shadows, one after the other, and for a blissful second, I thought they were leaving.
Butno.
The hideous prick shucked his clothes, then peeled back the light blue blanket on the bed left of mine and settled in with ease. The orange-eyed shifter dropped his bag with a thud and collapsed onto the mattress near the door, arms thrown wide like he’d just survived something traumatic (he hadn’t, but I was making a note to plan something). Then the silver-haired fucker yanked a blanket up over his face without a word. And the skinny one kicked off his boots and lay across the foot of his bed, hands folded behind his head, perfectly content.
I stared. Eyes wide, lips parted. Heart beating in my chest out of sheer fury and irritation at the fact I’d been... been...fuck, that I’d been a little scared.
But I was not hallucinating. They weren’t leaving. They were staying. As in living here.With me.
So that was that.
I hadn’t just been threatened in the middle of the night. I’d been introduced to some more of my new roommates. Apparently through an intimidation ritual.
What adelight.
Nothing said welcome home like the looming threat of homicide and passive-aggressive towel theft. I wasn’t sure whether to stab Fiore and his friends. Or ask him if he liked lavender soap and showering at three in the morning whenhe wanted to avoid his feelings. Either way, I was already making a mental shopping list that included petrol and plausible deniability.
I’d see how the shifter enjoyed being woken in the night by something Icoulddo.
Like setting his sheets on fire, with him still under them.
Field Journal, Entry #118 — Classified
The first time always looks like an accident. A tragedy. The second is a coincidence. But by the third, even the silence starts to notice. Patterns don’t lie. Not like people do. The wounds repeat. The method refines. And if you look close enough—really close—you’ll see it’s not the bodies they’re after. It’s the reaction. The fear. The message carved into the bone.
Chapter Eleven, Death Doesn’t Sleep Here
The bitter wind was rotting with the scent of something that made my inner wolf heave.
We were deep in the eastern grove of Mors’ land, where the trees grew so close together you could barely see the moon. It wasn’t a lush place. More like a dying one—narrow trunks twisted toward each other, gnarled and overgrown. Patches of moss clung to the jagged rocks. The frost-laced leaves underfoot whispered with every step. The ground sloped unevenly, roots jutting up like bones. It usually smelt of wet bark and old decay. And there were no birdsongs. No life. Just the kind of quiet that made your jaw clench.
It was the kind of place Jinx loved. It was all spooky, gothic shit that would have made her smile.
I thought about her as I ran through the woods. Branches snagged at my combats, and the crunch of boots against the ground echoed louder than it should have, seeing as Hightower had banned anyone from leaving their dorms after lights out. The other members of my pack were quiet and focussed, breathing slowly, moving lightly. They’d all shifted into their full wolf form, and only someone truly listening would have caught their pads hitting the ground.
We were all desperately trying not to get caught.
Not again.
Maya trailed a few paces behind me, barefoot despite the cold, her damp hair braided with salt pearls that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Her skin still glowed subtly luminescent from the moon swim she’d been enjoying. It was a ritual that tethered sirens to their strength, something ancient and quietly powerful. It recharged them. Kept them whole. And judging by the tension in her shoulders, even that wasn’t enough.
She’d been the one who heard the screams. Said they cut through the water right as she’d finished her swim. Too loud. Toowrong. She hadn’t waited—she just ran straight for our dorm. I’d heard the urgency in her voice before she’d even finished whispering my name.
Something was wrong tonight. Even a human would have felt it in the way the wind blew.
The same wind that moved, bringing the scent of our hunt right to me.
I stilled and held up a hand. The nearest wolves froze instantly. There were twenty of us out—those who’d already been on patrol, plus the ones Maya had dragged from their bunks along the way. Some of them shifted back, immediately dithering in their various pyjamas and sleepwear that didnothing for the cold. The others stayed in wolf form, making use of their thick fur coats.
Even though I’d brought it, I wasn’t wearing my jumper—never did if I could help it. The cold barely touched me, and I liked the bite of it. It kept me sharp, and I enjoyed the feel of the wind on my skin. It reminded me of all the years I’d spent running in my shifted form.
