Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The restricted section of the library feels even more forbidden at three in the morning, like a tomb that should never be disturbed.
Moonlight cuts through the stained-glass windows in shards of blue and violet, casting eerie patterns across ancient tomes that seem to shift and writhe in my peripheral vision.
The air hangs heavy with the scent of old parchment and binding glue mixed with something metallic that makes my nose itch, and the silence is so complete I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Every small sound—the whisper of my clothes against stone, the soft pad of my footsteps—seems unnaturally loud.
I shouldn’t be here. After the disastrous power demonstration yesterday and my conversation with Bael in the astronomy tower, the smart move would be keeping my head down and pretending to be a normal student.
Instead, I’m risking expulsion—or worse—to follow up on something Bael mentioned: shadow-speaking, the ability to communicate across distances through shadows.
If Thomas Dawn developed this technique before his death, information about it might exist in the Hunter archives. And those archives, according to the library catalog I’d studied obsessively, are stored in the most restricted corner of the most restricted section.
My shadows stretch ahead of me, scouting the narrow aisles between towering bookshelves that seem to lean inward like they’re whispering secrets.
They’ve been more responsive since Bael awakened the ancestral knowledge within them, moving with newfound purpose and awareness that both thrills and terrifies me.
Three rows ahead, they detect something and pause, coiling back toward me in warning like hunting dogs catching a scent.
Someone else is here.
I freeze, pressing against a bookshelf that smells like centuries of dust and forgotten knowledge. The leather binding is cold against my back. My shadows continue reporting through sensations that flow directly into my consciousness—presence detected, male energy, fire magic signature.
Rather than retreating like any sane person would, I extend my shadows further, trying to identify the intruder without revealing my position.
My shadows slip beneath a row of shelves, rising on the other side to observe.
The sensory feedback they provide isn’t exactly visual—more like impressions of form and energy that translate into understanding.
Tall figure. Male. Fire energy crackling like barely controlled lightning.
Constantine.
What the fuck is he doing in the restricted section at this hour?
After our intense connection during the demonstration, he’d disappeared without explanation, missing our scheduled training session and leaving me to wonder if I’d imagined the electricity between us.
Now he’s here, surrounded by ancient Hunter texts in the middle of the night like some kind of academic vampire.
My shadows creep closer, trying to see what he’s researching. They relay impressions of open books, scattered notes, and diagrams that look disturbingly like anatomical studies of wings. Wings with crimson tips. My wings.
A chill runs down my spine, ice water flooding my veins. Is this why he missed our session? To research Ascendants in secret? To gather evidence about what I am?
I’m about to withdraw when one of my shadows brushes accidentally against his foot. The contact is barely a whisper, but his head snaps up immediately, fire flaring in his palm to illuminate the darkness with harsh orange light that makes the shadows dance frantically.
“Who’s there?” he calls, voice echoing in the silence like a gunshot.
I could run. Shadow-walk away before he discovers me, disappear into the darkness like I was never here.
But I’m tired of being in the dark, tired of half-truths and cryptic warnings and people making decisions about my life without consulting me.
If Constantine is researching me behind my back, I deserve to know why.
Stepping out from behind the shelves, I let my shadows gather around me like a cloak of living darkness. “Looking for something specific, Professor?”
Constantine doesn’t look surprised to see me, which is more unsettling than if he had been startled. The fire in his palm illuminates his face from below, casting dramatic shadows that make him appear older, more dangerous. His amber eyes reflect the flame like a predator’s.
“Ashley.” He doesn’t lower the flame or show any sign of guilt. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.” I gesture to the scattered research materials that surround him like evidence of a crime. “Doing some light reading about Ascendants? Or specifically about me?”
His amber eyes assess me carefully, and I can practically see the calculations running behind them. “How much do you know about the Hunter archives?”
“Not much. Just that they probably contain information I need.” I take a step closer, my shadows reaching out to see what books he’s been examining. “Like details about shadow-speaking.”
“Shadow-speaking?” He looks genuinely puzzled, his brow furrowing. “That’s not what I’m researching.”
“Then what are these?” I point to the wing diagrams visible on one of the open pages, my heart hammering at the sight of illustrations that look exactly like what I see in the mirror.
Constantine hesitates, and I watch conflicting emotions play across his face.
Then his shoulders drop slightly, as if he’s making a decision that will change everything.
“Not what you think. These are from my mother’s personal research journals.
I had them transferred to the academy archives after her death. ”
I move closer, my shadows stretching cautiously toward the documents like a curious cat. Now I can see they’re handwritten notes rather than official Hunter records, the margins filled with personal observations and questions written in feminine handwriting. The pages smell of old ink and roses.
“Your mother studied Ascendants?”
“Among other things.” He closes the journal, but not before I glimpse a sketch that looks disturbingly similar to my own wings, complete with crimson tips that seem to glow even on paper. “She had... unconventional interests for a Hunter.”
My shadows pulse with suspicion, coiling closer around my feet. “And you’re following in her footsteps? Studying the rare Ascendant specimen up close?”
Anger flashes across his face like lightning, quick and fierce. “Is that what you think this is? Some scientific curiosity?”
“What else would it be?” I challenge, crossing my arms defensively. “You’re a Hunter. Your entire organization exists to eliminate things like me.”
“If that were my goal, I could have reported you weeks ago.” He extinguishes his flame with a sharp gesture, plunging us into relative darkness again.
My eyes adjust slowly to the moonlight filtering through stained glass.
“When your shadows first reached for my fire. When you created shadow constructs, no Dark Nephilim could manage. When your wings nearly manifested during training.”
Ice floods my veins, cold enough to make my teeth chatter. “You saw that?”
“I’ve seen many things, Ashley.” His voice softens, losing its edge. “Including how much you’re struggling to hide what you are.”
My shadows react to my spike of fear without conscious command, forming a protective barrier between us. They rise like a wall of living darkness, ready to defend me if he makes any threatening move. The sensation of them moving is like flexing muscles I’m still learning to control.
Constantine observes the shadow barrier with scientific interest rather than alarm, which somehow makes my panic worse. “Fascinating. Instinctive protection response. Just like my mother described.”
“Stop that,” I snap, my voice echoing off the ancient books. “Stop treating me like a fucking research project.”
“I’m not.” He raises his hands in a placating gesture, palms up and empty. “I’m trying to understand you, yes. But not for the reasons you think.”
“Then explain it to me. Why is a Hunter instructor helping an Ascendant instead of killing her?”
He leans against the bookshelf, suddenly looking tired in a way that makes him seem more human. “Because my mother died trying to prove that Hunters have been wrong about Ascendants for centuries. That you’re not the threat we’ve been taught to fear.”
My shadow barrier wavers but doesn’t dissolve. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.” He gestures to the journals scattered across the reading table. “Her research suggested that Ascendants aren’t inherently unstable or dangerous. That the historical purges were motivated by fear of your abilities, not an actual threat.”
“And you believe that?” I ask skeptically, though something in his voice makes me want to trust him.
“I didn’t. Not until I met you.” His gaze meets mine directly, and I can see sincerity burning in his amber eyes. “Not until I saw how your shadows dance with my fire instead of burning away. Not until I experienced the Vessel bond firsthand.”
My heart beats faster at the mention of our connection, the memory of shadow and flame intertwining sending heat through my body. The shadow barrier thins slightly, responding to my conflicted emotions like a mood ring made of darkness.
“After yesterday’s demonstration,” Constantine continues, stepping closer, “I needed answers. The way our energies merged was unprecedented. It contradicts everything Hunters are taught about elemental opposites.”
“So you came here to research me behind my back instead of just asking?” The hurt in my voice surprises even me, raw and vulnerable in the sacred silence of the library.