Page 57 of Shadebound
Zayden had slid into the seat next to me, settling close enough for our shoulders to brush. Maya took the seat to my left, chatting quietly with Eris, who sat beside her. Draven was at the far end, sharing space with the same wolf friends. He smiled at me when I walked in, decently clean of blood and newly healed.
I almost smiled back until I saw the glare he shot Tyler’s way. Then the thought of smiling turned sour as my bones seemed to ache.
Phantom pain, I supposed.
Zayden lifted his pen, twirling it between his fingers before leaning close enough that I could smell the familiar scent of him. For once, he had a shirt on. I was almost disappointed. Which was disgusting. But honest. He’d said that this class was the only one the professor forced him to get dressed for when he’d snatched a fresh top from the dorm before lesson.
He angled his pen downward and started drawing across the back of my hand. Slow movements. Spirals first, then uneven lines, then a crooked little crown with one tip bent, almost snapped.
His tattooed hand was warm. The pressure featherlight.
I should have pulled away. I didn’t like being touched. Couldn’t stand the way it made my skin crawl, how it twisted something uncomfortable in my chest. But I didn’t move.
Because it was Zayden. And Zayden had been gone. For months.
And now he was with me, comforting me, trying to make me feel less... less like the corpse I pretended I was.
So I sat there, still as stone, while he traced meaningless shapes into my skin like he was making sure I was real. The feeling didn’trepulseme. It didn’t irritate me. It calmed me in a way I wasn’t ready to examine too closely. Like a pressure valve released, or a lull in the storm, I didn’t trust to last.
I watched his hand move. Noted the slight drag of the pen. The occasional pause as he waited to see if I’d stop him. And like my brain had been blended and replaced with mush, I exhaled and unstiffened.
My pulse slowed. My jaw unclenched. My thoughts—always a relentless buzz—quieted. It was almost meditative. ASMR in real life, with me as the subject.
And even though I told myself it was nothing—just Zayden being Zayden—I didn’t want him to stop.
I didn’t pull away. Not even when he wrote his initials in a little heart.
Professor Rayla entered a beat later. She was tall and broad-shouldered; her robes were an elegant slate-grey that shimmered like oil when they caught the candlelight along the concrete walls. Her long white-blonde hair was tied in a thick braid, and her features were carved into a resting expression of cool authority.
She walked into the centre of the semicircle with her hands clasped behind her back. Her eyes swept the class. Then settled on me.
She gave a short nod. Not warm. But not unkind.
“We have a few new faces today,” she said. Her voice was crisp, clipped, but it filled the room with ease. “So I’ll begin with a recap of prior material before assigning today’s work. You’ll then pair up and submit a thousand-word paper on the origin of the Mortavian plague—and your personal theories on its cause.”
A few groans rolled through the room as chairs scraped across the scuffed floor. I stayed still, half-expecting someone to throw a desk. Or set fire to something to avoid working. Instead, Zayden leant in close. I could feel the heat of his breath near my ear, the quiet sound of it uneven. The rough edge of his voice came next with the kind of tone that usually made me roll my eyes. But this time it sent a ripple through me I didn’t care to examine too closely. I just tensed, then immediately hated that I had. Because he would’ve noticed. Healwaysdid.
“Better hope your partner’s not a moron.” He breathed.
“Shame. Iwantedto partner with you.” I murmured.
His grin was instantaneous. “I’ll be the best moron you’ve ever met, Heartache. Don’t you worry.”
I smirked as Rayla turned to the massive chalkboard behind her, covered in faded runes and glyphs drawn in iridescent ink. With a flick of her fingers, the ink shimmered, reordering into animated illusions.
“Thirteen years ago,” she announced, “Mortavia fell.”
The projection shimmered and shifted, colours dulling into a thick, mossy green—a vibrant land swallowed by creeping darkness. Trees bent beneath it. Creatures tried to flee. It didn’t matter. The shadows rolled through without pause.
“It began without warning,” Rayla said, her voice steady but heavy with the weight of memory. “There were black flames. Then black beasts. Creatures that tore through everything they touched. Cities fell. Forests burned. Entire bloodlines wereerased. The shadows didn’t care who or what they went for. They didn’t hesitate for the old, sick, or young. There was no compassion from them. There was no mercy.”
The room was quiet. Even the usually bouncy wolves had stilled, their gazes locked on the flickering illusion as if remembering something firsthand.
I didn’t blink. I barely breathed.
Because I knew what came next. I remembered enough of it, and not just because I’d been there to see it.
But because everyonehatedme after that.
