Chapter 23 Aurora
Aurora
We’ve been digging through research for hours. Between Ezra’s books, Iain’s notes, and tomes of ancient folklore and fairytales, it’s all starting to blur together. Half the stories contradict each other. Some are outright myths. And none of them tell me what I actually need to know.
Most of what we find centers on the various powers of the Daughters. We’re considered queens among the underborne, which is hilarious because Ezra and Iain implied that almost none of them believe the Daughters are even real.
I’m just another in a long line of women given a little spark of Hell’s magic that’s supposed to awaken when I fuck the ancient shadow monster currently pretending not to stare at me when he’s supposed to be doing research.
His shadows are a dead giveaway that he’s not working.
One’s curled loosely around my wrist, lightly pulsing any time Ezra looks at me. Another drapes over my shoulder like an inky, undulating shawl. A third slinks across the floor, curling possessively around my foot.
These little guys are growing on me.
They’re like horrifying eldritch puppies that live to please.
I really need to figure out a name for them … preferably one that will drive Ezra crazy.
From what we gather, all Daughters can call on and manipulate hellfire, just like Louie. Apparently, it’s standard-issue magic for any child of Hell.
Another shared ability is the power to shift into some kind of goddess-like form engulfed in flames, small horns or antlers sprouting from their head, and a twisting crown of sweet briar.
The rest is a complete toss-up. Some could speak to the dead, which explains my mom’s unsettling little quirk. Others had visions. Some built golems from hellfire. A few whispered to animals, controlled the weather, or bullied plants into behaving.
Quaint. Not useless, just … odd little parlor tricks.
After spending the entire afternoon flipping through brittle pages and skimming endless lines of half-legible text, I’m fried.
Whatever part of me processes information is now a puddle of useless goo.
And still … nothing. Not a goddamn thing that tells me what my power actually is.
Everything we’ve found is rumor, not fact. And the only guidepost I have is my mom. Sure, it explains how she could talk to Gram, but I never once saw her burst into flames or sprout fucking horns.
I flip to the next page. More cryptic little antidotes about a Daughter who always found four-leaf clovers, or one who could transfer her menstrual cramps to a misogynistic politician. Which, honestly, is a public service.
“What, exactly, is the logic here?” I demand. “Lucifer and Lilith just throw their daughter to the humans, hope no one kills the bloodline, and what … she protects the underborne in the process? As a queen? Like a leader?
“I mean, these powers are underwhelming, if I’m being honest. Where’s the Daughter who could’ve cured cancer? Or the one who could have warned people before an earthquake hit? Where’s the Daughter who could have ended hunger or stopped a war before it started?
“You’re telling me these women had magic, and all they did was summon rainbows, always find matching socks, and talk to dead ghosts named George? You call that a legacy? Because I don’t want to be part of something that sits back and lets the world go to shit.”
Ezra watches, allowing me a moment to spiral. It’s well deserved after all the crap I’ve been through. His shadows reach for me but pull back when my voice sharpens.
I groan, dragging both hands through my hair, then gesture wildly at the book again.
“How is this even remotely helpful? This is just underborne propaganda! I can’t tell what’s real, what’s fairytale, or what some miserable asshole scribbled down hoping someone else would figure it out!”
I shove the book away and slump back into my chair. “This is fucking stupid.”
Am I acting like a frustrated child? Yes. But everything about this isn’t fair.
I just … wish my mom were here.
I rub my temples. “Okay, so what do we actually know?”
Ezra sits back, folding his arms. “That you are a Daughter of the Morning Star. That, from what I’ve observed, your power most likely has to do with persuasion. That your power has yet to awaken. And that, historically, all Daughters gained their full magic through …”
There’s a delicious cruelty in the way his mouth curves.
“Intimacy.”
I groan. “Just say fucking, Ezra.”
“I prefer intimacy.” His grin widens. “It makes it sound romantic, don’t you think?”
I glare at the stunningly handsome man sitting across the table from me.
“Ezra, no offense, but I’m not sure you’re the authority on what’s romantic.”
I arch a brow.
“Me? I prefer blunt honesty. I claim my power when I fuck the ancient shadow monster currently pretending to do research, when really, he’s just been ogling me.”
Ezra leans in like he’s about to share a secret—or cause trouble. His gaze flicks to my lips, tempest-grey eyes hooded, as his shadows tighten around my waist, mirroring his thoughts.
For a second, it looks like he might say something truly monstrous. Something devastating. Something I’d never recover from.
But then, with agonizing control, he exhales, tilts his head, and whispers, “You’ll be remarkable, darling.”
I clench my fists, resisting the urge to yank him down and demand he prove just how remarkable he really thinks I am.
Instead, I exhale slowly, trying desperately not to launch myself over the table.
“I appreciate the confidence, but how do you know?”
“Whatever it is, little lupine, we’ll face it together.”
His voice is steady, but there’s an edge of something beneath it.
“None of the abilities we’ve found seem dangerous, so I’m not worried about that.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand, his fingers tightening around mine.
“But Aurora … the Disciples won’t wait for you to figure out your power. They won’t let you. They’ll strike first. They’ll kill you before you even have the chance to fight back. You’re safe here. With me. For now.”
His thumb, along with a stray shadow, grazes my knuckles.
“But I can’t always be by your side, Aurora.” Ezra swallows. Hard. “Even if I want to.”
His next words are barely a whisper. “And that … fucking kills me.”
The way he says it, like a wound healing over too soon, sends a shiver down my spine.
I refocus, then flip another page, barely skimming the words because my brain is still stuck on the ridiculousness of this entire situation.
And queens? Right.
If the Daughters were supposed to be underborne royalty, why did they hide? Why didn’t anyone try to protect them?
Why, after generations, am I the only one standing in an old library with an ancient shadow monster, actually considering it?
I exhale sharply, tossing the book onto the table.
“And another thing. If the Daughters were queens, why didn’t they claim it? Why didn’t they—”
Ezra moves, a slight reach across the table.
And then, his fingers graze the bruises along my throat.
I freeze, a sharp breath catching in my chest.
Ezra doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at me. Not right away.
His touch lingers for a brief moment before pulling away, and then, finally, he speaks.
“If I had to guess?” His voice is quiet, almost careful. “That’s why.”
Oh.
Oh.
The weight of it makes my stomach lurch.
Ezra leans back, stretching out in his chair, and when he finally meets my eyes, there’s something deep and dark flickering behind them.
Something old.
“It’s possible they didn’t step back because they wanted to,” he murmurs. “They stepped back because they had to. Because the world made sure they would.”
His lips curve. It’s not quite a smile, but something wry, something edged with quiet fury.
“And because, to be perfectly honest?” He tilts his head. “They didn’t have me.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “They didn’t have someone who would bend time and bone to keep them whole.”
Oh, fuck.
I hate the way my pulse reacts to that.
I hate the way his voice curls around the words, like he’s already decided he’ll die before letting me fall.
My throat is too tight. I need to breathe. I need to cut through the gravity of this before it swallows me whole.
So, I smirk. I raise my chin, shake my head, and let my voice slip into something teasing, something flippant.
Something safer.
“Oh, don’t look so serious, Grim.” I wave a hand, like this isn’t a big deal and I’m not seconds away from losing my shit. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got serious royal guard energy?”
Ezra stills. For half a second, nothing happens.
Just a heartbeat of silence, just the slow curl of his fingers against the tabletop.
And then … Ezra stands. Shadows coil around him, rising slowly and sinuously at his feet.
My mouth goes dry as he kneels before me.
Oh, shit.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
His hands slide over my hips, dragging me closer, and when he looks up, his eyes are deep and abyssal.
He leans in, his lips brushing the bruises on my throat, a kiss so soft, so deadly devotional, my heart nearly stops.
“No,” he murmurs. “Guards protect what they’re told to. I serve whomever I choose. I serve you, little queen.”
The words prickle against my skin. It’s not a promise, but something older. Something already written in the depth and breadth of the cosmos.
And then he leans in, his voice dark and deliberate.
“And if you want to be a queen for the underborne, too?” His lips curve against my throat. Teasing me, taunting me … daring me. “Then fucking do it.”
I’m so fucked.
Ezra is on his knees, looking up at me like I hunt the stars. Not like I worship them or belong to them, but like I chase them down and make them mine.
My body refuses to cooperate.
My brain? Absolutely short-circuiting.
My spine? Actively trying to escape.
A shadow curls around my wrist, barely touching, waiting for me to say something … to do something.
My pulse thunders. My skin burns. I have no fucking idea how to react to this.