Chapter 5
The hum of the engines had become a kind of lullaby, low and steady against the quiet press of the cabin air.
Outside, night spread endless and cold, the clouds like dark waves beneath us.
Quebec City glimmered far below—golden threads of light stitched across the black curve of the earth, winding along the river like veins of molten lava.
I sat by the window, chin resting on my hand, watching it approach through the glass. My reflection stared back at me—tired eyes, pale skin, a shadow of exhaustion that even sleep hadn’t erased.
Raven’s warning echoed in my head like a heartbeat.
If you keep doing this, Cass, if you keep sharing magic… it’ll create an irreversible bond.
I’d laughed at the time, or tried to. But later, when I was lying in my bed with the taste of lightning still on my tongue, the fear had set in.
The kind of fear I never allowed myself to feel.
Because I could fight enemies, I could kill monsters—but how did you fight something that was slowly binding you to another soul?
Raven had stayed until dawn, making sure my body could recover from the surge. She’d been gentle, her hands steady as she drew the excess power from my veins and whispered protective sigils under her breath. By the time she left, I’d been too drained to stand, too raw to think.
Con hadn’t said a word through any of it.
He’d stood by the window in silence, watching the first traces of sunlight crawl across the floor, his profile carved in shadow.
When the limo arrived to take us to the airfield, he helped me up without a word.
The same silence followed us into the car, into the plane, and through the long stretch of sky between then and now.
He sat across from me, staring out his own window, hands clasped loosely on his knees. The muted light from the cabin lamps caught the gold in his eyes, but his expression gave nothing away. It was easier, somehow, to look at the glass than at him.
The plane began its descent, the hum deepening as the lights of Quebec grew brighter, closer. The sight hit me harder than I expected. The narrow streets, the layered rooftops, the old stone walls that curved along the river—it was like stepping back into another life.
“I missed this place,” I murmured to no one in particular.
Con didn’t answer, but I caught the glint of his gaze in the window reflection before he looked away again.
The tires hit the runway with a soft jolt. The engines roared briefly, then quieted as the plane slowed and turned toward the private hangar.
We disembarked into the crisp night air. The wind carried the familiar scent of snow, iron, and pine—the smell of home. A sleek black SUV waited near the edge of the tarmac, its headlights cutting through the mist.
The driver stepped out as we approached, his posture straight, his pale face breaking into a smile when he saw me.
“Cassara!”
“Luke,” I said, returning the smile as genuine warmth flickered through the fatigue. “It’s been a long time.”
He hurried around to open the back door for us. “Rene said you might stop by sometime, but I didn’t think it would actually happen.”
I climbed in, Con following silently behind. The doors shut with a muffled thud, sealing us in the familiar hum of the vehicle.
Luke pulled out onto the narrow road that wound away from the airfield, the headlights sweeping over patches of frost and the distant glint of the river.
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his youthful face full of that easy brightness that new immortals sometimes had before the centuries wore it away. “How’ve you been? You look… well, better than the last time you were here.”
“I’m fine,” I said, and meant it as much as I could. “How about you?”
Luke’s grin widened. “Really good, actually. My parents still visit. Every month, like clockwork. I think they like me being what I am now more than I do.”
“Do they?”
He laughed softly. “Yeah. My mom says I finally look healthy. Guess she’s not wrong.”
He didn’t mention the cancer—not directly—but I remembered. He’d been dying when we found him. Barely twenty-three, painting murals in the hospice ward to stay sane between treatments. Rene had offered him the chance to live again, and he’d taken it without hesitation.
“I’m glad,” I said quietly. “You deserve it.”
Luke nodded, eyes on the road ahead. “Thanks. I’ve been painting again, too. Got a little studio in the east wing. You’d like it. Actually—” he hesitated, glancing at me in the mirror, “I think a few of your paintings are still up in your suite. The ones you bought off me.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “They’re still my favorites.”
He flushed, clearly pleased. “Then maybe I’ll show you what I’ve been working on. The new ones are… different. Brighter, maybe.”
“I’d like that,” I said, and meant it.
Outside, the city lights thinned, replaced by the tall, dark silhouettes of trees as the SUV climbed the winding hill toward the mansion. The first spires of Shadow Thorn came into view—black stone gleaming under the moonlight, the gothic arches draped in snow and ivy.
Home.
For a moment, the ache in my chest eased.
Con hadn’t spoken the entire drive. He sat beside me, silent but watchful, his gaze fixed on the passing darkness beyond the glass. Maybe he was still thinking about what happened with the magic. Maybe he was wondering the same thing I was—what would happen the next time it surged.
The SUV rolled to a stop before the mansion gates. Luke glanced back, his expression soft. “Welcome home, Cassara.”
“Thanks, Luke,” I said, smiling. “It’s good to be back.”
The gates opened slowly, the hum of the wards rising as the car pulled forward. Beyond them, the mansion waited—tall, ancient, and humming with the same pulse of power that had once made me fall in love with this place.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the anticipation and the pride, that other feeling stirred again—apprehension, longing, and something dangerously close to hope.
The SUV rolled through the tall iron gates and up the winding drive, tires crunching over the thin crust of frost that had settled with nightfall.
The trees on either side of the lane arched overhead, their bare branches threading together like skeletal hands, forming a tunnel that framed the mansion ahead.
Shadow Thorn came into view—smaller than Shadow Bone, but to me, far more beautiful.
It was built into the slope of the hill overlooking the river, its black stone walls glimmering under the sweep of moonlight.
Snow clung to the pointed gables and narrow window ledges, while warm amber light glowed behind the tall, arched panes of glass.
The building had a Gothic grace to it—elegant, quietly lethal.
Where Shadow Bone towered like a fortress meant to intimidate, Shadow Thorn invited.
It whispered. The dark ivy that crawled up its sides shimmered in the moonlight, breathing an energy I could feel even from the car.
This was the home I’d built, my mark carved into every corridor and column, every ward woven into the foundation stones.
Luke pulled up to the front steps and turned off the engine. I sat for a moment, letting the sight settle over me. It had been too long.
Con opened the door first, stepping out into the crisp night air.
He waited as I followed, the crunch of snow beneath my boots echoing off the marble stairs.
The air smelled of pine and smoke from distant hearths, and somewhere within the walls, I could already feel the pulse of vampire life—the rhythm of my clan.
“Still beautiful,” I murmured.
Con glanced toward the mansion, his expression unreadable but approving. “It suits you,” he said.
I smiled slightly. “It always has.”
We ascended the steps, and the front doors opened before I could touch them. The wards recognized me, their whisper brushing across my skin like a breath of welcome. Warmth spilled out into the night—soft candlelight, polished wood, the scent of sandalwood and aged blood.
The foyer unfolded before us—smaller than Shadow Bone’s grand entrance, but far more intimate.
The floors gleamed with black marble veined in silver.
A grand staircase curved upward along the right wall, its railing carved with intricate runes.
The chandelier above hung low, its glass teardrops glowing like captured moonlight.
Con stopped just inside, taking in the space. I could feel his gaze move across the details—the twin banners hanging from the mezzanine, the pair of angelic statues flanking the hall, the quiet hum of layered protective magic thrumming beneath the stone.
A familiar voice broke the stillness.
“Cassara!”
I turned just as two figures emerged from the side corridor. Alain and Kellan—young by vampire standards, both barely a century turned, but loyal to the core. They had always been among the first to greet me when I visited, and both had made their admiration… evident.
Alain reached me first, his smile bright and a little too eager. He was tall, with copper-brown hair and eyes the color of new steel. His jacket was unbuttoned at the throat, showing the scar that still marked where he’d been turned—a badge of pride, not vanity.
“Welcome home,” he said, dipping his head in a gesture that was almost a bow but not quite formal enough to be proper. “It’s been far too long.”
“Not by my choice,” I replied with a smile. “It’s good to see you both.”
Kellan lingered a step behind, his dark-blond hair tied back, his posture looser than Alain’s but his gaze far more intense. His eyes, an icy-blue that caught the chandelier’s light, flicked toward Con for the briefest moment before returning to me. “You brought company.”
“Constantine Vonhof,” Con said evenly, offering a polite nod that managed to sound both respectful and final.
Kellan’s mouth twitched into a grin. “We’ve heard stories.”
Con’s brow lifted slightly. “I’m sure you have.”