And I have no fucking idea what to do about it.
Chapter Sixteen
Professor Winters’classroom sits empty and silent an hour after last classes, the late afternoon sunlight slanting through tall leaded windows to cast long shadows across worn stone floors. The light has a golden quality of approaching evening, warm and honeyed as it illuminates dust motes dancing in the still air. Ancient wooden desks are arranged in a perfect semicircle, facing a massive blackboard covered in fading chalk diagrams of shadow manipulation techniques. The air smells of chalk dust, old books, and the lingering energy residue from dozens of magic demonstrations—a metallic tang that makes my teeth ache.
I’m running late for my private training session with Constantine, having lost track of time in the library researching shadow-speaking. The leather-bound volumes had been frustratingly vague, but I’d found a few references to the technique my ancestors supposedly mastered. After last night’s charged encounter with Bael in the chapel, I’m actually looking forward to the more academic approach Constantine brings to our sessions.
My shadows alert me before I reach the classroom door—two distinct energy signatures inside, radiating tension so thick itseeps through the heavy oak door like smoke. The wood feels cold beneath my palm as I press against it, and I can practically taste the conflict in the air. One cool and ancient, the other warm and fiery.
Bael and Constantine. Together. Without me.
Instead of entering, I press myself against the stone wall beside the door, the rough blocks cold even through my sweater. I extend my shadows beneath the narrow gap to observe unseen. They slide across the floor like liquid darkness, moving with purpose as they rise at the edges of the room to provide sensory input without being easily detected.
Constantine stands beside the instructor’s desk, arms crossed, face taut with barely controlled anger. His fire-red hair catches the afternoon light streaming through the windows, and I can see tension in every line of his body. Bael leans against a bookshelf with deceptive casualness, though his shadows swirl agitatedly around his feet like restless storm clouds.
“She deserves to know what you’re really after, Hunter,” Bael says, voice carrying the weight of centuries despite its conversational tone.
Constantine’s jaw tightens, and I catch the faint scent of ozone that accompanies his emotional state. “My research objectives are no secret. Ashley is aware of my interest in the Vessel bond.”
“Interest,” Bael repeats with a subtle mockery that makes the temperature in the room seem to drop. “Is that what you call using an Ascendant to complete your mother’s failed work?”
Fire flickers briefly between Constantine’s fingers—a tell I’ve come to recognize as emotional agitation. The flames cast dancing shadows on the wall. “My mother’s work didn’t fail. It was suppressed. By your kind and mine both.”
“Because some knowledge is dangerous when wielded by thewrong hands.” Bael straightens, his shadows darkening until they seem to absorb the surrounding light. “The Vessel bond isn’t an academic curiosity, Hunter. It’s a profound connection with consequences you can’t possibly understand.”
“Yet you understand it perfectly?” Constantine challenges, his voice sharp with sarcasm. “You, who would bind her to you through blood without explaining the full implications?”
My shadows pulse with surprise at the directness of Constantine’s accusation.How much does he know about the mate bond?
Bael moves with inhuman speed, suddenly standing directly before Constantine. The air between them crackles with tension and opposing energies. “You know nothing of the mate bond. Nothing of the promises made across centuries. Nothing of the prophecy that began long before your mother stumbled upon fragments of truth.”
To his credit, Constantine doesn’t back down despite the clear physical threat. His amber eyes never waver from Bael’s green ones. “I know Ashley isn’t just your prophesied savior or my research subject. She’s a twenty-year-old woman thrust into a world of ancient conflicts and manipulations, trying to find her own path.”
“A path you’d have her walk right into Hunter headquarters for further study?” Bael’s voice drops dangerously, and frost seems to form in the air around his words. “Don’t pretend your interest is purely academic, Constantine. I’ve watched your kind experiment on Ascendants before.”
Constantine’s fire flares more visibly now, dancing along his forearms and casting orange light across his angular features. “And I’ve read the records of what vampiric mate bonds do to the junior partner. The slow drain of life force. The gradual loss of independence.”
My heart stutters at his words, ice flooding myveins. Is that true? Bael never mentioned any negative effects of the mate bond—just eternal connection and shared power.
“You read Hunter propaganda,” Bael dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Designed to vilify connections they couldn’t control or exploit.”
“Did I?” Constantine reaches into his jacket, pulling out an ancient-looking paper that rustles like autumn leaves. The parchment looks fragile enough to crumble at a touch. “This is from the personal journal of Elizabeth Dawn. Your first failed attempt at claiming a mate bond, if I’m not mistaken.”
Bael goes utterly still, his shadows freezing in place like they’ve been turned to stone. “Where did you get that?”
“My mother collected primary sources, not just Hunter records. Elizabeth documented the effects of your partial bond thoroughly.” Constantine holds the paper just out of Bael’s reach, and I can see his hands trembling slightly. “Including how it began influencing her thoughts and emotions even without being completed.”
I can’t see Bael’s expression from my vantage point, but his shadows suddenly look... guilty? They curl inward, as if trying to hide from scrutiny.
“Elizabeth made her own choices,” Bael says finally, his voice carefully controlled. “As Ashley will make hers.”
“Will she? With full information?” Constantine tucks the paper away with deliberate care. “Or will you use the prophecy and her ancestral connection to manipulate her into a bond that serves your purposes?”
“And you would offer what alternative?” Bael’s voice turns mocking again, sharp as a blade. “A sterile laboratory where Hunter scientists can study her Vessel capabilities? Dissect the connection between her shadows and your fire?”
“I would offer her truth,” Constantine sayssimply, and the honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. “All of it, not just the parts that serve my interests.”
Before Bael can respond, my shadows react to something I didn’t consciously notice—a subtle change in the classroom’s energy that tastes like copper and electricity. Both men go silent as they sense it too, turning toward the door where my shadows have been eavesdropping.
