Page 121 of Wings of Shadow
Sam places her hand on his chest, drawing his attention. “Nik,” she murmurs, her voice carrying that particular inflection I recognize from my own experiences with Kaisner—the tone that soothes the dragon, that reminds the beast of its humanity.
Something shifts in Nikolaas’ expression—a momentary softening, a flicker of shame—before he nods tersely. “We should rejoin the others,” he says, already guiding Samara away.
She glances back at me over her shoulder, and in that unguarded moment, I see everything she hasn’t said: fear, love, determination, and something that might be a plea for understanding.
I watch them move through the crowd, noting how she subtly positions herself between Nikolaas and other guests, how she whispers to him when his eyes begin to glow too brightly, how her hand never leaves his as if she’s physically anchoring him to this world.
The Draken Curse. I’ve known its effects now in two dragons—Willem’s madness in family lore, and now, my brother. But Nik’s manifestation seems somehow worse, as if the power of the Last Draken Shifter amplifies the curse’s grip.
My gaze drifts to Samara, trapped in an impossible situation, protecting everyone from the truth of what her mate is becoming. Then, my attention shifts to Gavriil and Luciana. They’ve risen to their feet, but remain locked in each other’s embrace, as if afraid the other might disappear if they let go. Luciana is engulfed by Gavriil’s massive frame—a man suspended between past and present, love and duty.
I look at Cassandra, taking on the monumental effort of concealing the chaos reigning inside her.
So many secrets in this room. So many fault lines waiting to fracture.
The sound of a throat clearing interrupts my thoughts. I turn to see Nikolaas, his expression a complicated mix of emotions. “As touching as this reunion is,” he says, voice carefully controlled, “I think we all deserve some answers. Cassandra, how is this possible? Gavriil’s mate was dead. And suddenly, she’s back? Why now?”
All eyes turn to Cassandra, who stands at the room’s entrance, her posture regal and composed. She meets each of our gazes in turn, her eyes filled with wisdom.
“The how is... complicated,” she begins. “Suffice it to say that Luciana’s return to us is the result of forces beyond our full understanding. As for the why...” She pauses, her gaze softening as it lands on Gavriil and Luciana. “Because we need hope. We need reminders of what we’re fighting for. In the face of the darkness that’s coming, we need every bit of light we can find.”
I shudder at her words, leaning closer to Kaisner, seeking his warmth and strength. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. Through our bond, I sense his own clash of emotions—wonder at the miracle we’ve witnessed, wariness at what it might mean for the future, and a fierce determination to protect what’s his.
“You speak in riddles, Cassandra,” Vladimir snaps, his voice sharp with suspicion. “We need facts, not vague warnings.”
Cassandra nods. “You’re right, of course. You all deserve to know what we’re facing.” She takes a deep breath, her eyes closing briefly as if steeling herself for what’s to come. When she opens them again, they’re filled with a gravity that sends chills down my spine.
“There is an ancient prophecy,” she begins. “One that speaks of a time when the veil between worlds will thin, when shadows will seek to devour the light. It speaks of a great battle, one that will determine the fate of not just our kind, but of all reality.”
The room falls silent, hanging on her every word.
“For centuries, this prophecy was thought to be nothing more than a myth, a cautionary tale told to frighten young witches and warlocks,” Juliette adds. “But recent events have made it clear that the time spoken of in the prophecy is upon us. The signs are all around us, for those who know how to look.”
She pauses, her gaze sweeping across the room once more. “The sudden resurgence of long-dormant powers. The blurring of lines between different supernatural races. The return of those thought lost to us.” Her eyes linger on Luciana for a moment before moving on. “These are not isolated incidents. They are the first tremors of a coming earthquake that will shake the very foundations of our world.”
As Juliette speaks, a strange pressure coils at the base of my skull—faint initially, resembling the beginnings of a headache. Then it deepens. Sharpens. A buzzing energy pulses through me, syncing with every syllable she utters. My breath hitches.
The room tilts.
I sway on my feet, a hand reaching blindly for the edge of the table—but I miss. The chandeliers above blur, warping into threads of gold. Shadow and light streak across my vision like a shuttered film reel tearing loose.
Kaisner is there instantly.
“Clarissa—” His arms wrap around me with swift precision, his voice rough with panic. “Liebes, what’s happening?”
“I… I don’t—” I gasp, blinking hard, but it’s no use. The visions surge like a tidal wave.
Shadows devour my surroundings. Not the kind born of night, but something older, hungry—coiling like haze around skeletal frames, fangs bared, wings unfurling.
“It begins with fire,” the words echo in my skull, slipping from my lips before I even realize I’ve spoken them.
The vision seizes me without warning—cities I recognize flashing before my eyes. Paris. Venice. London. Dreary columns of dark smoke rise toward indifferent skies, each plume a marker where something—someone—has been erased from existence.
Screams. Fire. A sky cracked open.
And then light. Brilliant. Blinding.
Swords of starlight clash against beasts carved from void. At the center of it all—Kaisner and me. Our forms tangled in radiant flame, standing back to back, holding the line as the world crumbles around us…
