Chapter Nine
The east towerobservatory is even more beautiful at night than I expected. The domed glass ceiling offers an unobstructed view of the stars, thousands of pinpricks of light scattered across the velvet darkness like diamonds on black silk. Antique brass telescopes positioned around the circular room gleam in the moonlight, their polished surfaces reflecting fragments of starlight. Moonlight pours through the glass in silver streams, illuminating the intricate celestial maps inlaid in the marble floor with precious metals and gems. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the faint scent of winter and magic that seems to permeate every corner of Greyson.
I’ve been waiting for Constantine for twenty minutes, anxiety building with each passing moment like pressure in my chest. My breath fogs slightly in the cool air, and I can feel the cold stone beneath my feet even through my shoes. After the disaster in training this morning, I’m taking a huge fucking risk meeting him alone. But curiosity outweighs caution—I need to know what he wants to show me, need answers more than I need safety.
“He’s not coming.”
I whirl around at the sound of Bael’s voice, my heart jumpinginto my throat. He steps from the shadows by the door like he’s been carved from the darkness itself, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight. His expression is thunderous, green eyes glinting with barely contained anger that makes the air around him crackle with tension.
“What did you do?” I demand instantly suspicious. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees with his presence.
“Nothing... permanent.” He moves closer, shadows coiling around him like storm clouds given form. “I simply suggested he reschedule.”
“You had no right to interfere,” I snap, my own shadows darkening in response to my irritation. They spread across the marble floor like spilled ink. “Constantine might actually help me.”
“The Hunter?” Bael’s laugh holds no humor, sharp and bitter as broken glass. “His kind have hunted Ascendants for centuries. Whatever he offered was a trap.”
“You don’t know that.” I cross my arms defensively, feeling the chill of the night air against my heated skin. “He protected me today when Marcus tried to expose me.”
“After you carelessly displayed living shadows during training,” he counters, closing the distance between us until we’re face to face. I can smell his scent now—dark and masculine, like winter nights and forbidden things. “Your control is slipping, Ashley.”
My shadows pulse with indignation, reaching toward him despite my anger. “Maybe because I’m constantly exhausted from hiding what I am!”
“Better exhausted than dead.” His voice drops lower, more intimate in the enclosed space. “Your shadows betray you every time your emotions spike. One more display like today’s, and even the densest Hunter will recognize what you are.”
He’s right, which only irritates me more. The truth stings likesalt in a wound. “What do you want me to do? I’m trying, but it’s getting harder, not easier. My shadows have been more... alive lately. More independent.”
Something shifts in his expression—concern replacing anger, softening the harsh lines of his face. “Show me.”
I hesitate, glancing around the empty observatory, then release the tight control I’ve been maintaining all day. The relief is immediate and overwhelming. My shadows immediately expand, swirling around the observatory in patterns more complex than ever before. They explore the telescopes with curious touches, trace the constellations on the floor like they’re reading a map, and reach toward the stars visible through the glass dome as if trying to touch the night sky itself.
“This is what they want to do,” I say quietly, watching them dance with a freedom I rarely allow. “All the time. Keeping them suppressed is like trying to hold back the fucking tide with my bare hands.”
Bael watches my shadows’ dance, his expression unreadable but intent. The moonlight catches in his dark hair, and I can see the way his own shadows respond to mine, reaching out like they’re greeting old friends. “They’re evolving faster than I expected. The crimson influence is speeding up the process.”
“Meaning?” My voice comes out smaller than intended.
“Your shadows should develop this level of autonomy over months or years, not weeks.” He catches one of my shadow tendrils between his fingers, examining it like a scientist with a specimen. His touch sends electricity through the connection, making me shiver. “The crimson in your wings is changing your development pattern.”
I think of the Compendium hidden under my mattress, the prophecy about the crimson ascendant that haunts my dreams. “Is that bad?”
“It’s dangerous,” he says, releasing my shadow with obvious reluctance. “Especially when you’re displaying abilities in public that mark you as different.”
His criticism reignites my frustration, heat flooding my cheeks. “I told you, Marcus provoked me deliberately. He suspected something was off and pushed until my shadows reacted.”
“Which is exactly why your emotional control is as important as your shadow control.” Bael paces the circular room, moonlight catching in his dark hair and casting his shadow across the celestial maps. “Your shadows respond to emotion. You must control both.”
“I’m not a fucking robot,” I protest, my voice echoing off the glass dome. “I can’t just turn off my feelings.”
“No, but you can learn to channel them.” He stops pacing, turns to face me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “The key isn’t suppression; it’s direction.”
Now he has my attention. “What do you mean?”
“Instead of fighting your shadows’ natural responses, guide them.” He extends his hand, his own shadows forming a perfect sphere that hovers above his palm like a miniature planet. The construct is flawless, stable, and beautiful in its precision. “Create constructs that hold form regardless of emotional state.”
“Show me,” I say, my irritation giving way to curiosity and desperate hope.
For the next hour, Bael teaches me how to form shadow constructs—stable manifestations that maintain their shape even when my emotions fluctuate. We start with simple geometric forms: spheres that gleam like dark pearls, cubes with perfect edges, pyramids that cast intricate shadows. Unlike my previous training, which focused on suppressing my shadows’ natural movements, this approach channels their energy into definedstructures. The process is mentally taxing but oddly soothing, like meditation through creation.
