Chapter 1 Safety in the Shadows
Chapter One
Safety in the Shadows
— Grayson —
Nausea churns in my gut, coating my mouth with a bitter taste. But each complaint, the pounding in my head, the bone-deep exhaustion—I welcome them all. For in this suffering, I find clarity.
Roxana’s suffocating grip on my mind is severed, torn away like a choking vine, leaving only the wreckage of her influence behind. I take a shuddering breath, releasing weeks of tension, and with every tremor, I pay the price gladly—for freedom.
The beast stirs within me, his predatory awareness rising from beneath the clearing haze of coercion. He wakes slowly, stretching like a shadow, hunger gnawing at us. He scans the room, nostrils flaring, a low growl bubbling beneath my skin. Familiar scents—Rurik, Stefan, and another, less familiar but still recognizable. No threat, these three. The beast shifts his focus, hunting for danger.
Meanwhile, my limbs are leaden, refusing to obey and a dull ache throbs from muscle to bone. My once-precise movements have grown clumsy. Panic claws at my mind. What happened?
Gaps in my memory pulse with pain—Roxana’s handiwork, no doubt. She must have staged a grand performance to leave me in such a state—made me dance at the ends of her strings for days, perhaps weeks .
A fragmented image takes shape: a bitter drink, magic burning my throat. I drop my head into my hands, fighting the pounding headache and the nausea that rises in waves. Thunder roars in my skull as I struggle to piece it all together. The edges blur, memories slipping through my grasp like sand.
I shove the beast back, forcing him into a low growl. But even as I push him down, he coils tightly within me, ready to lash out at the first sign of weakness.
My awareness spreads—I’m still in Volterraio. The room is unfamiliar, a guest chamber, the bed unused and dust-covered. Stefan’s concern is clear as he glances to the doorway. Rurik’s gaze is shadowed with worry before he looks away. Valentine, Aiden’s peculiar little stray, watches me like I’m a puzzle to solve.
Why Valentine, but not Aiden? What happened, and how did we get here? A sliver of satisfaction cuts through the fog—Roxana’s absence means something. But a quick check of our bond reveals that it’s tepid, slack, but sadly, still intact. Roxana lives. The hag lingers somewhere, biding her time.
Questions churn inside me, pressing against the dam of my control. If only my monster would stop snarling long enough for me to form even a single coherent thought…
A hand lands on my arm—gentle, almost soothing. My monster explodes, a vicious roar tearing from my throat as he wrests control. Stefan’s laughter cuts through the haze, rich and unbothered. “Whoa there, big guy. Easy now. I know it’s confusing, but you’re not taking a chunk out of me today. Brother, if that muddled mind can hear me, you’re safe.”
Safe. The word means nothing to the beast, his rage flaring hot and blinding.
Injured, disoriented—it’s the perfect moment for an enemy to strike. He won’t allow it. My body jerks in fits of violent desperation, a snarl tearing through the air. But then—a tendril of scent seeps through the fog, faint but unmistakable. It worms into the beast’s awareness, soothing the edges of his anger.
Our head snaps up, nostrils flaring, hunting for the source. The scent is a memory clinging to the air: drying herbs, rich cream, the warmth of bread baked over an open hearth. My Little Cat .
A glimmer of memory stirs—words from a young true shifter teasing at the edge of recollection. The beast within moves us, our gaze sweeping the space for any sign of movement, any shadow that might cloak them. Our eyes land on a solitary lamp in the corner, its long shadow looming. The beast latches on, forcing us into motion, pushing through the weariness with singular focus. They might still be alive.
Rurik is the first obstacle. The beast surges forward, shoving him aside and sending him sprawling. Stefan ducks us, barely avoiding our claws, but he doesn’t expect the smoke curling from the floor, climbing his leg, and pulling the sword from his back.
Xavier steps from the shadows, their grin sharp, eyes glinting with dark amusement as if they orchestrated this.
“Rucio,” they admonish.
My monster gives a jubilant roar while the rational part of me can’t believe this reckless plan worked.
Rurik scrambles to his feet, grabbing Xavier by the shoulders. He pulls them close, whispering something I can’t hear. Stefan steps in front of my jaguar, his hand hovering like a shield over their head. Valentine shifts closer too, murmuring in their ear.
It’s enough to snap the beast’s patience. We—a single, snarling entity of human and vampire—bristle at the way they hover around our Little Cat, as if they need protection. A guttural growl rolls through me, red clouding my vision as possessiveness flares hot. The rational part of me knows Rurik is right—I could hurt Xavier—but the beast doesn’t care. He wants them close.
I can almost feel the eye-roll, their exasperation and stubborn defiance. A heartbeat later, they’re in my lap, and my beast rumbles with satisfaction. I bury my nose in the hollow of their neck, inhaling deeply.
Their scent grounds me—sun-warmed skin, salt, the subtle zing of magic. Relief eclipses the hunger gnawing at the edges of my awareness.
They’re whole. They’re here. No scars I can see, no marks from Roxana’s cruelty. They don’t flinch as my claws slide through their curls.
For just a moment, the beast settles. But the bond—our bond—is severed, a raw, pulsing wound where it should be. All my monster wants is to shield our little mate and fix what’s been broken. He sends me an image: Sunday and our jaguar, one under each arm, as he takes luxurious sips of their blood. At our feet, a warm, shaggy gray blanket.
Xavier’s voice breaks the quiet. “We need to talk. Can you keep Smoky calm long enough for a conversation?”
I nod, and the beast recedes, granting me control. The world tilts, heavy and unsteady, but my Little Cat’s touch anchors me.
“What happened?” I croak.
“There you are,” they murmur, fingers brushing my cheek before their lips meet mine. My grip tightens, fingers trembling as I pull them closer, needing their warmth, needing them whole. “Never,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Never leave again.”
Stefan’s laughter draws my attention. He smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Where did you find so many mates in such a short time?” he chides, finger wagging. “Greedy, Grayson. Very greedy.
A growl rumbles through me, my grip on the little shifter tightening. “Enough.” I turn to Stefan, eyes narrowing. “Why are you here? How do you know them? And how does everyone know Sunday? What did she do while I was under Roxana’s control?”
Xavier smacks my chest hard enough to pull my focus. “Rude.”
Rurik counters, his voice dry. “Sunday orchestrated all this.” He gestures to the room. “A small coup d’état, if you will. She pulled us all together—tracked us down, convinced us to join her, the whole nine yards.” He sounds almost bored, as though admitting that my mostly human mate seemingly has my entire line wrapped around her finger is entirely unremarkable.
But, of course, she couldn’t sit idle. “And Roxana?” Her name turns to ash in my mouth, polluting it. “She’s still alive, isn’t she?”
The fog lifts. Images sharpen—the glint of her serpent cuff, demons at her back. Fear coils in my gut. “Tell me she isn’t with Sunday.”
My jaguar sensing my growing unease and likely noticing the smoke pooling on the floor beneath my feet, pulls my chin down so they can look me directly in the eye.“Sunday is with Tomas and Ben. They chased your Maker and the big demon-guard through a side door. He was carrying Roxana.”
I try to stand, the room spinning, my legs buckling. “Half-dragon,” I hiss. “He doesn’t need to shift to use his fire. We have to—”
Rurik’s frown deepens, his gaze shifting to Xavier. “We need to go. Feed him.”
They settle in my lap, pulse fluttering under their skin, warmth seeping into my bones. My fangs slide into place. I glide my tongue across their skin, numbing it—I’m lost in heat and salt. Their pulse throbs against my lips, their taste flooding my mouth, a soft purr vibrating through them.
For a moment, the rest of the world fades away. There are no enemies, no monster clamoring for control—just My Little Cat, and the chasm stretching between us. Their blood is a single strand, stretching across the gap, reverberating with echoes of the bond we once shared.
The blood soothes the fire in my veins. I pull back, sealing the wound with a gentle lick. Xavier smiles, eyes half-lidded, dazed. “Better?”
I nod, brushing my lips against theirs. “Better,” I murmur, “But we still need to find Sunday.”
Tension ripples through the room. Rurik stumbles, his face twisting in shock. Stefan drops to his knees, a cry ripping from his throat. I feel it too—the bond to Lys snapping with violent force, shaking me to the core.
Stefan’s shoulders heave, tears streaming down his face. Rurik pulls him close, murmuring words I can’t hear. Valentine pales, turning to the door, eyes wide.
Aiden bursts in, Gretchen at his side, scanning the room before his eyes land on Stefan. He touches his brother’s shoulder, then turns to me, his gaze narrowing. Before I can speak, another wave hits—fire and fear, lighting up the golden link to my mate. Xavier meets my eyes, their own wide with terror.
“Sunday,” they whisper.
“She’s still there, isn’t she?” My voice is barely audible, tangled with fear as my monster draws closer to the plasma-hot tether. It reaches out a claw, then draws it back as if scalded.
Xavier swallows, nodding. “Yes. But we need to hurry.”
Rurik stands, his expression steely. “I promised her. We go now.”
Valentine steps forward. “I’ll come.”
Xavier rolls their eyes. “ ?A quién le importa quién viene? We need someone to lead us. All I know is she’s somewhere below us.” (Who cares who’s going?)
Aiden glances at me. “Can you run?”
I barely register his words, too focused on Sunday’s bond—the fragile golden thread that tethers us. Xavier answers for me. “If he can’t, I’ll pull him through the shadows.”
***
We move fast. Gretchen stays behind with Aiden and Stefan, who’s still incapacitated by Lys’ demise. The rest of us, even Valentine, race through the twisting passageways with preternatural swiftness.
We are an elite guard, our strength forged in blood and the gifts of our Maker. The suddenness of Lys’ passing leaves my monster in shock, grief settling into a cold, jagged space within me.
His death lingers in the air, an unwelcome thought I shove aside. It’s too soon, but grief can wait—Sunday comes first.
The journey becomes a haze of torchlight and narrow passageways. My focus remains fixed on the bond with my unconscious mate, its heat a lifeline. But her warmth is growing too intense, an unnatural heat that sends waves of unease down my spine.
Rurik leads us deeper into the castle’s labyrinthine underbelly, each turn a blur in my periphery.
We burst into a vast cavern, a hall for giants. Carvings line the walls, but they’re meaningless to me. I’m only looking for her.
Ben and Tomas are huddled on the ground, Sunday’s head resting in Ben’s lap. He speaks softly, a dark jacket covering her, Tomas in nothing but dress pants.
My little shifter friend leans against the wall, swallowed in a too-large white shirt, looking traumatized. Xavier’s gaze flits between Sunday and the boy. At Ben’s pleading look, they cross the space and wrap an arm around the child’s narrow shoulders.
Valentine, after a cursory glance at Sunday, ghosts across the room to Mishka’s other side, sinking down beside him.
Tomas looks up from his spot at Sunday’s feet and catches my eye. He doesn’t lower his stare; he doesn’t flinch or shift uncomfortably. He holds my eyes, nods once, and looks back down at her.
He dismisses me. How did so much change in three weeks? What else did I miss while under Roxana’s thumb?
Ben is the last to look up, his voice shaky.
“She’s not hurt, but she’s really hot. The dragon fire burned her clothes off, but her hair, her skin… she’s okay.” His voice hitches slightly at the end, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “She just needs to wake up now.” He leans closer to her, his words softening. “Sweet Girl, Gray’s here, and Xavier. It’s time to wake up.”
I kneel beside her, hesitating before I touch her.
Heat radiates off her in waves, the air around her thick with it. When my fingers meet her skin, it feels like touching a scalding stove. I wince, dread spiking through me. She’s much too hot for a human—maybe too hot for a demon. The unnatural warmth is a constant reminder that something is wrong. Still, I lace my fingers with hers, gripping tightly, too desperate to feel her with me to temper my strength.
“How long has she been out?”
Tomas answers, “Almost ten minutes.” He closes his eyes and exhales. “I’m sorry about your Maker. He was really trying to help us at the end. It was a senseless loss.” He catches my eye again, and I can feel my monster leaning forward, examining the wolf who seems to have misplaced his usual deference and submission.
Rather than dwell on Lys, my eyes dart to the familiar Inuit tattoo on Tomas’ shoulder and bicep—a striking design in thick black ink. The raven’s large, watchful eyes gleam in the dim light, its wings sweeping in bold, intricate lines. It’s a symbol of strength, of survival—and it’s unchanged, even amidst the chaos surrounding us.
Ben interrupts. “Maybe she needs blood. What if she’s hurt inside and that’s why she’s so hot?”
Rurik steps closer, his eyes sharp with a need I can’t name. Valentine watches with calculated calm, ready to act.
I project toward them both, though I shouldn’t have to, “She’s my mate. If she needs blood, it will be from me.”
I murmur to her, “Gods, Lover. I can’t leave you alone for a moment, can I? Running off to collect vampires like Precious Moments figurines.” Don’t ask, Vivien had a phase.
At first, I think I imagine it—the faintest pressure against my fingers—but then she squeezes them again. I react instinctively, bringing her hand to my lips, my heart pounding. Ben and Tomas lean in.
“That’s it, my love,” I murmur.
Her lashes flutter, and a half-smile tugs at her lips. I watch every subtle shift in her expression, trying to etch it into memory. Then her eyes open, and with them, a flood of images—her across a hundred lifetimes—tumbles through my mind. I shake my head, and she reaches for my face.
“You’re really here?” she whispers.
“I really am.”
“I think I got flamed by a demon.”
“Not a demon,” I laugh. “We’ll talk about that later.”
“Are you gonna kiss me?”
“Undoubtedly, as often as you’ll allow.”
“Well, I might allow a lot of kisses.”
Xavier appears beside us, and Sunday turns to them, then glances at Ben and Tomas. She gives a tired but genuine smile, enough warmth in it to light the room.
“I can’t believe we’re all together again, finally.”
The others exchange glances, their expressions softening, each of us feeling the relief in our own way. Ben kisses her free hand, while I grip the other, refusing to let go. Tomas rubs her feet absentmindedly, his gaze gentle. It’s a far cry from the prickly peace they enjoyed when I was last with them.
Sunday suddenly tries to sit up, urgency in her voice. “Is Mishka okay?”
Xavier leans in, kissing her forehead. “He’s shaken, but he’s worried about you. Val’s taking him back to the castle once he sees you’re okay.”
Ben moves to let her see past his shoulder. Mishka gives her a tentative wave before shifting into a gray mouse and racing toward Ben.
Seriously, I really need someone to explain what in the nine circles is going on here.
Ben holds him cupped in his hands, rubbing a finger across his back gently. “I told you she would be fine,” he whispers.
Then Rurik reaches for Mishka, leaving me entirely baffled. “Come, Little Mouse, it’s time for cheese and a long rest.”
Again, what in the world is happening here?
Ben carefully passes the child in mouse form to my brother. The Tsar of Volga, the cruel and uncompromising vampire I’ve known for almost two thousand years, pats his mouse-filled pocket, dips his head to Sunday, and turns to leave.
Sunday watches them go with unmistakeable fondness in her eyes. Then she looks back at us.
“And we killed Roxana?” she asks hopefully.
Tomas’ face falls. “No, she made it into Dae. I’m… I’m sorry, Trouble.”
Her mouth tightens, then she nods. “So, it’s not over, then.”
Xavier leans in, blocking her view of us. “We have a little more work to do. But we stick together, and it’ll be over before we know it.”
Ben runs his fingers through her hair as if the very acts of it settles something in him. “For now, let’s find a big bed and figure the rest out tomorrow.”
“That sounds perfect.”
She starts to sit up, the jacket slipping off her shoulders, then glances down, “So, guys, why am I naked?”