Page 93 of Echoes From the Void

Afterward, he holds me close as we catch our breath. I can feel him trembling slightly, overwhelmed by freedom after so long bound.

“You did it,” he whispers in awe, his temporal distortions flowing naturally for the first time since I’ve known him. “I can feel it—the curse is gone.”

I press a gentle kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering traces of bourbon and magic. “You’re free,” I murmur against his mouth. “And you’re mine. Ours.”

His arms tighten around me as he buries his face in my neck, frost patterns wrapping around us like a blanket. For the first time since I’ve known him, Dorian Gray lets his careful walls crumble completely, letting me see all of him—mortal, vulnerable, and perfectly, beautifully free.

Through our strengthened bond, I feel the moment he truly accepts it. His essence, reaches naturally for mine. My shadows welcome him, twining with his frost in patterns that feel like belonging.

“What happens now?” he asks softly, his voice carrying none of its usual academic distance.

I think of the Council waiting for tomorrow, of the sacrifice they demand. But right now, in this moment, with Dorian’s newly freed essence dancing with mine, I can’t bring myself to fear it.

“Now,” I say, pressing closer to him, “we make every moment count.”

His response is to kiss me again, pouring all of his contained emotion into it. And in the quiet of the library, surrounded by books that have witnessed so much of our story, we lose ourselves in the freedom of finally, truly belonging to each other.

Chapter 32

Dorian

Freedom feels like falling.

For the first time in three months, time flows naturally through me—no more fractures, no more endless loops of the same moment. My skin tingles where Frankie’s mark claims me, the place where curse marks used to spider now smooth and whole. My frost patterns spread without the usual temporal distortions, pure and unconstrained.

I’m twenty-two. Just twenty-two.

No more pretending at ancient wisdom. No more hiding behind carefully constructed walls of academic distance. Just a young man who organized books by lunar phase and stress-cleaned the library during finals week. The weight of centuries lifts, leaving me dizzyingly light.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Frankie murmurs against my chest. Her shadows curl lazily around my frost, protective and possessive in equal measure. Through our newly forged bond, I feel her satisfaction mingled with lingering concern.

I tighten my arms around her, savoring how she fits perfectly against me. My frost patterns dance with her shadows, creating delicate swirls in the air above us. “It’s strange,” I admit quietly. “Feeling... normal.”

She lifts her head, dark eyes searching my face. Through our bond, I catch flickers of how she sees me—younger, softer, more real. “Normal might be stretching it. You color-coded the entire demonology section.”

“That was one time,” I protest, then pause as my frost betrays my embarrassment. “Well, this month.”

Her laugh, rare and precious, fills our hidden corner of the library. Through our newly forged bond, I feel her contentment mingling with mine—and beneath it, a curl of curiosity that makes my frost patterns shift in response.

“Tell me about growing up here,” she says softly, her shadows unconsciously reaching for my essence. “With your uncle.”

I trace patterns on her bare shoulder, watching frost follow my fingers. Memories surface without the usual temporal distortion that used to make everything blur together. “Uncle Everette tried so hard to give me a normal childhood. Even after the curse... he’d find me reorganizing the ancient texts at three AM and just... sit with me. Start telling ridiculous stories about his own academic mishaps.”

“Like what?”

“Like the time he insisted on teaching me about temporal theory using interpretive dance,” I say, frost swirling with the clear memory of Uncle Everette turning his immortal wisdom into something approaching comedy just to make me smile. “Three hundred years of knowledge, and that’s how he chose to explain paradoxes.”

Frankie’s laugh vibrates against my chest, her shadows dancing playfully with my frost. “Did it work?”

“Disturbingly well, actually. Hard to forget the concept of causality when you’ve watched your immortal uncle pirouette through an explanation of temporal loops.”

Her fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, leaving trails of shadow essence that make my frost respond. “Must have beenstrange though—him being immortal but not understanding the shadow shifter part of you.”

“He tried.” I catch her hand, studying the contrast of our essence in the moonlight—shadow and frost creating intricate patterns where we touch. “Spent decades collecting books about shadow essence, consulting experts. Not that it helped much when my powers first manifested. He just sort of... stood there looking panicked while I accidentally froze half the library.”

“Half the library?” Her shadows curl with amusement.

“Mother’s heritage combined with temporal instability made for some interesting childhood incidents.” I pause as memory strikes suddenly, frost patterns stilling. “Speaking of instability...”

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