Chapter 10 It Eats the Light
The lights overhead flickered.
Drake straightened slowly. “We need to leave. Now.”
“Shade?” I asked, still staring at the woman’s limp hand. “Like a wraith?”
"Worse,” he said. “A wraith remembers being human. A shade remembers hunger.”
The emergency lights dimmed again, one by one, until only a single red bulb glowed faintly above the door.
The air thickened. The frost on the walls began to crawl, spreading tendrils toward us.
“Back door?” I asked.
“Sealed,” he said. “We’d have to burn through.”
"Then burn.”
He gave me a look. “You’ll feel it.”
“Then make it quick.”
He stepped forward, raised his hand, and the air shivered. For a moment I saw it—the shadow of wings stretching across the walls, the faint glimmer of scales under his skin. Fire gathered in his palm, pure gold, not red or orange. The kind of flame that doesn’t just consume—it purifies.
He thrust it toward the sealed hatch.
The metal screamed, molten edges dripping to the floor. Heat blasted through the corridor; the bond between us blazed white. I bit back a cry as pain seared my chest, shared through the link.
“Almost—there—” he ground out.
The hatch gave way, collapsing outward in a shower of sparks.
We stumbled into the night air, gasping. The cold outside hit like a blessing.
Behind us, something roared—a sound like every whisper of the dead turned into one voice.
I turned back just long enough to see it.
A shape poured out of the doorway, tall and thin and wrong, made of smoke that drank light instead of reflecting it. Faces flickered inside it, stretching and melting, mouths open in silent screams.
Drake shoved me behind him. “Run.”
“What about—”
“Run!”
I ran.
The ground blurred under my boots. Rocks, dust, smoke. The bond dragged tight between us as he followed, the heat of his power flaring against the cold wave chasing us. The thing behind us shrieked, the sound slicing through my skull like glass.
We didn’t stop until the slope gave way to open ground again, the outpost a speck of burning black behind us.
Only then did I collapse to my knees, lungs on fire, vision swimming.
Drake stood over me, chest heaving, eyes molten. The air around him shimmered with residual heat.
“You all right?” he asked roughly.
“Define ‘all right,’” I managed.
He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “Alive, then.”
“Barely.” I looked back at the faint glow of the outpost. “What was that?”
“Something that shouldn’t exist,” he said. “Something your Syndicate must have woken chasing power they didn’t understand.”
I swallowed hard. “The shade?”
He nodded once. “Born when magic dies wrong. When energy is ripped out of life instead of released. Your dead soldiers fed it well.”
I stared at the ground. “Then it’s my fault.”
His voice softened, almost gentle. “If blame could kill the thing, it would be dust already.”
I didn’t look up. “I saved her. The woman. For a minute.”
“You gave her mercy,” he said. “Sometimes that’s all there is.”
The bond pulsed between us, warm and steady for the first time since the battlefield.
When I finally met his eyes, something inside me shifted—just a fraction, just enough to make room for a truth I wasn’t ready to face: the enemy standing beside me might be the only reason I’d see the next dawn.
🔥🔥🔥
Drake didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching the horizon like it owed him an answer. The faint light from the outpost fire painted his skin in shifting golds and shadows. He looked almost human like this—if you ignored the faint glow bleeding from his pupils and the heat that rolled off him in waves.
The silence between us stretched, taut as the chain that bound us. Only the wind dared move, tugging at the edge of my torn sleeve and carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and charred magic.
Finally, I found my voice. “You’ve fought those before?”
“No,” he said. “You don’t fight shades. You survive them. Or you don’t.”
“That’s not exactly comforting.”
“Neither is the truth,” he replied, his tone flat. “But I’ve learned it’s better than false hope.”
I sank back onto the cold ground, exhaustion crawling through me. The adrenaline that had kept me running was gone, leaving behind a hollow ache that settled in my chest like lead. “I didn’t even know magic could die like that.”
Drake lowered himself beside me, his movements measured. “Most don’t. Because most never ask what happens after they break the world to fix it.”
“Poetic,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’ll add that to my growing list of existential crises.”
He gave a short, rough laugh. It wasn’t the kind that came from humor—it was the kind that sounded like surprise, like he’d forgotten he knew how. “You talk too much for someone who nearly got devoured.”
“You think I’m going to sit here in silence while my heartbeat’s playing tug-of-war with yours?” I asked.
He glanced sideways at me. “You noticed that.”
“Hard not to. Every time you take a deep breath, I feel like I’ve run a marathon.”
“Then stop breathing with me.”
“I would if I could.”
The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile. “Careful, Knight. You sound like you’re complaining about proximity.”
“Proximity is fine,” I said. “It’s the constant male arrogance and unsolicited advice I could do without.”
He looked back toward the outpost, the faintest smirk ghosting over his lips. “You’re still alive. You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
"You didn’t have to.”
His voice had gone low again, almost gentle. Dangerous, how easily that tone disarmed me. I focused on the horizon instead, on the fading light bleeding over the canyon walls. Somewhere below, the remnants of the outpost crackled and hissed as it burned itself out.
“How far do you think it’ll follow?” I asked.
He considered. “As far as the wind carries the scent of life.”
“So, everywhere.”
“Exactly.”
“Great. Just what I needed. An unkillable shadow monster with an appetite for anxiety.”
“You’re handling it better than most.”
“That’s because I haven’t had time to panic yet.”
“You could start now,” he offered dryly.
“Tempting.”