Chapter 3 Ezra
Ezra
It’s been five years. Not a twitch, not a chant, not even a citrus-scented sigh.
Nothing but invoices, book sales, and inventory.
Thane breathes life into the shop. I’m just the shadow on the lease.
But apparently, that’s not enough. Lorewood wants its shopkeepers to be visible.
So, some days I button up the human exterior, curl my lips into a smile, and pretend I give a shit.
Today, unfortunately, is one of those days.
I’m restless.
In dire need of distraction.
The kind that burns hours or centuries. It doesn’t matter.
As the millennia bleed together, everything dulls.
Stories repeat themselves. Art blurs into imitation. Music is just the same tired notes rearranged.
I have lived too long.
Existence is a loop. A hollow echo of a world that once had teeth.
Even my sanctuary can’t soften the edges this morning.
The shop is quiet. Suspiciously quiet.
I’m so bored I can barely contain the groan that rumbles from my throat as I drop my book on top of the pile next to my favorite reading chair.
“Ezra, please. Your sighing is driving me fucking nuts. I’m trying to work through these invoices and fill the online orders. I’m begging you. Hire someone else to support the online shop.”
“Hiring someone else is out of the question,” I snap, my lips curling into a snarl. “I don’t want anyone else involved in the shop, and that’s final.”
“Well, at some point, I’d like a life outside this damn shop.” Thane glares at me, his mouth tugging up into a small smile.
Apparently, this is what he calls “joking.”
I don’t find it humorous, but if it keeps him here, I’ll suffer through it.
There’s something unsaid between us that makes our companionship almost comfortable. Thane, in a very human way, knows I’m not normal. And I, in a very monstrous way, know he isn’t either. We don’t discuss it, and chances are we never will.
I can’t imagine casually blurting out, “By the way, did you know I’m an ancient shadow creature that can shift into different forms and has to eat a human every three months?”
What a doltish way to out myself.
Thane, however, doesn’t miss the snort of laughter meant only for me.
“Something funny, Ezra? Or is it my less-than-subtle hint that I need to get out of here and maybe find a warm body for the night?”
His self-righteous smirk makes me want to rip his heart out and shove it down his throat.
“No.” Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? “But your desperation is pathetic. I suggest you reconsider your evening plans.”
Thane places a hand over his chest and gasps. “Ezra! Are you … jealous?”
His bright green eyes glint with mischief before he breaks into a hearty laugh.
The fucking nerve.
I glare, sinking into my reading chair with a low growl, fully committed to ruining his day.
The hours drag on, and I wonder, not for the first time, how Thane can spend his entire day here.
Yes, I love books.
But I watched Alexandria burn. I’m not doing invoices.
Fortunately, he keeps the place running.
That’s … useful. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.
“Why don’t you head out? I’ll lock up.” I wave him off with an eye roll. “Go find your warm body.”
Thane flashes me a shit-eating grin. “Thanks, Methuselah.”
Gritting my teeth, I resist the urge to give him a new hole in his chest.
Methuselah?
Please.
That motherfucker lived one year longer than Yarad, and suddenly he’s the blueprint for ancient wisdom?
Yarad was smarter, stronger, and didn’t reek of goat shit.
Typical.
Leave it to humans to forget the better man just because he didn’t have a PR team.
Once he’s out the door, I watch him saunter down the sidewalk, no doubt heading for the local bar a few streets up. It’s the only thing in the area that stays open past five.
At least he’ll come in tomorrow with some mildly amusing stories.
The human experience still baffles me.
Their lives are short, and on some primal level, they know it. Maybe that’s why they make such ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decisions.
How else do you explain chasing purpose through pills, prayer, and a chunk of fucking rose quartz?
I spend the next thirty minutes closing the register and tidying up. We live on a mountain, in a town so small it barely exists, so in-person business is slow. A handful of locals like to browse or place special orders, but that’s about it.
Let’s be honest, I didn’t open a bookshop in the middle of nowhere for the business. I opened it because I love books.
It’s the only thing humans have done right—well, them and vampires, and wrakhs, and tüskvarr—you get the idea.
Stories don’t care what you are.
That’s why I love them. In here, everyone belongs.
I don’t keep this place running for the money. I have more wealth than I could ever spend.
The shop matters in a different way. I keep it open for the stillness. The quiet comforts me. It gives me something close to belonging, the way I imagine home would feel if I’d ever had one.
My actual house is just somewhere I go to wait for morning.
I never cared about the numbers. That’s probably why I didn’t notice how much the shop had grown. Until Thane dragged it online—turned a profit for the first time in a century—the business side meant nothing to me.
A few months ago, he convinced me to let him build a digital storefront on our website. A website I didn’t even know existed. Something about brand visibility? I don’t fucking know.
Apparently, there’s a market for old and rare books. And somehow Thane stumbled right into it. The business bloomed overnight, almost like magic.
Every cent the online store makes goes straight to Thane, on top of his salary.
Oh, shut up! It was his idea. To the victor go the spoils, right?
As I reach the front door to pull the blinds and secure the locks, something brushes past my ears. A sound I can’t name—one that disrupts my carefully curated stillness. It’s wild and alive with jagged teeth beneath the beauty.
What the hell was that?
Christ, nothing holds my attention anymore.
But this?
It doesn’t just make me listen, it sinks its claws in, refusing to let go.
I shift into my Umbraeth, shedding flesh and form until I’m nothing but shadow, unseen and weightless as I slip through the locked door.
When I glance up Main Street, I find two women walking arm in arm toward me.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That’s it?
Just two bedlam-scented females?
My ancient ass got excited over this?
Am I that horny and desperate?
Still. No harm in waiting a moment, just in case I hear it again.
As they pass, the one with the bright blue pixie haircut laughs like a dying mule.
See? Fucking nothing.
I drift back toward the shop, annoyed and ready to retreat into the quiet comfort of its walls.
Until I hear it.
The other woman’s laugh? It’s different.
People call laughter musical. Hers isn’t. It’s cracked and wicked, like spot fires sparking against her vocal cords—and holy fuck, it lights up every nerve in my ancient, goddamn body.
Her laugh doesn’t burn—it burrows. The sound crawls into my chest, and something in my shadow twists tight, confused by the heat.
Is that my blackened heart? Twitching pathetically inside its hollow cage? Is it … trying to remember how to beat?
That stupid organ keeps stuttering behind my ribs as the woman with burnished copper hair and haunting dark green eyes glides past.
Her presence alone ignites a desperate spark in me, and when her pace slows, my breath catches.
Those otherworldly eyes glance my way as she comes to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
When she turns toward me, my breath halts altogether.
She can’t see me. But what if she did?
Wait, why the fuck do I care?
Christ, Ezra, you’re a primordial bastard carved out of nothing, and you care what this copper-haired meat sack thinks of you?
The little female stands less than a foot from me, talking and wildly gesticulating.
I glide closer, the awning’s shadows curling around me, and drink in the sharp elegance of her features, savoring every edge.
I’ve seen billions of humans during my long life, all unique in their own way, but never special.
Not like her.
My shadow lunges for her, drawn like a starving brute to blood. It takes everything in me to leash it before it tastes her.
When my focus returns to the street, a slight panic fills my chest when I can’t find her. The anxiety subsides, though, when I hear her smoky laughter behind me.
It’s only then that I realize that her strange behavior is because she’s excited about the bookshop.
My bookshop.
I desperately try to clear my head of the hedonistic thoughts forming, then approach the woman currently fogging up my shop window.
Floating my Umbraeth closer than before, I let myself sink into her contagious excitement, drawn to the comforting heat rolling off her in waves.
But when her intoxicating scent reaches me, something primal lurches in my chest, and I pull back before I can understand why.
She smells like sweet summer honeysuckle and warm sunshine after the rain.
It’s natural and beautiful and grounded.
Motherfucker.
When I shift back, I’m going to have a problem.
A painful, rock-hard one.
Contine te, frater. You traitorous bastard.
We don’t do humans anymore.
“What are you?” I mutter to myself as she turns to ask her friend more questions.
The blue-haired pixie calls me dangerous, aloof, and “sexy as fuck.”
Not exactly the words I’d use, but close enough.
Part of me hopes that copper-haired threat to my peace stays the hell away. But deep down, I know I can’t stay away from her.
In fact, I’ll be counting the minutes until she’s on my doorstep again because I want to fucking ruin her.
I want her to suffer. To come. To cry. To bleed.
And I want her to tear me apart for every second of it.
What the fuck is wrong with me tonight?
When her sweet, light scent hits me again, I stifle a groan building low in my chest.
Wait.
What the fuck?
This is the same reality-shifting fragrance from the hunt the other night.