1. Dangerous Words
CHAPTER 1
DANGEROUS WORDS
The Midnight Courts have a pulse—a cold, methodical rhythm that makes my human heart feel tragically obvious in comparison. Like a metronome placed inside a thunderstorm, desperately trying to maintain timing while surrounded by chaos.
I navigate the crowded halls with practiced confidence, though every step takes me deeper into danger. My translator's uniform—navy blue with the Shadow Dominion's emblem precisely positioned over my heart—grants me access few humans enjoy in this world. The silver pendant at my throat catches the muted light, appearing merely decorative to casual observers. If they only knew the specialized compartments inside hold my weekly dose of suppressants—the only barrier between me and a breeding facility. Or worse, being claimed by one of these four-armed nightmares who call themselves the evolved species.
Three years I've maintained this precarious balance—respected translator by day, resistance operative by night. Three years of smuggling suppressants to unregistered omegas, coordinating extraction operations, and feeding information to the human underground. Three years of holding my breath, waiting for the moment it all falls apart.
Today, that moment feels dangerously close.
My skin prickles with unwelcome warmth—the first warning sign that makes my blood run cold even as my temperature rises. The suppressants are weakening earlier than calculated. I press my hand against the pendant, willing the chemicals to hold just a little longer. The memory of my father and brother, dragged away during the Blood Week when all human alphas were systematically eliminated, flashes behind my eyes. Their final words—a promise to keep fighting—echo in my mind daily.
"Translator Hayes."
The voice slices through my thoughts, the distinctive resonance of Shadow Speech even when using human language. I turn, face arranged in the neutral mask expected of court translators. Years of practice have made this expression my armor.
"Yes, Administrator?"
A lesser shadow demon—only two arms instead of four, eyes merely blue instead of royal purple—holds out a tablet. His skin absorbs the light around him, creating a visual distortion that human eyes struggle to focus on directly.
"Reassignment. Courtroom 12. Priority trial."
I accept the tablet without allowing our fingers to touch. Even brief contact with shadow demon skin feels like plunging your hand into liquid nitrogen—a lesson learned the hard way during my first year.
The assignment details make my carefully regulated pulse quicken: suspected resistance members captured during last week's raid. Names I recognize from whispered conversations in safe houses, faces I've seen at drop points for suppressant distribution.
"Full tribunal?" I ask, voice steady despite the thundering in my chest.
"Highest priority." The administrator's eyes glow slightly brighter—their equivalent of excitement. "Lord Nightshadow himself will conduct the interrogation."
A chill slides down my spine despite the increasing warmth beneath my skin. Lord Kael Nightshadow. The Shadow Dominion's most feared enforcer, rumored to have personally executed dozens of resistance leaders during the Blood Week. The stories whispered among translators describe him phasing through solid walls to extract confessions, his four arms working in perfect coordination to manipulate both shadows and prisoners. Three centuries old with a perfect memory and senses so acute he can detect a lie before the liar knows they're telling it.
"Reporting immediately," I confirm, tucking the tablet under my arm and moving toward the southern corridor.
The corridors darken as I approach Courtroom 12, the architectural design deliberately intimidating. Classical columns from the original human courthouse rise three stories high, but now they're coated in light-absorbing material that makes them appear like massive voids cut into reality. The ceiling has been replaced with specialized panels that maintain permanent twilight regardless of the actual time of day.
Shadow demons thrive in darkness. Humans stumble through it. Another not-so-subtle reminder of our place in the new hierarchy.
I mentally calculate my window of safety—two hours until the pre-heat symptoms become noticeable to enhanced senses, another hour before actual heat biology begins its betrayal. Three hours to complete this assignment and return to my quarters where emergency suppressant doses are hidden beneath a loose floorboard.
The doors to Courtroom 12 slide open silently, revealing the specialized translation booths positioned at each corner. Two shadow demons flank the entrance, their four arms moving in continuous, unsettling patterns. Not random motion—they're manipulating the shadows around them, creating subtle currents that flow throughout the room like invisible rivers.
I map escape routes out of pure habit—main doors, service corridor behind the translation booths, maintenance access that requires security clearance I've cloned onto my identification. Ten years since the Conquest, and still I never enter a room without planning how to leave it in a hurry.
"Booth Three," directs the assignment coordinator, barely glancing up from his workstation. "Shadow-to-human translation for the defendants."
I nod and move toward the designated booth, keeping my pace measured and my breathing controlled. The transparent enclosure offers the illusion of separation—sound-proof and climate-controlled to ensure optimal translation conditions. In reality, it's just another form of display case, allowing the shadow demons to observe the humans they consider useful tools at best, breeding stock at worst.
I settle into the chair, inserting the specialized earpiece that will feed me the formal Shadow Speech from the tribunal members. Through the glass, I see the defendants being led in—five humans with the hollow-eyed look of those who've already undergone preliminary questioning. I recognize Tomas Chen, whose apartment served as a distribution point for suppressants in the eastern sector. Next to him stands Mira Kozlov, a chemical engineer who helped develop the very compounds keeping my omega status hidden.
My fingers tighten on the edge of the desk before I consciously relax them. Shadow demons notice everything.
The tribunal members materialize rather than walk in—their forms coalescing from the specially designed shadow pools at the edges of the room. Three high-ranking judges, their purple eyes scanning the assembled humans with the detached interest of scientists observing laboratory specimens.
Then the temperature plummets.
My breath catches as frost patterns form on the glass of my translation booth. The shadows throughout the courtroom deepen, converging toward the center like iron filings drawn to a magnet. The defendants shrink back. Even the tribunal members straighten to attention.
He doesn't walk or materialize. One moment the space is empty, the next Lord Kael Nightshadow occupies it completely, as if reality itself had to adjust to accommodate his presence.
He stands nearly seven feet tall, his midnight-black skin absorbing light rather than reflecting it, creating an unsettling void-like appearance that human eyes struggle to focus on directly. Four powerful arms extend from his muscular torso—the primary pair folded formally across his chest, the secondary pair holding documentation tablets. His eyes glow with vibrant purple light, illuminating his sharp features with an otherworldly radiance that marks him as a Prime among his kind.
Those eyes sweep the courtroom in methodical assessment, moving with predatory precision from one face to the next. When they pass over my translation booth, I keep my gaze locked on my tablet, the perfect image of a focused professional. Inside, my heart hammers against my ribs with such force I'm certain he must hear it.
The trial begins with formal declarations in Shadow Speech, the harsh consonants flowing through my earpiece. I translate automatically, my training kicking in despite the mounting sense of danger.
"The tribunal convenes to address charges of sedition, unauthorized possession of restricted chemical compounds, and interference with lawful omega management," I translate, keeping my tone neutral despite the bitterness the words leave on my tongue. "How do the accused respond?"
The human advocate—a beta male appointed by the Shadow Dominion—rises to present the defense. I know before he speaks that his arguments will be performative at best. Shadow trials have predetermined outcomes; the proceedings merely establish the severity of punishment.
As the advocate speaks, Lord Kael moves closer to the defendants, his massive form towering over them. All four hands move in complex patterns, manipulating shadows that curl around his fingers like living extensions of his body. The air temperature continues dropping wherever he passes.
"Defendant Chen," I translate as the tribunal chief addresses the first accused. "You will detail all resistance contacts, locations of unregistered omegas, and suppressant distribution networks known to you."
Tomas trembles visibly but maintains silence. Lord Kael steps directly before him, shadows gathering around both figures in ominous density. Two of his hands reach for Tomas's face while the others continue their hypnotic movements.
"Enhanced interrogation authorized," I translate, the formal phrase chilling my blood. Everyone in the courtroom knows what it means—shadow infiltration of the human body, tendrils of living darkness stimulating nerve endings directly to extract confession through pain no training can withstand.
As Lord Kael's shadow extensions begin to snake toward Tomas, a sheen of sweat breaks out across my forehead. The warmth beneath my skin intensifies, my body's temperature rising as the suppressants continue failing. I press the pendant against my throat, hoping the emergency cooling function might buy me time.
Through the glass, I see Lord Kael hesitate, his head turning slightly. Nostrils flaring. Sensing something.
Sensing me.
Those glowing purple eyes shift from his target to my translation booth, narrowing with sudden predatory interest that sends ice through my veins. I continue translating without pause, without changing expression, but internal alarms scream through every nerve. His posture changes subtly—head tilted, shoulders squared in my direction. Recognition flickers in those luminous eyes, not of who I am but of what I'm hiding.
The shadow tendrils withdraw from Tomas as Lord Kael takes one deliberate step toward my booth.
Then the lights go out.
Total darkness descends on the courtroom. Emergency systems should activate immediately, but nothing happens. The specialized ceiling material that typically emits soft purple illumination remains dead black.
I hear confused voices, panicked movements. The booth door slides open—emergency protocol releasing sealed chambers during power failures. Through my earpiece comes the automated announcement: "System failure detected. Emergency evacuation procedures in effect. All trials suspended until further notice."
It's chaos—exactly what I need. I slip from the booth, joining the flow of humans moving toward the exit. Shadow demons can see perfectly in darkness, but they're outnumbered and momentarily confused by the system failure. I keep my head down, letting the crowd's movement carry me toward the main doors.
Ten years since the Conquest, and still the sight of shadow demons moving through solid objects sends shivers down my spine. I glimpse them now—dark forms phasing through walls and floors as they implement emergency protocols, purple eyes floating like eerie beacons in the blackness.
I reach the atrium where emergency lighting has activated—dim red bulbs that cast everyone in blood-tinged shadows. Court workers file toward designated assembly points with practiced efficiency. I should join them, maintain my cover as the dutiful translator.
Instead, I slip away, calculating my chances. The suppressants are failing faster than anticipated. In the confusion of a major power outage, I might reach the translator quarters and access my emergency supplies before anyone notices my absence. The warming beneath my skin has intensified to an uncomfortable flush, the first hint of slick beginning to form despite my desperate control.
With careful, controlled breathing, I hide my mounting panic behind the blank face expected of court translators. I fall into step with a group headed toward the eastern exit, staying within the tight formation that offers some protection from shadow demon attention.
The blackout grows worse as I leave the administrative district, streetlights failing across the human settlement sector. Curfew alarms begin to sound, warning all humans to return to their assigned homes before total darkness falls. Panic rises as I realize I'm too far from the translator quarters to make it before lockdown. Breaking into a run, I cut through a demolished zone—a dangerous shortcut, but my only chance to avoid being caught after curfew.
Behind me, shadows grow unnaturally dark, a sure sign of shadow demon movement. I don't need to look back to know what's happening, but terror forces me to turn anyway.
Lord Kael Nightshadow himself is tracking me, his four arms extended as he manipulates darkness to move with unnatural speed. Those purple eyes cut through the darkness like twin flames, fixed on me with terrifying intent.
My fingers brush the silver pendant in a final, desperate prayer. The pendant that has kept me safe for three years now feels like nothing more than decorative jewelry against the approaching storm.
What looked like mercy—the blackout offering cover for my escape—was merely the bait in a more elaborate trap. And I've walked straight into it.