To my horror, I realize my shadows aren’t just observing—they’re reaching toward both men simultaneously, thin tendrils extending like seeking fingers. Without my physical presence to anchor them, they’re responding directly to the two energy signatures that have become familiar to them—Bael’s blood-tinged darkness and Constantine’s controlled fire.
“Ashley,” Constantine says quietly, addressing my shadows directly. “How long have you been listening?”
There’s no point in hiding now. I push the door open with more force than necessary; the hinges creaking in protest as I step into the classroom where both men watch me with unreadable expressions.
“Long enough,” I answer, trying to sound more composed than I feel while my heart hammers against my ribs. “My shadows alerted me to your... discussion.”
“This conversation wasn’t meant for your ears yet,” Bael says, shadows retreating to more neutral positions around his feet.
“Clearly,” I reply coldly, crossing my arms. “Since it involves me, my ancestors, and bonds that apparently affect me in ways neither of you have fully fucking explained.”
My shadows continue behaving strangely, extending toward both men despite my attempt to keep them close. A tendril reaches toward Bael, carrying emotional impressions of hurt and suspicion that taste bitter on my tongue. Another stretches toward Constantine, conveying curiosity and caution mixed with something warmer.
Both men watch this display with fascination rather than alarm.
“Your shadows are communicating independently,” Constantine observes, his scientific mind immediately cataloguing the phenomenon. “Expressing emotional states without verbal direction.”
“Shadow-speaking,” Bael murmurs, wonder creeping into his voice. “But without conscious control. Extraordinary.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” I snap, struggling to rein in my wayward shadows that seem determined to make contact. “And start explaining. Constantine, what exactly was in Elizabeth’s journal? And Bael, why haven’t you told me everything about the mate bond?”
The two exchange glances, an unexpected moment of silent communication between rivals that makes my stomach clench with unease.
“Perhaps you should sit,” Constantine suggests, pulling out the instructor’s chair with careful courtesy.
“I’ll stand,” I insist, my voice sharper than intended. “Just tell me the truth. Both of you.”
My shadows pulse with agitation, creating a strange three-way connection as they continue reaching toward both men. I can feel impressions flowing back through the tendrils—Bael’s ancient regret tastes like winter mornings, and Constantine’s academic curiosity, tinged with something deeper and more personal that makes my pulse skip.
Constantine speaks first, his voice careful and measured. “Elizabeth Dawn documented her experience with a partial mate bond. She described it as initially euphoric but increasingly... influential. Her thoughts and priorities began shifting to align with Bael’s. Her independence gradually eroded.”
“That’s a gross oversimplification,” Bael interjects, his shadows darkening with irritation. “Elizabeth wasfighting her natural shadow abilities, trying to pass as fully human in a time when anything supernatural meant death. The bond was helping her accept her true nature.”
“By making her increasingly dependent on you?” Constantine challenges, fire flickering along his knuckles.
“By strengthening her connection to her shadows,” Bael corrects. “Something she both craved and feared.”
My shadow tendrils pulse between them, absorbing both perspectives and feeding impressions back to me like some kind of supernatural translator. The strange thing is, I can sense truth in both accounts—Elizabeth did experience a loss of independence, but also a greater connection to abilities she’d been suppressing out of necessity.
“Why didn’t you complete the bond?” I ask Bael directly, my voice smaller than I intended.
His shadows reach for mine, conveying complex emotions words couldn’t easily express—regret, respect, honor, and something that might be love. “She chose not to. Once she understood the permanence, she decided her path lay elsewhere.”
“She chose death over the bond,” Constantine adds quietly, and the words hit like physical blows. “According to her last entry.”
Bael’s shadows lash out, briefly darkening the entire room until the air feels thick as velvet. “She chose to protect her unborn child when witch hunters came. She chose family over her own survival. Don’t twist her sacrifice into rejection.”
The raw emotion in his voice startles me. This isn’t the detached guardian I’ve come to know—this is someone who carried grief across centuries, who’s been haunted by loss for longer than I can comprehend.
“The child was yours...” I begin, connecting pieces suddenly with growing horror.
“No,” Bael says firmly, his voice cuttingthrough my assumptions. “Elizabeth married a human man she genuinely loved. The child carried the Dawn bloodline forward. My role was only ever as guardian, as it has been for every generation since.”
My shadows absorb this revelation, tendrils thickening as it processes the emotional weight behind his words. Without conscious direction, they form a shadow construct between us—the image of a woman with features similar to mine, holding an infant while flames rise around her.
“Elizabeth,” I whisper, recognizing her from the ancestral memories Bael had awakened. The shadow figure looks so real I could reach out and touch her.
Constantine stares at the shadow construct with undisguised fascination, his amber eyes wide. “Your shadows are accessing genetic memory, creating visual representations of events they couldn’t possibly have witnessed.”
