Page 119 of Wings of Shadow
In that moment, I understand. This is what we’re fighting for—not just survival, but for moments like this. For love that transcends time and space, that can bring even the mightiest of alphas to their knees.
“We should... leave them,” Vladimir suggests gently, rising from his seat. His fierce eyes glimmer with hushed awe.
A collective exhale moves through the room. One by one, we rise. Samara wipes at her cheek with a quiet sniff, then links her arm through Vladimir’s. “I need a drink,” she murmurs.
“You’re still recovering from last night,” he says softly, gently pulling her hand away from the whiskey decanter Nikolaas is already reaching for.
Nikolaas pours himself two fingers of Glen Ord, drinking it down like water, his expression unreadable.
No one utters a sound.
Cassandra motions toward the adjacent parlor, and we drift that way—some of us quietly, others exchanging soft murmurs. The study doors remain open behind us, and I catch one last glance of Gavriil and Luciana—foreheads pressed together, arms wrapped around each other as though holding the very world in place.
Kaisner places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. I lean into him, the warmth of his palm grounding me.
As we settle into the candlelit parlor, I realize how much I needed this moment of calm. But even here, in the quiet, with thick velvet drapes muffling the world outside, I can feel something stirring beyond the manor’s walls—a sense of anticipation, a whisper of danger.
And deep in my soul, I know this is only the beginning.
49
CLARISSA
The initial shock of Luciana’s appearance begins to fade, and the room slowly comes back to life. Whispers ripple through the air, hushed conversations filled with awe, confusion, and a lingering suspicion. I catch snippets here and there—questions about how this is possible, what it means for the balance of power among the clans.
I spot Sam near the fireplace, her posture stiff, arms crossed tightly as though holding herself together by sheer will. Her gaze is locked on the shadows in the room.
For a moment, she looks impossibly frail—Samara, usually all biting wit and fire. Tonight, she burns quieter. Sadder.
I approach her slowly. She doesn’t look at me as I draw near, simply says, “I never found her body.”
Her voice is soft, yet heavy with pain, as if the words have been trapped inside her for so long they’ve become inescapable truth.
“Gavriil blamed me for not trying hard enough, with my scrying.” Tears shimmer in her eyes. “Hell—I blamed myself.” The confession escapes her throat, strangled.
I stand beside her, watching the flames flicker in the window’s dark glass. “He was grieving his lost mate,” I assure her gently. “You all were.”
“She was more than that,” Samara murmurs. “She was his soul. I used to listen to the way he spoke about her—quietly, like a prayer he didn’t want the world to hear. Luciana was everything to him, Clarissa. Before life taught him to bury his heart deep.”
She sniffs, blinking fast. “I just wonder if it’s too late... if my brother can come back to life, just as she did.”
I glance at her, but she’s staring at the door, her throat working.
“I’m happy she’s alive,” she adds, her voice trembling. “I’m so happy. But it breaks me, too, in ways I didn’t expect.”
“Because of Cassandra?” I whisper.
Sam’s gaze cuts to mine, sharp and lethal. In that instant, I catch a glimpse of the predator beneath her polished exterior—the Ursa princess who could tear out a throat without remorse.
“Careful,” she warns, voice dropping to a dangerous edge. “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re about to say—be very careful, Clarissa.”
I meet her stare, unwilling to back down. “I’m simply acknowledging what we’re both thinking. Gavriil’s true mate has returned, but he’s publicly bound to another. A witch carrying a vampire’s child.”
Sam glances toward the doorway, then grabs my arm with unexpected force, guiding me deeper into the shadows. Her touch—both controlled and strong—sends a chill down my spine.
“Listen to me,” she says, each word precise and measured. “That child is under the protection of the Alexeev clan. All of us.”
The emphasis in her tone carries weight. I search her face, finding no hesitation, only fierce conviction.
