Page 28 of Dark Bonds

My head spins as I try to process all this. A secret world with its own government in crisis. How long has this been going on, and why am I only finding out now? The questions pile up faster than I can voice them, each one bringing a fresh wave of frustration and curiosity. “And they are debating human-shifter interactions in the middle of all this? Why?”

Tori shrugs. “It’s always been a contentious issue. Some think we should be more open with humans, while others want to maintain strict secrecy. With everything that’s been happening lately—the missing elders, the decay of the shadow realm, and the appearance of the eredar beast—some think we might need human allies, like their military. Others think it’s too dangerous.”

She trails off, but I can fill in the blanks. The world is changing, and the shadow shifters are trying to adapt—or maybe just survive.

“The human military?” I frown. “Against shadow shifters where a bullet would pass right through them?” I laugh at the absurdity.

“Well, I never said they were geniuses.” Tori tries to laugh it off, but it’s strained.

“There is so much I need to learn and yet…” I trail off, my mind already racing. “I wonder if there’s a way to track the last known locations of those missing elders. Maybe we could piece together what happened. It can’t be a coincidence that they vanished just as all this other stuff started happening, right?”

Tori looks at me, a mix of admiration and concern in her eyes. “Look at you, already thinking like a detective, but Frankie, this is dangerous territory. We can’t just go poking around in high council business.”

I nod, acknowledging her point, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is important. “I know, but we can’t just sit back and do nothing either. Everything is changing, even here,” I murmur, echoing her earlier words.

Tori’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. “You’re right, and we’re in the middle of it all.” She pauses, then adds, “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. When we get back, I’ll dig up some old shadow shifter history books. We can start piecing together what’s really going on. Maybe we’ll find some clues about what happened to the elders.”

As we continue to float, I feel some of the tension leaving my body, replaced by a burning curiosity and a growing sense of purpose. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it’s softer now, less all-consuming—all except for the anger toward Bishop. That still burns hot and bright, a flame I’m not sure I’m ready to extinguish just yet.

In my mind’s eye, I see the hurt in his eyes when I told him I needed space. Did he know about all this political stuff too? About the missing elders and the decay? How much has he kept from me? I remember the way he’d always have an answer for everything, his calm confidence in the face of my questions. Now I wonder how much of that was real and how much was just another layer of secrecy.

The memory sends a fresh surge of shadows spiraling around our tubes, but this time, I try to focus on controlling them, channeling my emotions into something productive. If I’m going to unravel this mystery, then I’ll need every ounce of control I can muster.

For now, while floating in a river of shadows with my best friend by my side, I allow myself to simply be. The world, with all its complications, dangers, and complex and crumbling political structures, can wait.

At least for a little while longer. I know that soon, though, I’ll need to start asking more questions and dig deeper into this world I’m now a part of. There’s so much I still don’t understand, and it seems like that world might be in even more danger than I realized. Whatever’s coming, I’m determined to face it head-on. After all, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that I’m stronger than I ever knew.

As we round the final bend of the lazy river, I take a deep breath, and the shadows dance around my fingers, no longer just a sign of how agitated I feel, but a reminder of the power I hold—power I’m only beginning to understand, but power I’m determined to master.

“Ready to head back?” Tori asks, nudging my tube with hers.

I nod, a small smile playing on my lips. “Yeah. I think it’s time.”

Chapter 9

Dorian

The ancient tomelies open before me, its pages brittle and yellow, like the bones of long-dead secrets. The library around me is a tomb of silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the mournful howl of wind outside. Snow falls in thick flurries, blanketing the estate in deceptive calmness, as if trying to bury the horrors that lurk within these walls.

I’ve been here for hours, days, or maybe even weeks. Time loses meaning when you’re racing against your own sanity and each tick of the clock brings you closer to oblivion. My fingers, usually steady, tremble as I turn the page. Another symptom of the curse’s progression, or just the weight of impending madness? It’s getting harder to tell where I end and the curse begins.

I scan the faded text, searching desperately for any mention of a curse like mine. The words blur and twist, becoming a jumble of archaic language and obscure references that mock my efforts. I blink, trying to focus, but the shadows at the edges of my vision writhe and dance, a constant reminder of the darkness growing within me, threatening to consume all that I am.

The curse of Dorian Gray.

My inheritance. My burden. My… damnation?

The price of eternal youth and beauty is paid by madness and corruption. I can’t help but think of my infamous ancestor, the original Dorian Gray, who sold his soul for immortality. His portrait bore the weight of his sins while he remained forever young, but when the painting was destroyed, the curse didn’t die with him.

It lived on in his descendants—inme.

The ones he never knew existed. The ones left to bear the weight of his sins.

Without the painting to absorb the darkness, it settles into our souls, becoming a cancer of the spirit, and drives us slowly, inexorably insane. For me, with my shadow shifter abilities inherited from my mother, the curse is even more volatile. The shadows respond to my emotions, making every moment a battle for control.

My eyes drift to the family portrait on the wall, a gallery of beautiful faces hiding ugly truths. I can almost hear my great-grandfather Edmund’s screams echoing from the attic where he spent his final years. Aunt Vivian’s absent smile reminds me of the day she vanished, leaving behind only shattered mirrors and unanswered questions. Each face tells a story of our curse, a legacy of madness written in shadows and blood.

Then there’s me, Dorian Gray II, possibly the last of my line. The weight of their collective suffering presses down on me, a constant reminder of what awaits if I fail. Their eyes seem to follow me, accusing, pleading, and warning.

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