Chapter 8
The drive back to Shadow Bone passed in a quiet that felt stretched thin.
Raven sat in the back seat, her forehead resting against the cool glass, watching the city blur into streaks of neon and shadow.
She didn’t speak, and neither did I. The bond hummed low against my ribs, a tired, uneven throb that mirrored her own exhaustion.
Halfway down the highway, I twisted in my seat to look at her.
“What did you and Jana talk about?”
Raven blinked slowly as if returning from a distant place. “She’s staying at the club tonight. Isra’s too shaken, and she wanted to keep an eye on him. Jana said she’d leave with Lucian in the morning.”
“And Isra?” I asked softly.
Raven’s shoulders slumped. “Jana promised to stay close. She knows how badly he’s hurting.”
“She’s a good kid.”
“She is,” Raven whispered. “Better than any of us deserve.”
Her voice held a quiet tremor, a grief so deep it threaded through our bond and pressed beneath my sternum. I felt it the way one feels the tide pulling out—noticeable, unsettling, inevitable.
Con kept his gaze forward on the empty road, but I knew he felt Raven’s pain too, even without magic. His hands tightened on the wheel in small, nearly invisible pulses.
By the time we passed the iron gates of Shadow Bone, Raven’s silence had taken on a brittle edge. She walked ahead of us through the front entrance, shoulders drawn tight. The foyer lights were dimmed for the late hour, but even the soft glow seemed too harsh against the pallor of her skin.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” I murmured.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
But she let me guide her anyway.
Con trailed behind us, as quiet as a shadow. The house felt too large tonight, the hallways too hollow. Every footstep echoed with the ache of time running out.
We reached the suite she shared with Rene. She paused at the door.
“I’ll stay with him,” she said. “He needs someone there when he wakes.”
“I know,” I replied.
Raven leaned forward and hugged me, her grip unexpectedly strong. “Thank you,” she whispered against my shoulder. “For everything tonight.”
“Get some rest,” I said.
She pulled away with a shaky nod and slipped into the darkened suite. I sensed her bond with Rene flutter, like the wingbeat of an exhausted bird.
And then it faded.
I turned around.
Con was watching me.
Neither of us spoke until we reached my suite.
By the time we reached my room, exhaustion hit me like a wave. I pushed open the door and walked straight to the bed. My body felt heavy, my magic still unsettled from earlier. I took off my boots, then flopped onto the mattress and released a long breath into the dark.
Con stood near the door for a moment, arms crossed, eyes intent.
“That was reckless.”
I rolled onto my back. “Oh, here we go.”
“You used magic,” he said, voice low but firm. “A lot of it.”
“I boosted Rene,” I shot back. “He needed it.”
“And you didn’t tell Raven.”
I pushed up on my elbows. “I didn’t want to worry her.”
“That’s not why you kept it from her,” he snapped.
That startled me. Con’s temper was rare. It was controlled, disciplined, and tempered by centuries of training. When it surfaced, it came from a place deep inside him.
“You’re letting the magic control you,” he said. “You’re becoming addicted to it.”
My jaw clenched. “You don’t get to say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
I stood up so fast that the bed springs creaked. “The truth is that Rene is dying. I did what needed to be done.”
Con stepped forward, eyes glowing in the low light—gold with hints of warning red. “No. You reacted. You let instinct make choices you don’t understand.”
I barked a humorless laugh. “You’re lecturing me on instinct? You—the man who solves problems with decapitation first and reflection never?”
He moved closer. “I’m not the one burning through unstable magic with no thought for the consequences.”
“You’re not the one tethered to a dying witch whose bond is unraveling. You didn’t feel how weak Rene was.”
“I didn’t have to,” Con said. “I could see it in Raven’s face. And in yours.”
Something raw twisted in my chest.
“You’re afraid,” I whispered. “Of my magic.”
He didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
“You keep running from me,” I continued, “and you want to blame that on the magic now?”
His jaw twitched. “I’m not running.”
“You’re always running,” I said, my voice honed by years of tension simmering between us. “You say you want me, you say you’ll stand beside me, but the second things get real? You pull back.”
He stepped closer, close enough that I felt the chill of his body against my overheated skin. “I pull back because you don’t trust me.”
“That’s rich,” I said. “Coming from the man who won’t even let me help Rene without accusing me of losing control.”
Con’s eyes slid over my face, lingering on my mouth before he jerked his gaze away like he’d been caught.
Oh.
So that was what this was about.
“You’re not afraid of my magic,” I murmured. “You’re terrified of me.”
His voice dropped. “I’m terrified of losing you.”
My breath caught.
Con continued, quieter now, but every word hit like a blow. “You throw yourself at danger like your life is disposable. You give away power without counting the cost. You act like you were made to die for other people.”
“That’s who I am.”
“No,” he said fiercely. “That’s who you were. Before the clan. Before the death dealers. Before me.”
Heat rose in my chest, anger and something else tangled too tightly to name. “Don’t make this about you.”
“It is about me.”
His anger flickered bright, edging into something blisteringly honest.
“It’s about me watching you burn yourself down every time someone you care about is in danger. It’s about you thinking you have to do everything alone. It’s about you not trusting anyone enough to lean on them.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Neither of us moved.
The room felt too small, too hot, too charged with everything we never said out loud.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he whispered.
“And you can’t keep pretending you don’t want me,” I shot back.
The air thickened between us.
Con’s eyes darkened, pupils expanding like a storm swallowing light. His chest rose and fell in fast, controlled breaths. His hands curled at his sides, as if he were physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
“You think I don’t want you?” he said, his voice low and rough. “Cass… I can’t stand in a room with you without wanting to drag you against a wall.”
My pulse stumbled.
“Then why don’t you?” I whispered.
“Because you don’t trust me.” His words trembled. “And I’m trying to give you time to adjust to our new dynamic since Shadow Thorn.”
Something primal flashed in his eyes. It was ancient, possessive, and dangerous.
It sent heat spiraling through me in a way that should have been illegal.
But I wasn’t backing down.
“If you’re so terrified of losing me,” I murmured, stepping toward him, “maybe stop pushing me away.”
“I’m not pushing,” he said, his voice a tight rasp. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“I don’t need you to keep me alive.”
“No,” he breathed. “You need someone who won’t let you die for every goddamn person you care about.”
We stood inches apart now. Not touching. Barely breathing.
His jaw flexed.
“Cass,” he said softly, “I’m more afraid of you than I’ve ever been of Valerian.”
“Good,” I whispered. “Then we’re even.”
The tension cracked open like lightning.
But neither of us crossed the line.
Not yet.
Not when the world was on fire.
Not when Rene’s life hung on borrowed magic.
Not when we were adjusting to us.
But the electricity stayed, burning under our skin, coiling through every breath, every word.
The fight didn’t end.
It just shifted into something deeper.
Something inevitable.
Something neither of us was ready to surrender to.
The silence after our last words didn’t feel empty.
It felt loaded.
Every inch between us pulsed with the pressure of everything we had thrown at each other—fear, frustration, desire neither of us bothered hiding anymore. My room felt too small for both of us, too warm, too charged with all the things that could ignite if either of us made one wrong move.
Con didn’t step back.
I didn’t either.
I could hear the ticking of the old wall clock. It counted seconds like each one carried its own threat.
Con dragged a hand through his hair, pacing one step away before spinning back around. His eyes glowed gold, not with anger now, but something fierce and wounded.
“You don’t get it,” he said, voice low. “I’m not afraid of your magic. I’m afraid of watching you burn through it until there’s nothing left of you.”
I crossed my arms to keep my hands from trembling. “I’m capable of knowing my limits.”
“You pushed them tonight,” he countered. “And you’ll push them again tomorrow. And the next day. And one day, Cass… you won’t come back.”
I swallowed, throat tightening. “You don’t get to tell me how to fight.”
“No,” he said. “But I have every right to tell you what I can’t survive.”
His voice cracked. Just enough to reveal the truth beneath it.
“I can’t lose you.”
The words hit harder than any blow. They punched straight through the armor I lived behind—the death dealer discipline, the Shadow Phantom grit, the instinct to keep everyone at arm’s length.
I hated how it made me falter.
“How can you say that,” I whispered, “and still keep your distance?”
Con stepped toward me again, slower this time. Each movement deliberate, as if he were approaching something volatile.
“You think distance protects you from me,” he said. “But it’s me protecting you from me.”
I blinked. “What does that even mean?”
He exhaled, a rough, shaky breath. “My blood, Cass. You know what happens if you take it.”
My stomach clenched.
“If you ever tasted mine, if you needed my strength and I gave it, you might end up bound to me for the rest of your existence. And I would never…” His voice trailed off, then steadied. “I would never take your will from you.”
The weight of that truth settled between us like iron.
“I know what your blood does,” I murmured. “I know I can’t bite you.”
Con nodded once. “Then you know why I hold back.”
“I never asked you for your blood.”
“No,” he said, stepping even closer, “you asked me for you. For us. And I don’t get to have that if the only way I can keep you alive is by chaining you to me.”
His voice dipped. Softer. Broken.
“I don’t want a slave,” he whispered. “I want you.”
My chest tightened, heat gathering under my skin in a rush that had nothing to do with magic.
“So you push me away.”
He didn’t answer right away. His throat worked. His jaw flexed.
“I push you away,” he said slowly, “because one night you’ll get hurt, and I’ll be faced with a choice—let you bleed out… or give you my blood and lose you to me forever.”
“And if I’m dying?” I asked quietly. “If it’s the only way?”
He stepped so close I could feel the chill radiating from his chest. “Then I would damn myself,” he whispered. “But until that moment? I will not let you make that choice blind.”
I stared at him, anger melting into something raw and treacherous.
“You are so afraid of me becoming Amelia,” I said softly.
He stiffened.
“You’re terrified that if I drink from you, you’ll end up twisting me into your puppet,” I continued.
His hands curled at his sides again, knuckles pale.
“I can’t take that chance,” he murmured.
I shook my head. “You’re more afraid of loving me than of losing me.”
He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “I’ve fought armies with less courage than it takes to love you.”
The confession stunned me.
And it cut through the last bit of anger I’d been clinging to.
“I’m not easy,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want easy.”
I swallowed. “I don’t want perfect. I just want honest.”
“I’ve been honest,” he said. “You just don’t like what you’re hearing.”
“I don’t like you running.”
“I haven’t run,” he said. His voice was low enough to vibrate through my bones. “I stayed. Every damn time.”
“But you hold back,” I said.
He closed the final distance between us. Not touching—just close enough that the air shifted, charged with heat and tension and something hungry.
“I hold back,” he said in a whisper, “because I’m afraid I’ll overwhelm you and you’ll run. I’m trying to give you time to adjust to us.”
My breath caught.
Because I believed him.
Because he was right.
Because that truth was terrifying… and intoxicating.
We stood there, bodies inches apart, breathing the same air, trapped in the same gravitational pull that we’d spent centuries trying to ignore.
“You think magic scares me?” I whispered. “It doesn’t.”
He didn’t blink. “Then what does?”
“Losing you,” I said. “And not because I die… but because you never let yourself be mine.”
The words left my mouth before I could think about them, honest and carved straight from the part of me I didn’t expose to anyone except Rene and Raven.
Con’s eyes burned.
His voice broke again. “You already have me.”
“Not the way I want,” I said.
Red flickered in his gaze. A tremor moved through his shoulders, as if he were fighting himself, not to touch me, not to reach for me, not to give in to something we both knew was inevitable.
The silence stretched, thick enough to drown in.
Then Con took one slow step back. It felt like he was ripping away from gravity itself.
“We can’t do this tonight,” he said. “Not when you’re exhausted.”
“You’re exhausted too,” I said softly.
“Yeah,” he answered. “And if I touch you when I’m like this… I won’t let go, and you need time to adjust.”
My pulse stumbled.
The air between us hummed, alive with everything we were holding back.
“Con—”
“No,” he said, but it wasn’t rejection. It was restraint. Fierce, shaking restraint. “Not tonight.”
He moved to the door.
Every step looked like it cost him.
Before he left, he turned back.
“But hear me,” he whispered. “You’re not alone in this. Not ever. Even if you hate me for how I protect you.”
“I don’t hate you.”
He inhaled hard. “Good. Because I feel like I’m losing my mind around you.”
Then he slipped out of my room, the door clicking softly behind him.
I stood there in the quiet darkness, heartbeat too loud in my ears, magic still simmering under my skin, body aching with everything we didn’t say.
And it hit me—
For the first time in centuries, Constantine was the one running.
And I wasn’t letting him get far.