Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The night before the Trials officially begin, Greyson Academy holds its breath in tense anticipation.
Moonlight spills through leaded glass windows, casting elongated shadows across stone corridors that seem darker and more foreboding than usual.
The ancient building creaks and groans as if sharing the anxiety of its inhabitants.
Even the usual night sounds—distant laughter, whispered conversations, the occasional thud of a dropped book—have fallen silent under the weight of tomorrow’s challenges.
I can’t sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, listening to Iris’s soft, even breathing from the other bed, I finally give up.
My shadows are restless, pulsing with agitation and reaching toward the door as if urging me to leave.
They’ve been on edge all day, more reactive than usual despite my best efforts at control.
Slipping silently from bed, I throw on a black hoodie over my pajamas and ease the door open just enough to slide through. The corridor outside our dormitory is deserted, curfew keeping even the most rebellious students confined to their rooms the night before Trials.
My shadows stretch ahead, scouting for patrols as I make my way toward the abandoned chapel. Bael had mentioned meeting there for one last training session before tomorrow’s ordeal, though we’d set no specific time. Given my insomnia, I might as well see if he’s there.
The night air carries a hint of frost as I cross the small courtyard separating the dormitory wing from the oldest section of the academy.
Stars glitter overhead with unusual clarity, their cold light offering minimal illumination.
My shadows compensate, enhancing my vision and alerting me to obstacles in my path.
As I approach the chapel, something feels off. My shadows suddenly pulses with alarm, rushing forward without my conscious direction. They slip beneath the heavy wooden door before I can reach for the handle, then immediately return with impressions of urgency and danger.
Someone’s hurt inside.
I push the door open carefully, extending my shadow awareness into the darkened chapel.
The moonlight filtering through shattered stained-glass windows reveals overturned pews and scattered candles—signs of a recent struggle.
My shadows race ahead, gathering in the center of the nave where a darker shape lies crumpled on the stone floor.
“Bael,” I whisper, recognizing him instantly despite the unnatural stillness of his usually graceful form.
I rush forward, dropping to my knees beside him. He lies face-down, his black coat torn in several places. Silver gleams wickedly from wounds across his back—throwing stars embedded deep in his flesh, the edges crusted with what looks like dried blood.
“Bael,” I say more urgently, carefully turning him onto his side.
His eyes flutter open, the usual vibrant green dulled with pain. “Ashley,” he rasps, voice barely audible. “You shouldn’t be here. Hunters...”
“What happened?” I demand my shadows already extending to examine his injuries more thoroughly. They report multiple wounds, all inflicted with silver weapons—deadly to vampires like Bael.
“Ambush,” he manages, wincing as he tries to sit up. “Malcolm’s specialists. They’ve been... tracking me since my arrival.”
I help him lean against a fallen pew, trying to be gentle despite the urgency pounding through me. “We need to get you out of here. Somewhere safe.”
A bitter smile touches his bloodless lips. “Nowhere is safe now. The chapel was... supposed to be a sanctuary. Old magic protections.”
“Which they obviously bypassed,” I note, my shadows confirming at least five distinct Hunter energy signatures lingering in the chapel. “How badly are you hurt?”
Instead of answering, he reaches up to touch my face, his fingers ice-cold against my skin. “You need to leave, Ashley. If they return—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I interrupt, stubborn determination hardening my voice. “Not until we’ve dealt with these wounds.”
My shadows move without conscious direction, spreading across his back to assess the damage.
Where they touch the silver throwing stars, they report searing pain, but continue their examination despite it.
The silver is preventing his vampire healing abilities from working, keeping the wounds open and leaking dark blood that looks almost black in the dim light.
“The silver must come out,” I say, reaching tentatively for one of the stars embedded near his shoulder.
Bael catches my wrist with surprising strength. “No. The pain will... make me dangerous to you.”
I meet his eyes steadily. “I trust you.”
Something flashes across his face—gratitude, fear, and something deeper I’m not ready to name. After a moment, he releases my wrist with a quick nod.
“Be quick,” he says. “And be ready to run if I lose control.”
My shadows form precision tendrils as I prepare to extract the first star. They wrap carefully around the silver edges, creating a buffer between the toxic metal and Bael’s flesh. With a deep breath, I grasp the star and pull in one swift motion.
Bael’s entire body goes rigid, a strangled sound escaping his throat. His shadows flare wildly, lashing out in pain-driven response before he regains control, forcing them back with visible effort.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, dropping the bloodied star to the floor.
He doesn’t respond, just gives another tight nod for me to continue. Four more times I repeat the process, each extraction seeming to drain more of his remaining strength. By the last star, he’s barely conscious, his skin ashen and eyes glazed with pain.
My shadows work instinctively, spreading across the open wounds to slow the bleeding.
They form a kind of pressure bandage, darkness made semi-solid against his torn flesh.
The contact creates the familiar electric connection between our shadows, but his respond weakly, lacking their usual vitality.
“It’s not enough,” I realize aloud. The wounds aren’t closing despite the silver’s removal. “You need blood to heal properly.”
His eyes snap to mine, suddenly more focused. “No.”
“You’re dying,” I counter bluntly. “I can feel it through our shadows.”
“Better than the alternative,” he says, voice faint but determined. “The mate bond... if I take your blood now...”
I understand his concern immediately. Blood exchange would start the formal mate bond, creating a permanent connection far beyond what our shadows have already established. Under these desperate circumstances, it wouldn’t be a free choice, but coercion through necessity.
“There must be another way,” I say, looking around the chapel as if a convenient blood bank might materialize in the corner.
Bael’s hand finds mine, his grip alarmingly weak. “There isn’t. Either I feed from someone, or I won’t recover before dawn.”
Dawn. When Hunters would certainly return to check if their trap worked. When Bael would be at his most vulnerable, unable to shadow-walk to safety in direct sunlight.
My decision forms instantly, though I try to sound casual as I push my sleeve up. “Just enough to heal, then. Not a full bond.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Ashley, you don’t understand. Once begun...”
“I understand enough,” I interrupt. “You need blood. I have blood. The bond is already forming whether or not we complete it.”
To prove my point, I extend my shadows deliberately toward his, watching as they intertwine with eager recognition. The connection between us has grown steadily stronger since our kiss in the hidden alcove, our shadows finding new ways to communicate and connect with each passing day.
“Just healing,” Bael insists, though hunger flares in his eyes as they fix on my exposed wrist. “Nothing more.”
I nod, trying to appear more confident than I feel as I extend my arm toward him. My shadows curl encouragingly around us both, creating a private cocoon that feels oddly safe despite the danger of what we’re about to do.
Bael takes my wrist with both hands, suddenly gentle despite his desperation. “This will hurt,” he warns, eyes locked with mine. “But I promise to take only what’s necessary.”
Before I can respond, he brings my wrist to his mouth.
The initial pain is sharp but brief—a twin sting as fangs pierce skin with surgical precision.
Then comes an unexpected sensation, not pain but something far more complex.
A warmth that spreads up my arm and into my chest, followed by a strange pulling sensation that somehow feels intimate rather than invasive.
My shadows respond immediately, rushing toward the point of contact between us. They wrap around our joined arms, pulsing with what feels like pleasure rather than distress. Bael’s shadows respond in kind, rising to meet mine with renewed vigor as the first taste of blood enters his system.
Through our shadow connection, I feel his relief as strength returns to his battered body.
The wounds on his back start closing, vampire healing finally activated by the influx of fresh blood.
His shadows grow darker, more substantial with each passing second, twining more completely with mine until the boundary between us blurs.
The sensation is far more intense than our kiss in the alcove, more intimate than anything I’ve experienced before.
Our shadows merge so completely that they cease being separate entities, instead becoming a single darkness that encircles us both.
Through this unified shadow, I sense more than just Bael’s physical state—flashes of emotion, fragments of thought, glimpses of memories not my own.