Page 103 of Broken Shadows

“Come here, baby,” I call, the echo of my words lost to the shadows shrouding the ribbed, vault ceiling. Everything here is in black and white, as if I’m trapped in a monochromatic dream.

His wings unfurl as he yawns, his beady eyes tracking me. Standing, his nose twitching before taking flight, his wings a soft rustle as he glides down to me, disrupting the shadows cast from the flickering, purple hues of the candelabras.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I ask when he yawns again. His wings flap twice, which means yes. I don’t know why I bother asking. If there’s ever an option to stay inside and sleep, he’ll take it.

I grab a handful of granola I pocketed from Rosa’s bag, and hold the clumps out for him in my palm. His fur brushes against my skin as he sniffs the air, then takes a clump between his claws and nibbles on it with his tiny teeth.

My heart rate slows, watching him do something as normal as eating out of my palm, as if we could be back in our apartment on a dreary Wednesday afternoon when it was just us.

After he finishes the granola, his small, black tongue gently licking the last few crumbs, he climbs onto my other hand. Those big, black eyes widen when he looks at me with such affection that I feel guilty for not spending as much one-on-one time with him lately. I remember when I found him, trapped in a thorn bush after he escaped from a zoo or a previous owner.

As soon as I saw him, I knew we had something special, the bond opening between us in a gentle hum. Since then, he’s been a part of my soul, and I can’t imagine being without him. My fingers dance over his back, stroking him slowly until a small sigh escapes him, his body heaving in one huff. His body curls against my palms, small claws gripping my fingers as I cradle him like I used to. My eyelids slowly close as I pull him to my chest, the warmth of his body seeping into my chest.

For a beautiful moment, everything is calm and beautiful. All the torture and painful memories are forgotten when it’s just me and my little familiar. But every moment must end, no matter how much I want to stay like this and go to sleep for a week.

“Here, baby.” I slowly lower him onto the bed, prop up a pillow at his side so he won’t accidentally roll off, then pull the cover over his stomach. “I’ll be back soon.”

He purrs against the bed, the sensation seeping through our bond, sending a tingle into my heart. “You sleep,” I say, then turn to the window.

I creak the glass windows open, but it does nothing to change the temperature in the room. There’s not even a breeze. The lack of weather is enough to drive a person mad.

My gaze drifts to the courtyard below as I grip the cold, stone sill. My morbid fascination forces me to lean further out to get a better look as the spirits forms swirl in a tempest of smoke and gray mist. One man, echoing his human form, moves in slow motion across the stone patio, the silence deafening as his mouth opens in a silent scream, reminding me of my dreams when I’m trapped between sleep and paralysis, where my body feels too heavy for my soul and moving even an inch is a struggle. To be in that state all that time must be Hell. I suppose here, that’s the point.

Tears of smoke drip down the man’s face as he trudges slowly forward, his fingers clawing at the air as if he might find some secret door in the air that can free him from this torture.

I understand the need for punishment, but as I stare out at the lost souls wandering the castle grounds, I wonder what they could have possibly done to deserve such a horrific fate—forever lost and broken.

My throat tightens as the realization washes over me—if I never met Lorcan, I would have joined those tortured spirits after my death. At least now I know I’ll be spared that, but I’m still going to end up in Hell no matter what. I’ve murdered people and as much as I want to be good, I know that the truth is I am inherently bad.

Having compassion doesn’t make me a good person. It just makes me human.

I turn to face the stone fireplace, a gaping hole of soot-stained logs upon a bed of ash and cast my death magic to heat the wood into a flicker of purple flames. The crackling instantly soothes my soul, and I turn to face the wardrobe. Surely Lucifer wouldn’t have made me a dress. I mean, he’s the devil, and when would he have had the time to bring it up here? We only recently arrived, and I’ve not left this room. Although, I guess, he’s the devil and can do anything here.

I grab the gargoyle handle of the hand-carved, black wardrobe door, and pull it open. Holding my breath, I glide my fingers over the glossy, swirl carvings, then gasp.

For all that is unholy!My gaze travels the length of the gown hanging inside. I never, in my wildest daymares, thought the devil would have created me a dress, and such a beautiful one, too. It’s almost too perfect to wear.Almost.

My fingers trace the luxurious layers of silver silk and black tulle billowing beneath the fitted velvet bodice, accented with black lace. Each thread embroidered into delicate roses shimmers like stars plucked from the night sky.

I retrieve the velvet hanger and turn to face the oval, silver-framed standing mirror. With a quick sweep of the drawers, I grab a pair of silver lace gloves and pull them up and over my elbows, then pair them with a pair of silver earrings.

It takes several minutes of careful maneuvering to undress, then pull on the corset, lacing the ribbons of the bodice and around my waist, but it’s worth the effort when I finally admire myself in the mirror.

Like the rest of the court, the room behind me is shrouded in a ghostly gray, purple candlelight flickering from the candelabras coated in dripping wax, illuminating the glass beads on the voluminous skirt as I sway.

I gasp, tracing the seven diamonds on my black choker—a stone, I realize, for each brother. This ball must be to honor them all being together again. The thought of being close to Samuel again sends a murderous, icy-hot vengeance through my body. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I take a long, slow breath in. I can’t react like this at the ball. Lorcan said we need to play along, and this is his world, not ours.

“You are stunning!” Rosa’s voice jolts me as she appears in the doorway, a pop of color in all the darkness. “I found one in my wardrobe too.”

“Lucifer made them for us,” I explain and look at her. “Damn, you are… wow, Rosa. Ezra is going to lose his mind.”

“Girl, I’m not dressing up for him.” Her lips quirk into a crimson smile. “But hewilllose his mind.” She spins, her crimson skirt billowing outward, longer at the back, and shorter at the front, reaching the midpoint to her thighs. “Wow. The devil is quite naughty, putting me in this.”

I can’t help but agree. Spikes of black tulle cascade from the ends of her crimson, patterned skirt. Her cleavage is accentuated by a v-neckline and the shiny, black corset cinching her waist. Lucious, black stockings reach her knees, and tight curls flow down her shoulders.

“We should go,” I say. “The devil waits for no one.”

She chuckles and pulls a curling wand from her bag. “Not yet.”

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