Chapter Sixteen
That night, I dreamed of the Stonebound again.
This time, I wasn’t in Central Park, but in the underground training area below St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
I was practicing the self-defense moves Alaric had taught me earlier that day when an icy cold breeze broke through my concentration, freezing me to the spot I stood in.
The ground around me iced over as my legs felt heavy as lead, stuck to the floor.
The scraping sound of bone on stone began to screech and echo throughout the chamber.
I blinked and suddenly there were seven Stonebound circling around me, their heads cocked in wonder, just as they had done in my last dream with Nana.
I tugged at my legs, panic and adrenaline urging me to pull them out of whatever hold they were in and make a run for it.
My legs uselessly stayed put; no amount of tugging and pulling moved me even an inch.
As I struggled, the Stonebound continued to close in, slowly, lazily, as if they had all the time in the world. Which, I guess, they did.
“Please,” I started to sob, swiping at the air, willing any form of power to come to me, but nothing did. I felt utterly tapped out, the warmth I usually feel pooling just beneath my skin, ice-cold, empty. “Please, no!”
The Stonebound in front of me glided closer, each step deliberate, its movements too slow, too certain to be a simple attack.
Its limbs were wrong—too long, too thin, the joints bending at angles that made my stomach twist. Its hand rose, fingers sharp as blades, yet it didn’t slash.
It only aimed for the center of my chest.
I sobbed, tried to pull my feet up, but they were rooted to the ground. The creature loomed over me, impossibly tall, blocking out everything else. Then, with a terrible gentleness, it pressed one elongated finger against my sternum.
Heat bloomed where it touched me—first a spark, then a growing tide.
My heart clenched as if all the energy in me, every thread of my power, was being drawn to that single burning point.
The warmth grew until it raged, unbearable, as if fire had been poured into my veins.
My skin felt like it was melting, my bones crumbling into ash.
And yet . . . it still hadn’t struck. It still didn’t attack. It only waited, holding me there in the blaze of my own power, as though it wasn’t trying to end me at all—but awaken something within me.
I woke up screaming.
I only had about ten, maybe fifteen minutes to myself before Alaric became suspicious.
The last bell of the day had rung and while most everyone else in the school was rushing to get home and get a head start on their Thanksgiving vacation, I had to find a reason to separate from Alaric enough to get back to the special editions room in the library alone.
I had told Alaric and Sara-Kate that I needed to go see if the hold on a book I needed for one of my final papers had finally come through before we went off for break.
They were both waiting for me at the front of the school.
I had managed to convince Alaric to wait with Sara-Kate as I was still worried about her, not wanting to leave her alone even for a moment.
He begrudgingly agreed; the look in his eyes was enough to tell that if I took too long, he’d be here, hunting me down via the tug on our bond.
The library was deserted, not totally unexpected considering the upcoming school holiday.
I quickly made my way up the three flights of stairs, stopping just before the special collections room.
I pulled a bobby pin out of my hair, hoping the 10-minute YouTube tutorial I’d watched this morning while getting ready on how to lockpick would actually come in handy.
It took a few tries, but eventually I was able to get the door unlocked and stow myself inside before a teacher or librarian saw me.
The air in the room felt heavier, as if I had walked into the Archives underneath the New York Bloodwright Council’s chambers. It felt like the place was protected, warded, but somehow let me in, welcomed me even.
Even if I didn’t remember exactly where Alaric had hidden the book the last time we were here, it would have been simple to find.
The Twinflame tether that connected me to him made it easier for me to recognize his magical trace.
While my magic manifested as a bright, warm light, Alaric’s magic was a burning inferno.
I felt an uncanny, heated gravitational pull to the bookshelf in the back of the room, near the shadowy corner where Alaric had first taken me to explain my Bloodwright heritage.
Had it actually only been a week since I last stepped foot in here?
There was a faint shimmer at the bottom of the bookcase where Alaric had warded the ancient book.
I stooped low, my hand reaching through the magical barrier as if it were silk, pulling the book free.
I sat for a moment, worried my bypassing his magic was sending a trigger down the bond, but nothing happened.
It seemed that his magic reacted as if it were him pulling the book loose, not me. Interesting.
I had wondered why Alaric hid this book here ever since he had brought me to the New York Bloodwright Council chambers.
I figured that an important text like this should be with the other Bloodwright collection.
Though limited, the collection of ancient texts and documents remained under Elias’ careful watch.
Why would Alaric feel the need to hide this book?
Was it really just meant for my training purposes before I was fully initiated, and maybe he just forgot to grab it? Doubtful.
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, as I sat down, flipping through the pages quickly but carefully.
The tether tying me to Alaric sharpened minutely as it was clear he was growing impatient.
My time was running out. The bond felt strained, almost as if Alaric were pulling on it physically, testing how much of me he could reach from this distance.
Sweat broke out on my forehead as guilt swam through my veins.
I was still learning more and more about this Twinflame bond every day.
I was becoming more attuned to what Alaric was feeling, even when we were apart.
And right now, panic, fear, and guilt were fighting for dominance—I couldn’t imagine the look on Alaric’s face if he caught me right now searching for answers behind his back.
I flipped through the pages, careful not to tear anything or smudge the archaic ink. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for exactly. I figured anything on early emergence and what protections could be put in place for possible Bloodwrights could be helpful in protecting Sara-Kate.
I came across the same section that Alaric had shown me about the Stonebound, the image making my pulse accelerate.
I continued flipping through, skimming through sections that I would have loved to have spent hours reading and studying.
I planned on spending tomorrow deep in the Archives, learning all I could about possible protections and ways to help Sara-Kate.
But the thought of looking here first was too great.
I just had a feeling that there had to be a reason this book was here and not with the others.
I slowed down when I came to the section on emergence and protective rituals.
In the few pages I could read, it reiterated that for a Bloodwright to emerge, they must lose a blood relative and that if they were of a certain bloodline, they had the potential to emerge.
The section continued to elaborate on how many awakenings, ever since the Stonebound came into existence, have become “unstable.” Therefore, a protective ward, typically in the form of a pendant or ring, is needed to stabilize the awakening in order for the potential Bloodwright to emerge and find their mentor.
My heart stuttered as I clutched the pendant at my neck.
I didn’t have my father’s ring, but I had this.
Maybe I could ward this for Sara-Kate and give her some more time.
All else that would be needed would be a blood relative and consent from the protected party. If I could just figure out which Bloodwright lineage Sara-Kate may descend from, perhaps I could make something work. But that would take time, and I wasn’t sure how much she had left.
As I turned the page, a few pieces of folded parchment fell out from the back of the book.
I gently picked them up, unfurling them as I took in what looked like several family trees or genealogical records.
There was one marked Gaines, Duvall, Monroe, Whitlock, and Pollard—all names of those in the Council leadership.
I glanced through the pages, my breath catching as I noticed more recent entries with circles and question marks in a sloppy handwriting I didn’t recognize.
Down the Duvall line, there was the familiar name of Ashe Gilmore, who looked like a third cousin of Seraphine.
Her name was circled and then marked out.
An annotation of “unstable” was written in red ink, sloppily.
I glanced at the Monroe line and gasped when I saw Michelle Nelson’s name also circled and labeled as a fifth cousin to Elias. The same annotation of “unstable” written in the margins of the parchment.
My hands felt numb as I continued to glance through the papers, the tug on the bond between Alaric and me sharpening as he continued to wait for me, growing more restless by the second. A flare of concern and panic washed over me, as if Alaric was starting to feel my own panic.
“Just a little longer,” I whispered to myself, trying to calm myself down while also staying focused on the task at hand. I slowed my breathing, willing a feeling of calm to echo down the bond.