Page 16 of Echoes From the Void

“The poison,” I growl in their ear, feeling the changes in my jaw, my teeth, my very nature. My fingers find pressure points automatically, years of watching her work guiding my grip. “What is it?”

They laugh, a wet sound that carries corruption. “Corrupted shadow essence. Already in the system.” Their smile shows teeth stained with darkness. “Your pretty pack will wither without healing supplies, yes? Your mother’s power will fade? Such a shame.”

Red fills my vision. The predator howls.

Then—a crash from upstairs. My mother’s pain lances through me, sharp and bright like a surgeon’s blade. Leo’s alarm floods our tentative bond, followed by the surge of multiple hostile presences.

And my mother just collapsed from handling contaminated supplies during healing.

“Choose, protector,” the spy laughs, blood black with corruption dripping from their lips. “Hunt or heal? Can’t do both?—”

Their words cut off as I slam them into the wall, my mind suddenly crystal clear. Every lesson my mother taught me about the body’s energy points flows through my memory. The way she’d press here to ease pain, there to promote healing. The precise knowledge of how life energy flows.

How it can be redirected.

“Actually,” I say conversationally, testing my new fangs against the words, “my mother taught me multitasking.” I lean closer, letting them see the predator’s smile. “Did you knowthere are exactly thirty-seven major meridian points in the human body? Each one a gateway for energy.”

Their eyes widen as understanding hits. “You wouldn’t?—”

“Or corruption.” My fingers find the first point, precise as a surgeon’s blade. “Let me demonstrate.”

I drive shadow-wrapped fingers into specific meridian points, channeling power the way I’ve watched my mother do thousands of times. But where she pushes healing, I pull poison. Where she soothes, I tear. The shadow essence they used to contaminate our supplies responds to my call, drawn to these new fangs like they evolved specifically for this purpose.

The spy’s laugh turns to screams as I rip corrupted shadow essence from their body. My mother always said understanding how to heal means understanding how the body works. How it breaks. How it can be purged of poison.

“Fascinating,” I tell them as black corruption flows into my fangs. “Did you know the body can’t tell the difference between healing touch and killing stroke if you hit the right points? My mother used to say?—”

“You talk too much,” they gasp. “Just like your little sunshine boy upstairs.”

Wrong thing to say.

I hit the next meridian point harder than strictly necessary. “That ‘sunshine boy’ is under my protection. Just like my mother. Just like my pack.” Another point, another scream. “And you threatened all of them.”

By the time I finish, the spy is unconscious but alive. Their corrupted essence—a twisted perversion of natural shadow magic created by Blackwood’s experiments—has been drawn from both their body and the contaminated supplies. The poison had been designed to react with healing magic, turning our own remedies against us. But these new fangs seem specificallyevolved to filter and neutralize such corruption, another adaptation from the shadow realm itself.

I’m transforming it.

Racing back upstairs, I catch the scent of fresh blood—Leo’s—mixed with ozone from Bishop’s shadow magic. The predator in me snarls, but now it moves with a healer’s precision. Not just rage, but purpose.

I find Leo and Bishop handling the last attacker while Dorian maintains shields around the twins’ room, his usual scholarly disdain replaced with cold focus. My mother sits propped against the wall, looking pale but alive. Her sari is stained with something dark that makes my new fangs ache, but her eyes are clear as they track my approach, noting every change in my transformed features.

“That was unexpected,” she says as I check her pulse, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. Her skin feels too cool against my fingers, but her healing energy still hums beneath the surface. “Using meridian point theory for combat.”

“For healing,” I correct, aware of my fangs slowly retracting as the immediate threat passes. Through our growing bond, I feel Leo’s satisfaction as he knocks out the last attacker with a move I taught him years ago. “Just... aggressively.”

She laughs weakly. “The darkness in you doesn’t make you evil, beta. It makes you effective.” Her healing-trained eyes assess me with professional interest. “Your shadow marks are balanced now. No longer fighting your nature. And these new changes...” She touches my jaw where the fangs have retracted. “The shadow realm provides what is needed.”

“Yeah, well.” I help her up, supporting her weight. The scent of corruption is fading from her skin, her natural healing energy reasserting itself. “Someone wise once told me that sometimes healing requires a warrior’s heart.”

“Mhm.” She pats my cheek. “And sometimes warriors need to heal.” She glances meaningfully at Leo, who’s sporting a split lip and trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt. “Both of you.”

Through the observation window, I see Frankie watching us, her violet eyes filled with understanding. She nods once, her own shadows curling protectively around Finn.

“You know,” Leo says, coming to lean against me while my mother checks his injuries, “most guys just get tattoos during their rebellious phase. You had to go and grow fangs.”

“Says the man who literally glows in the dark.”

“It’s a feature, not a bug.” He winces as my mother probes his split lip. “Ow. Careful with the merchandise, Dr. S.”

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