Page 5 of Shadebound
I stopped masking my true thoughts and feelings and let them all come through.
“I’m not giving up,” I whispered to the dirt and the wind. “I’ll find the one who took you from me, Bells. And I promise that this doesn’t mean I’m letting you go.”
As the words left me, my magic stirred again—deeper this time, coiling in my gut like it had heard the oath and intended to hold me to it. A few shadow-creatures flickered to life around me, faint wisps of living darkness slipping across the edges of the headstone. I didn’t summon them—they came anyway. Most drifted and faded within seconds, but some lingered as I grabbed one of the rose stems and put it in my pocket.
Just in case I never got any again, from the monster who’d climbed out of my nightmares and into a delightful reality.
Something hovered behind me—silent, shadow-born, drawn close by the pulse of my grief. I didn’t see her. But I didn’t need to. I knew the presence of my creatures when they gathered, knew each one as if they were a piece of my soul given almost-life.
A phantom hand hovered near my shoulder, its absence forming the echo of a gesture meant to soothe.
I didn’t quiver. I just closed my eyes for a breath and let it settle around me—because I knew it washer. Of all the shadows that haunted me, she was the one I welcomed most. Her presence brushed against me like a memory made of magic. She didn’t speak, but for a moment, the knot in my chest eased. A feat considering we were in a place where nothing soft should have existed.
My most beloved monster and loyal ghost. Giving me a reprieve from the despair for just a second. Until she vanished. Her touch no more.
Then the world went stiller, as her whispered moan on the wind said,“Run, Jinx.”
In the blink of an eye, the darkness thickened around me, creeping in at the corners like something alive. Wind swept through the trees, stronger now, scattering piles of snow. The fog moved with it, pulled across the ground in thin waves that clung to my combat boots and rose in ribbons up my legs.
I inhaled, trying to work out the source of the magic. Shadebounds could sense other’s magic; could feel it in their bones and know just what type of creature was nearby. But the air only tasted of frost, decaying wood, and something older than I could name. And as it spread, the forest held its breath.
I joined it as everything pulled taut. Not waiting.Bracing.
With a racing heartbeat, I steadied myself, weight balanced, listening. The ground shifted faintly beneath me—not a tremor, but awarning. The air pressed close, dense and alert as the trees seemed to listen too.
And when I turned towards the place with the strongest feeling, I sawit.
The carriage stood at the edge of the graveyard on the little stone path. Its frame was entirely made of seamless bones. Pale ribs curved upward and overhead like a spine bowed in prayer. It had no wheels. No reins. No visible means of travel. Only blackened smoke.
The smoke drifted from beneath the chassis in slow coils, curling across the snow. It gave off no heat, just the steady pulse of a muted light from within—a glow that beat in rhythm with something I couldn’t see.
It wasn’t shadebound smoke. Mine was tactile, warm, full of intention and tethered to me like a second skin. This was weightless and detached and yet somehow aware.
And it wasbeautiful. Not in any way that sought admiration, but in the manner of ancient things left undisturbed. Like ruins swallowed by time—quiet, solemn, and meant to inspire fear. But I didn’t fear it. Iunderstoodit.
This was a death carriage. A vessel of forced passage, stitched from bones and bound to the will of something ancient. It was a sentence on wheels. My body registered its purpose even before my mind could name it.
This was my transport to my demise. My ride to my future as a soldier in a war I cared nothing for.
The soundless magic surged toward me. It swept through the graveyard at a speed that nobody could ever avoid.
My skin prickled as the wind worsened under my coat. Smoke threaded around my boots, slipping along my legs. I was too enthralled to fight. Too busy being curious to have sense. Instead, I just watched it as the magic came to claim me.
The pull hit like tight bands closing around my arms and legs. Pinning across my ribs. The pressure was absolute, as if the magic knew exactly where to find the edges of me. There was no sting, nopain—only the sensation of being claimed.
My coat stretched as the force dragged at my limbs, stiff fabric tugged toward something I couldn’t yet see. I braced, breath shallow, as the invisible pull pressed harder, moving me inch by inch without a sound. Taking my case too, purely because it had an inkling of my magic on it from my leftover touch.
It wasn’t so pretty anymore. Not when I could feel how dangerous it was. Or when all I could think about was how Mondays sucked even without getting dragged to my delayed death by a cosmic leash.
Shaking free of the wonder, I stumbled as I fought against the force. My legs ached from resisting, muscles locking in place. I bent low, trying to find leverage, fingers grasping at the tendrils winding up my arms. They were solid now, like cords of frozen air, and they didn’t give. The pressure at my joints increased, locking around my wrists and ankles with unnatural precision.
Despite everything, the magic dragged me forward with cold, unrelenting force. Each step closer to the carriage peeled parts of me away—my sense of direction, my will, the breath in my lungs.
My desire to ever go to a place I knew would force me into things I could not handle.
Not death. Or violence. Or fighting.
But feelings. Always fuckingfeelings.
