Chapter 20 Ezra #3
“You might be billions of years older than me, but you don’t know everything, Ezra. Think I share information with just anyone? Especially dangerous shite like the existence of the Daughters?”
Iain turns to Aurora with a slow grin, winking as he adds, “You know little blackbird, there’s a thread between me and you as well.”
I steady the rage threatening to rip through my chest, then try to refocus him.
“So, you are aware of the Daughters?”
Unfortunately, my pride alone will not keep her safe. If the past week has taught me anything, it’s that Iain is right. I don’t know everything.
“Yes, Ezra, I’m aware of the Daughters,” Iain drawls, voice thick with mockery. “My kairda, back when it existed, did thread work for Daughters of the past.”
Iain rubs his head and exhales sharply.
“Alright, listen close, little blackbird, ‘cause this ain’t just a bunch of shite tied to your ribs. The weak threads, the ones linking you to the underborne on Earth? They’re throwaway.
You pull, they come. But the moment they see you?
Snip. Gone forever. Good for war. Good for emergencies. But shite for anything else.”
The wrakh leans forward, voice dropping into something heavier.
“Then there’s the real threads. The ones that fucking matter.” He jabs a finger at her. “Your family. Your friends. The hellhound. That’s solid shite. Strong. Damn near unbreakable. But you can cut them if you ever need to. And distance don’t hurt like hellfire.”
He stops there, jaw tightening as his amber eyes flick to me.
“But that one? The one between you and him?”
Iain’s lip curls, but his eyes stay cold.
“That’s not just strong. That’s the kind that fucking kills ya.”
He leans forward on his elbows, voice raw in a way he clearly doesn’t like.
“That’s not a thread, little blackbird. That’s a shackle. No distance’ll break it. You’ll feel each other across time, across fucking worlds.”
He clears his throat, but it doesn’t shake the pain in his voice.
“And when one of you dies?”
His jaw locks, fingers curling against the table’s edge until the particleboard cracks.
“That thread doesn’t break. It vanishes. And it takes a chunk of your fucking soul with it.”
The wrakh’s eyes flick to me, then back to Aurora.
This time, there’s no humor. No teasing.
“I’d be fucking careful with that one. Not ‘cause it’s dangerous. ‘Cause it’ll gut you from the inside out. You won’t even feel the knife until it’s too fucking late.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
Iain doesn’t look away. Aurora doesn’t breathe.
Then, so soft I almost miss it, he whispers, “I know what happens when you lose it.”
A ripple of pure darkness pulses outward from my chest. The shadows at my back thrash, twist, and coil with enough force to burst the nearest lightbulb.
Iain rolls his eyes and gestures toward a tendril sparking at the base of the fixture.
“Can ya tell your little shadow goblins to stop wrecking my fuckin’ house? I just replaced that bloody lightbulb.”
The room dims, my shadows lingering, pressing into every inch of space. They coil around the room’s edges, thrumming with want.
When I try to force them back, they don’t move.
They want me to notice. The little shits are showing off.
Iain clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes again.
“Goddamn shadow monsters,” he mumbles under his breath, like he deals with my kind every day.
I sigh, dragging my hand down my face.
“I wasn’t going to ask, but you know how my shadows work. They obey. They follow my command. They don’t”—I gesture at my shadows wriggling smugly at my shoulders— “do this. They don’t have a mind of their own.”
Collectively, the shadows recoil from me like I just suggested tongue-bathing Iain’s moldy sink.
“Nothin’ to worry about. It’s thread magic.” He jerks his chin toward Aurora.
“I wasn’t sure how it would work with something like you and someone like her, but when you make your thread unbreakable, you share magic with each other. In this case, Aurora solidifyin’ her end of the thread gave you those annoying little bastards.”
I stare at my shadows as they curl around her shoulders, basking in their own perceived brilliance.
“If Aurora hasn’t noticed anything yet, it’s coming. Keep an eye on it.”
By all means, let’s add invasive thread magic to the list of things trying to rewrite her from the inside out.
But before I can drown in that thought, something snaps me back.
One of the shadows slinks up beside her boot, then dramatically swoons across the floor like it’s fainting. Another follows, waving a tendril like a fan. A third forms a heart in front of her face and promptly stabs it with a dagger.
Aurora laughs. It’s not sweet or soft, but a smoky, ember-sparked sound that punches through me and settles in the quiet parts I pretend don’t exist.
I stare at her. “You’re laughing.”
She waves a hand at the shadows slinking behind her like stagehands at a burlesque show.
“I mean … look at them. They’re so dramatic.”
“They’re shadows.”
“They’re theater kids, Ezra.”
I narrow my eyes. She grins back, all teeth. “If it helps, I haven’t named them … yet.”
I raise a brow.
She leans in like it’s a secret. “But I am workshopping some options.”
I sigh. Loudly. “Of course you are. I expect nothing less, darling.”
As if on cue, the shadows behind her twist and writhe, curling into a fucked-up bouquet.
Long, inky tendrils form elegant, spiraling petals, while dark leaves unfurl with unnecessary flourish. One of them plucks itself free and offers it to her, trembling slightly, aching to be noticed.
At least they know who their queen is.
Aurora stares at it, stunned.
Then … fuck me, she blushes.
Not faintly. Not a soft pink across her cheeks. No, it blooms all the way to her ears and down her chest, like they’ve handed her a corsage and asked her to slow dance in Hell.
She looks up through her lashes, biting back a smile. “Seriously? I take it back. They’re not just theater kids. We’re dealing with peak 2006 emo energy.”
She gestures at the bouquet. “This one definitely cries to early Fall Out Boy lyrics. That one there is eyeliner. Just—personified eyeliner. And I swear one of them just whispered ‘rawr means I love you in shadow.’”
Aurora gasps and turns to me with pure mischief in her eyes, biting her lip like it doesn’t make me want to bend her over this fucking table.
“Ezra! They are the black parade!”
“I don’t know what any of that means, but I know I probably hate it.”
“Yeah, well, the one pretending to be a daisy definitely has a LiveJournal full of poetry about you.”
She’s so fucking cute that I don’t even know I’m smiling until I speak.
“Whatever you wish, Aurora.”
I want to scream. I want to kiss her until the blush spreads to her thighs. I want to wring the neck of whatever shadow shit just made a flower out of raw void and hope.
Instead, I just sit here like an idiot while her little groupies preen.
Because apparently? I’m not the only one obsessed with her.
And I get it. Me, the shadows, anyone lucky enough to be known by her—we belong to her the second she sees us and doesn’t flinch, but smiles.