Chapter 2
TWO
KAEL
She still hasn’t looked at me.
Not once.
I’m pressed into the deepest pocket of shadow at the courtyard’s edge, half-dissolved, the darkness thick and cool around me like armor.
From here, I can see every flicker of reaction across her face, every subtle shift of power that ripples out from her like dark water.
The Veil clings to her, even now—thin black threads curling lazily around her boots before finally, reluctantly, ebbing around her feet as though she’s standing in a puddle.
The stones she stepped on are cracked in delicate spiderweb patterns.
The wards shivered when she crossed them.
The air still tastes of ozone and old night.
And then Dorian moves.
He steps out of the crowd with that infuriating, theatrical grace, boots clicking off the stone. His smile is slow, lazy, entirely too pleased with the chaos she’s caused.
“Wow,” he drawls, loud enough to turn heads. “That’s how you make an entrance.”
A ripple goes through the watching students—some tense, some openly staring, a few stepping back. Dorian has that effect.
He stops right in front of her. Close. Close enough that I feel my shadows twitch, instinctive and possessive, curling tighter around my wrists.
His gaze drops to the dark tendrils still licking at her ankles. His expression sharpens—not with fear, never fear—but with bright, predatory interest.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice pitched so low I have to strain to catch it, even with demon hearing. “If you stay here much longer, someone’s going to try to bind you, lecture you, or attempt to steal your magic.”
Her lips part on a quiet huff of laughter. The sound hits me like a blade between ribs—rough-edged, unused, but so painfully her that the mark on my palm flares white-hot.
“Let them try,” she says.
“Oh, I fully believe you’d enjoy that,” he answers, all bright mischief. Then he raises his voice just enough to carry across the courtyard. “But as fascinating as this public spectacle is, I’m pretty sure you didn’t come back just to be stared at.”
He offers his arm.
The courtyard holds its breath.
Dorian leans in, just a fraction.
“Come on, Veilborn,” he says, softer now. “Before the council remembers they love cages.”
She pauses—one heartbeat, two—and then she slides her hand onto his forearm.
They turn together.
Dorian steers them toward the far archway, grip light but unmistakably sure, his body angled to shield her from the thickest part of the crowd.
Nolan falls in at her other side, close enough that his shoulder brushes hers every few steps. Tamsin bounces along on her right, grinning like she’s personally responsible for this entire dramatic return.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
The mark burns hotter with every step she takes away from me—away from the shadows where I’m hiding, away from the apology I’ve swallowed so many times it’s carved grooves in my throat.
Six weeks I spent tearing into every crack the Veil gave me, shoving shadows and blood and desperation into those fractures, trying to drag her back.
Six weeks of the bond screaming that she was alive, somewhere, and I still couldn’t reach her.
And now she’s here.
Walking out on Dorian’s arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I watch the way his fingers rest against her sleeve—casual, possessive, easy in a way I haven’t been allowed to be since the secrets started piling up between us.
I watch Nolan stay close, steady and quiet and safe in a way I used to be.
I watch Tamsin practically vibrating with joy and protectiveness.
I watch her leave.
And I feel the exact moment her awareness brushes past the corner where I stand—skims the darkness, feels me there—and moves on without pausing.
The ache in my chest turns vicious.
Raiden should be here. He would’ve shoved through the crowd, tails blazing, planted himself in front of her like a living wall. But his father kept him away, and now he’s probably tearing apart half the eastern wing trying to get back to her.
I need to find him.
I need to tell him she’s back, that she’s different, that whatever came through the Veil with her is waking up fast and hungry.
I need to tell him she won’t let me close—not yet, maybe not ever—and that means he’s the shield she’ll accept right now.
The one who gave up everything for her without hesitation.
The one whose loyalty she never has to question.
I let the shadows take me completely, dissolving into nothing as the courtyard empties behind them.
But even as I slip away, the mark keeps burning.
The hallway outside Raiden’s quarters is empty when I arrive, and I can only sense him inside—raw, molten fury wrapped in foxfire and grief.
The door has fresh claw marks gouged so deep into the frame that splinters still drift to the floor.
I push through the wards that hold him with a thread of shadow, silent as always.
Raiden is in the center of the room, fully shifted—nine tails thrashing like living flames, fur bristling along his spine, golden eyes blazing molten.
The air shimmers with heat; scorch marks stripe the walls where his fire has lashed out in helpless rage.
He paces in tight, furious circles, claws extended, every muscle vibrating with barely-leashed violence.
He doesn’t startle when I emerge. Just stops, nostrils flaring, and fixes me with a look that could melt steel. I know how he feels about me since Lindsay vanished. I’ve been here enough to know. Nothing I do helps him, and it pains me as much as her absence had.
No one should have to go through what he has without her.
He’s been trapped in his room by the council and his father.
They say it’s for protection of him and the rest of the school, which is probably true.
Having a fully shifted, angry, unmated kitsune roaming the halls would have caused a lot of casualties and damage.
She’s back, he growls inside my head.
“She is, and you didn’t come,” I reply, even though I knew he had no choice.
His tails snap once—hard enough to send a gust of hot wind across my face. Do you think I would have stayed here if I could have gone to her? No shifting on campus. And I can’t fucking control my shift since she’s been gone.
I swallow hard. The tether between them—between him and Lindsay—has been unstable since the moment she vanished.
She’s his bonded mate in the oldest, truest sense of the word, the anchor that keeps his kitsune form from consuming him.
Without her presence to ground him, every shift has been agony, forced and incomplete, tearing at muscle and bone and soul.
I’ve felt the echoes of it through our shared bond—his pain bleeding into mine like acid.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and it sounds as useless as it always does. A million apologies couldn’t undo six weeks of him being trapped in a body that wants to rip itself apart without her near.
Raiden’s eyes narrow to burning slits. He stalks closer—close enough that his foxfire licks at the edges of my coat, hot enough to blister if he wanted it to.
Save your useless words, demon. His mental voice is low, lethal. Why are you here, instead of with her?
“She needs you to protect her,” I reply, because it’s the truth.
He snaps his teeth inches from my throat—a warning, not an attack. The heat of his breath scorches my skin.
“Something dark came back with her,” I continue before he can tear into me again. “It’s wrapped around her like a parasite.”
He growls low and long. And you are telling me you sensed that and decided to come here instead of warning her?
“If I go to her now, she will think I’ve brought darkness to her. She will think it’s my fault. She’s already furious with me for keeping the artifact from her and not telling her everything Dorian told me. Everything that could have kept her safe.”
A bitter snort echoes in my mind. He swipes the air between us with his claws, stopping a hair’s breadth from my chest.
You think this is about your guilt? You think I give a shit about your wounded pride right now?
His mental roar is laced with something rawer than anger—something that sounds dangerously close to despair.
You kept your secrets. You let her leave your room and get taken by the Veil.
And now she comes back carrying something that reeks of death and hunger because none of us were there to stop it. Because you weren’t there.
“I tried to reach her,” I say quietly, knowing it’s not enough. “Every fracture that opened—I threw everything I had into them. Shadows, blood, power. I failed. I know.”
Raiden holds my gaze for a long, searing moment. Then something shifts in those golden eyes—not forgiveness, not yet, but a flicker of shared torment. He knows what it feels like to fail her. He’s living it every time his body betrays him without her touch to calm the beast.
If that thing hurts her, he says, voice dropping to a lethal whisper in my mind, if it twists her even a little—I’ll rip it out with my teeth. And then I’ll come for you. Because you should have told her everything from the beginning. We all should have.
“I know.”
He turns away, shoulders heaving, tails still twitching with barely-leashed violence. The heat in the room eases a fraction. I know the only thing that will calm him is a true bond with Lindsay. A mating bond, not a magical one. I hope she’s ready.
The wards are cracking, he tells me without looking back. My father can’t hold me forever—not when she’s here. The second they weaken enough, I’m going to her. Full speed. No hesitation.
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “She’ll let you close. She trusts you. You gave up everything for her—your family, your place. She knows that.”