43
Too long in the shadows
ZARA
Iwake with a start, disoriented by the unfamiliar stillness. The past few days have been a whirlwind of chaos, leaving little time for sleep. Now, silence presses in on me, foreign and peaceful. My hand drifts to the space beside me, expecting to find Kade’s warmth, but it’s empty. That’s strange.
My eyes blink against the faint morning light that filters through the curtains as I sit up and stretch. The aches of what happened in the chamber linger in my muscles, and even Kade’s attention hasn’t eased the pain away completely. Kade’s been more than considerate, watching over me like I might shatter if left alone for too long.
His behavior is strange, but it brings a small, private smile to my lips. The warlock who knows no limits and is fierce and protective has discovered tenderness, and he seems to have embraced his newfound softness.
For now.
I’m not quite used to it. In all honesty, I don’t know if I can endure much more.
But now he’s missing and I don’t know what to do about it. The quiet feels wrong. Kade’s absence leaves a hollow ache in the air and I don’t like it. My heart races and a sickening feeling strangely close to anxiety starts surging through me, and I decide that I won’t rest easy until I find him.
I throw off the blankets and pad barefoot across Kade’s room, grabbing a shawl flung over the back of a chair. The chill of the floor seeps into me as I head out the door, certain that Kade must be somewhere in this god-forsaken mansion. He’s probably off scheming somewhere in the shadows, plotting his next move.
He’ll be planning our future and there’s not a fucking chance I’m letting him do that without me.
The hallways are eerily empty, the aftermath of the battles hanging in the air like a ghost that refuses to leave. I pass a shattered sconce and a tapestry scorched at the edges, remnants of what we’ve endured. My footsteps echo as I descend the grand staircase. It’s too quiet. No murmured conversations, no movement from the others.
Until I hear murmured voices.
The sound comes from the depths of one of the mansion’s wings, low and jagged, like the scrape of a blade over stone. Kade’s voice is unmistakable, deep and smooth, laced with that quiet menace that never quite leaves him. The other voice is harsher, clipped and it’s got to belong to Darius.
I hesitate at the base of the stairs, fingers tightening around the shawl draped over my shoulders. Darius isn’t the type to spill secrets easily, and Kade rarely engages without a purpose. Whatever they’re discussing, it’s not idle. It’s important, and interrupting them seems reckless, maybe even foolish. I could gain more by eavesdropping. But my curiosityis stronger, as is my need to make fucking sure neither of them forget exactly who I am and so I march toward them, my bare feet silent against the cold stone.
“You think I don’t know what you’ve done?”
Kade’s voice cuts through the stillness, low and sharp.
Darius laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “What I’ve done, little brother? Spare me your righteousness.”
I catch myself, pressing my back against the wall, peering through the narrow gap in the door. They’re in the study, the room lit only by the dull glow of embers in the hearth. Kade stands with his arms folded, a killer in repose, while Darius leans against the edge of the desk, his posture deceptively relaxed.
“You lied to me,” Kade says, his tone colder now. “All these years, you let me believe she was nothing more than a tool, a means to an end.”
Darius’s expression darkens. “And what would you have done with the truth, Kade? Paraded it around like a trophy? Turned her into a pawn in one of your games? I kept her safe. That was the point.”
“She’s your wife, not some secret to bury,” Kade snaps, his control slipping for the briefest moment. “And I’m your fucking brother, Darius.”
“She’s mine,” Darius says, his voice low and vicious. “My wife, Kade. Mine to protect. Mine to shield from the likes of you and Galen. Do you think I didn’t see the way you looked at her? Like she was nothing. Like she was beneath you. I couldn’t let you or anyone else touch her. You wouldn’t have understood.”
Kade’s fist slams into the wall and Darius doesn’t react.
“You let me think she was a fucking whore,” he snarls.
“Because that’s what you and Galen saw her as, Kade. That’s how you treated her and you were never going tofucking change. The only way to keep my wife safe was to carry on the fucking show until one or both of you changed your minds, or found a reason to see her as something more.”
The silence between them is suffocating, charged with fury and regret. Kade’s jaw tightens, his breathing rough, but he doesn’t look away. The flickering embers in the hearth cast jagged shadows across their faces, the light catching on Kade’s clenched fists and the rigid set of Darius’s shoulders. It’s a tableau of barely contained violence, the room thick with the bitter taste of old wounds and festering truths.
For a moment, neither of them speaks, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire. The air hums with unsaid accusations and unrelenting pride, the kind of tension that could shatter with a single wrong word, or unleash something neither of them can take back.
“That’s what Galen offered you, isn’t it?”
Darius’s lips curl into a faint, sardonic smile, but there’s no humor in it, only a bitter edge that twists like a knife.
