Page 80 of Dark Bonds

He sighs, tucking his hands behind his head, his facade cracking just enough to reveal the weight of eternity. “Fine,” he says, his fog blue eyes—so similar to my own—fixing on me with an intensity that makes my immortal heart skip a beat. “I got a job.”

I raise an eyebrow, incredulity evident in my voice. “A job?” The word tastes like ash on my tongue, bitter and acrid. “Have you forgotten what we are, Uncle? Time doesn’t heal our wounds, it merely gives us more chances to bleed, suffer, and regret.”

“Two hundred years since my last one,” he finishes, tossing a chickpea in the air and catching it in his mouth with practiced ease. “Give or take a decade, but even immortals need a change of pace sometimes. Eternity gets so dreadfully boring without the occasional curveball.”

My curiosity piques despite my brooding state, a flicker of interest in the endless void of my existence. “What game are you playing at? What new torment have you devised for us?”

“The dean called,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. “She told me you have a beast prowling the island. I’m honestly mildly offended you didn’t call me yourself. I thought we had a special uncle-nephew bond, you know? The kind forged in the fires of eternal damnation, tempered by shared suffering and midnight snack runs.”

I clench my jaw, muscles tightening with the strain of unspoken words. “And what do you intend to do about this beast? Charm it with your centuries of running from responsibility? Offer it a taste of your chocolate-covered chickpeas and hope it chokes on eternity like the rest of us?”

“Oh, nephew,” Everett replies, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light I know all too well. “You underestimate the beasts I’ve danced with. This creature? It’s but a waltz compared to the infernal symphony we’ve survived. The hellish opera of our existence makes this beast look like a mewing kitten.”

“To do what?” I ask, dreading the answer. “Regale it with tales of your misspent youth? Bore it into submission with stories of the good old days when mammoths roamed Earth and humanity was but a glimmer in the universe’s eye?”

He sits up, grinning, the expression a mask that barely conceals the pain beneath. “Teach defense against the dark arts,” he announces with a flourish. “Figured it was time to put my centuries of running from responsibility to good use. Plus, I hear the faculty lounge has an excellent selection of snacks. A manhas to have his priorities, even when that man is cursed to walk Earth for eternity.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “And the beast? What of the monster that stalks our halls and threatens to shatter the fragile peace we’ve carved out of this cursed existence?”

“Oh, you know me,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. “I’ve picked up a trick or two over the centuries, but first…” He tosses me the bag of chocolate-covered chickpeas, the gesture almost gentle. “Eat these. You look like you could use a sugar rush. Being broody is exhausting work, even for an immortal. Trust me, I’ve had eons to perfect the art.”

As I catch the bag, the rustle of the packaging unnaturally loud in the sudden silence, a thought occurs to me. It’s a secret I’ve been harboring, a darkness that threatens to drag us deeper into the abyss of our cursed existence.

I can tell my uncle, because he may have some kind of advice to offer, or perhaps it will finally push us both over the edge and into the madness that’s been nipping at our heels for centuries.

I set the bag aside, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, of sins committed in the name of love and protection. “Actually, Uncle,” I say, the words clawing their way out of my throat, “there’s something I need to show you. Now that you’re here... officially... there are things you should know—darkness that makes our curse look like a blessing in comparison.”

Everett’s eyebrows shoot up, his usual smirk fading into a look of genuine curiosity tinged with a fear he can’t quite hide. “Well, nephew,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “it seems we’re about to add another chapter to our family’s book of eternal regrets. Lead on, my brooding Virgil. Guide me through the hell of your making.”

The weight of my secret presses down on me as I lead him out of the TA dorm and through the bustling lobby where students chatter. Uncle waves to a few students, his easy charm a stark contrast to my brooding demeanor.

I don’t wait for him, my steps quick and purposeful on the worn stone floors, each footfall echoing with the weight of my sins.

My stomach’s in knots. I’d forgotten what real nervousness felt like. Guess being immortal doesn’t make you immune to guilt or fear.

I’ve been keeping a dirty little secret, a darkness that threatens to drag me deeper into the abyss I’ve been teetering on the edge of for so long.

Of all those who surround me, which are very few, Uncle is the only one I feel even a little bit confident about telling. He’s the only one who might understand the depths of my depravity and the lengths I’ve gone to in the name of love.

I’ve been haunting Shadow Locke’s halls for years, long before my acceptance, chasing shadows and secrets, but lately, it’s all about Frankie. God, the way she looked after that incident with Amanda and Chloe and the raw power she unleashed... It’s terrifying and exhilarating, and it’s why I’m about to show Uncle Everett the darkest secret I’ve been keeping in the bowels of this cursed place.

Men.

So many men.

“You remember Francesca?” I ask as we descend into the library’s basement, my voice barely above a whisper. The silence down here is oppressive, making even the softest words seem too loud.

Everett nods, his usual joviality subdued, replaced by a seriousness that speaks volumes. “The girl you’ve been watching over? Hard to forget, considering how often you mention her.She’s the thread that keeps you tethered to this world, isn’t she? The light in your eternal darkness.”

I stop in front of an ancient oak door, its surface carved with intricate runes that seem to writhe and shift in the dim light, a living testament to the horrors that lie beyond. The wood is warm to the touch, pulsing with an energy that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, a warning I’ve long since learned to ignore.

“Look, there’s stuff about Frankie I haven’t told you,” I say, my hand on the door. “It’s bad, Uncle, really bad, and I’m in way over my head.”

As we descend, the temperature drops noticeably, the air growing thick with the scent of old magic and something darker. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the terrible burden I carry and the lines I’ve crossed in the name of love.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I feel my gut clench. The room’s huge, and the air feels... wrong, like all the pain and fear of the men I’ve kept here is pressing down on us. It’s hard to breathe, and not just because of the guilt.

Lining the walls are dozens of shadowy cells, each one holding a figure barely visible through the swirling mist. The occasional rattle of chains or muffled groan breaks the eerie silence, a symphony of suffering that I’ve conducted for far too long.

---