Page 105 of Dark Bonds

As I chat with them, spinning a tale of Morrow Bay’s latest urban legend, I feel a sense of control returning. I’m navigating both worlds—the normal and the supernatural—and for the first time, I feel like I might actually be able to do this.

Who knew juggling would become my new superpower?

The rest of the night passes without incident. As the hours wear on, the bar empties, leaving behind the lingering scents of spilled drinks and the fading echoes of laughter. When I’m cleaning up after closing, wiping down the sticky bar top, Andi approaches me, a warm smile on her face.

“Hot damn, Frankie!” she exclaims, her eyes twinkling. “You handled that bar like a pro tonight. Remind me why I don’t have you running this joint yet.”

I return her smile, a mixture of exhaustion and accomplishment washing over me. “It’s good to be back,” I reply, and I mean it.

As I drive home that night, the moon hangs low and bloated in the sky, casting long shadows across the road. They seem to reach for my car, a silent warning of challenges yet to come. I’m still freaked out, but... I don’t know. Maybe things aren’t totally screwed. How long it will last, only the shadows know.

The shadows in the car are doing their thing, but it doesn’t freak me out anymore. They are part of me now, I guess. Still weird, but...mine.

Chapter 33

Bishop

My fingers tracethe spine of a volume so old it threatens to crumble, the scent of musty parchment and melting wax a bittersweet comfort in the chaos of my fractured world.

Frankie’s face burns in my mind—her fierce determination and the raw agony in her eyes when she discovered the depths of my betrayal. I feel sick with guilt. It’s eating me up inside, and I can’t shake it off. It’s been consuming me for weeks, a constant reminder of how spectacularly I’ve shattered everything.

And I’ve done nothing but ignore her.

“There has to be a way to fix this,” I mutter to myself. The silence in my study is deafening. The worn carpet beneath my feet bears witness to countless hours of torment, of searching for redemption in a realm that only offers more damnation.

The room feels heavy, like the darkness is closing in. It’s like everything’s watching and waiting for me to screw up again. Shadows writhe in the corners of my vision, a constant reminder of the power that courses through my veins—power I’ve only begun to comprehend, both terrifying and intoxicating me.

Power amplified by my love for Frankie, a fact I noticed last semester.

As if in answer to my desperate plea, my gaze falls upon an ornate medallion nestled among the detritus of my research. The symbol of the guardians—ancient protectors of the shadow realm and its inhabitants—pulses with an otherworldly light, calling to something primal and dangerous within me. A thought takes root, growing and twisting until it becomes a decision that both exhilarates and condemns me.

I need to find Frankie. Now.

My hands shake as I gather my coat, and my mouth tastes like pennies. I’m so nervous, I could puke. The drive to the Grotto is a blur of streetlights and racing thoughts, the cool night air whipping through the open window doing little to calm the storm raging inside me.

Am I just jumping from one mess into another? The weight of the guardian’s oath already presses down on me, a promise of both salvation and damnation.

When I arrive, the warmth of the Grotto hits me like a wall, driving back the chill that seems to have seeped into my soul. I smell beer, salt, and whiskey, but there’s something else too, something... off—a hint of ozone, of power barely contained. It’s as if the air knows something is about to irrevocably change.

The low hum of conversation blends with the distant crash of waves, while the rough texture of the weathered bar beneath my fingers grounds me in this moment of impending chaos.

And there she is.

Frankie’s behind the bar, moving so fast she’s practically a blur. She’s mixing drinks like a pro, her hands moving so swiftly I can barely keep up. A silver shaker flashes through the air, spinning once, twice, before landing perfectly in her waiting hand. Her laugh rings out, bright and sharp as breaking glass, but as she turns, I catch the tightness at the corners of her eyes and the way her smile falters when she thinks no one’s looking.

“Frankie.” Her name escapes my lips like a prayer, barely audible over the pounding of my treacherous heart. She turns, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. “I... Can we talk?”

Surprise and wariness flicker across her face like shadows in candlelight. After a moment’s hesitation that feels like an eternity, she nods and calls to her coworker to cover for her, sliding a freshly mixed drink across the bar to a waiting customer.

We step outside, the cool night air a stark contrast to the suffocating warmth of the bar. Frankie crosses her arms, her posture a fortress against further devastation. “What is it, Bishop?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. The salty breeze carries the faint scent of her wildflower perfume, a painful reminder of happier times that now feel like a distant dream. “Frankie, I... Gods, I’ve royally fucked up. All those secrets I kept? I thought I was shielding you, but I just ended up pushing you into the line of fire. I owe you more than an apology, but it’s a start.”

Frankie’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting this raw honesty. Her fingers tap against her arm, a telltale sign of her mind working overtime to process my words. “Bishop, I?—”

“Please,” I interrupt gently, my words as fragile as spun glass. “Let me finish. I was wrong, Frankie. I should have trusted you with the truth from the beginning—about the shadow realm, about your heritage, about... everything. I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

The emotion in my voice catches her off guard. Her arms uncross, and her stance softens like ice thawing in spring. “Why now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes search mine, probing for hidden truths or any sign of deception. “What changed?”

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