Something like pain crosses his features, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. “Then we continue as we are. Guardian and ward. Teacher and student. Nothing more.”
He vanishes into the shadows before I can respond, leaving me alone with the stars and the memory of how close we came to crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.
When I return to my room, moving through empty corridors that smell like stone and secrets, I find a small object on my pillow—a shadow construct in the shape of the raven I created earlier, but more detailed, more permanent. It maintains its form even as I pick it up, examining the intricate feathers and watchful eyes that seem almost alive in the dim light.
A shadow charm, created by Bael’s power but responsive to my touch. When I place it on my nightstand, it rustles its wings before settling, a silent guardian that will maintain its shape even in his absence.
As I prepare for bed, I notice my shadows are calmer than they’ve been in days, the construct techniques providing an outlet for their restless energy. But beneath that calm, a new tension hums—the awareness of the mate bond, of the choice that lies before me like a crossroads in the darkness.
I stare at the shadow raven, and it stares back with eyes that hold all the mysteries of the night.
I touch the shadow raven gently, watching it respond to my finger. Guardian and ward. Or something more. Either way, our shadows are forever intertwined, and the crimson in my wings continues to spread, marking me as the harbinger of change whether or not I’m ready for that role.
Chapter Ten
The next night…
“Close your eyes and feel the shadows,” Bael instructs, his voice echoing slightly in the abandoned ballroom we’ve claimed for tonight’s training.
Moonlight filters through cracked stained glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns across the dusty marble floor that shift and dance as clouds pass overhead. The once-grand space has fallen into elegant decay—tarnished chandeliers hang precariously from the ceiling like sleeping giants, and velvet curtains hang in tatters along the walls, their rich burgundy fabric faded to the color of dried blood. It’s beautiful in that haunting, forgotten way that seems to define half of Greyson Academy. The air smells like dust, old roses, and the faint metallic tang of tarnished silver.
I obey, closing my eyes and focusing on the surrounding darkness. After two weeks of nightly training sessions, my shadow awareness has expanded dramatically. I can sense the shape of the room through shadows alone—the curve of the walls, the height of the vaulted ceiling, even the tiny rodents scurrying in distant corners. Their heartbeats flutter like whispers against my consciousness.
“Shadow-walking requires complete immersion,” Bael continues, circling me slowly. I can feel his presence like a warm current in the cool air. “You must become one with the darkness, not just command it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, my breath visible in small puffs. “You’ve had centuries to practice.”
His soft chuckle comes from directly behind me, making me jump. The sound is rich and warm, like dark chocolate melting. I hate how silently he moves—one second he’s across the room, the next he’s close enough that I can smell his scent, dark and intoxicating. “Even for me, the first step was the hardest.”
I’ve been dreading this lesson. Shadow-walking—the ability to travel through the shadow realm—is an advanced technique that marks the difference between a truly skilled Dark Nephilim and a novice. It’s also the most obvious “tell” if I get it wrong. Normal Dark Nephilim use shadow-walking as a technical skill; for me, it feels instinctual, which means I might accidentally reveal my Ascendant nature.
“The technique is simple in theory,” Bael says, his voice taking on that instructional tone I’ve come to know well. “Extend your awareness into the shadow you wish to travel through, then pull your physical form after it.”
“That doesn’t sound simple at all,” I protest, eyes still closed. My shadows curl around my ankles like an anxious pet.
“Think of it as diving into water,” he suggests. “Your mind enters first, creating a path for your body to follow.”
I reach out with my shadow awareness, feeling the darkest patch of shadow across the room by the grand piano. The instrument looms in the darkness like a sleeping beast, its black surface reflecting moonlight in fragmented patterns. My shadows extend toward it eagerly, like fingers stretching to touch something just out of reach.
“Good,” Bael murmurs, suddenly right beside me. I can feelthe heat radiating from his body despite the cool air. “Now step into your shadow, not through it.”
I take a deep breath that tastes like dust and magic, and attempt to follow my shadow extension, imagining myself flowing along the path my awareness has created. For a moment, nothing happens. Then the world tilts sideways, my stomach lurches like I’m falling, and icy darkness envelops me completely.
The sensation is overwhelming—like being submerged in liquid night while every cell in my body vibrates with electric energy. I panic, flailing in the nothingness, unable to see or feel anything solid. Just as claustrophobia threatens to overwhelm me, muscular arms wrap around my waist, anchoring me back to reality.
We emerge by the piano, my back pressed against Bael’s chest as he steadies me. The physical contact sends electricity up my spine, making every nerve ending sing with awareness. My shadows instinctively reach for his like they’re coming home.
“I’ve got you,” he says, his breath warm against my ear, sending shivers down my neck. “The first transition is always disorienting.”
I pull away quickly, my heart racing from both the shadow-walking and his proximity. The loss of contact leaves me feeling strangely bereft. “That was... fucking intense.”
“You did well,” he says, maintaining a careful distance now, though his shadows still reach toward mine. “Most can’t manage any transition on their first try.”
A small thrill of pride cuts through my disorientation. “Let me try again.”
For the next hour, I practice shadow-walking across increasing distances. Each transition becomes smoother, the cold shock less jarring, though Bael insists on being ready to catch me every time. His presence is both comforting and distracting—I find myself hyperaware of his everymovement, the way he watches me with those intense green eyes. By my sixth attempt, I can move from one end of the ballroom to the other without the stomach-dropping sensation.
“The key difference in your shadow-walking,” Bael notes after a particularly smooth transition, “is that you seem to become shadow entirely during the transition. Normal Dark Nephilim simply use shadows as conduits, maintaining their physical form.”
