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I wait for him to explain, but in true Kian fashion, he doesn’t.
Malix leans over and murmurs under his breath, “That’s the box that used to hold Quinton’s shadow realm stone.”
“Oh,” I say, zeroing in on the unobtrusive object. It doesn’t feel all that magical, but I know, logically, that this must be how Felicity has access to the shadow magic she’s used against us in the past. If my men sense any kind of shadow realm magic creeping from the crudely cut box, they keep the knowledge to themselves.
Felicity taps the top of the stone vessel, her expression thoughtful. “Power seeped from the stone into its container over the many years it was encased in this box. But the magic in the box is fading. It fades further every time I use it.” She drops her hand into her lap and laughs bitterly, then catches my gaze. “I wanted to take the stone too. When I stole the box, I thought the stone would be inside. My ex-mate, though… he’s too smart. He knew before I did that I would be leaving him, and he took precautions to protect his precious stone.” Squaring her shoulders, Felicity rises to her feet and grabs the box. “Come with me. I can’t guarantee results, but we’ll see what we can do.”
Back out in the cafeteria, Felicity has Frost lie lengthwise along one of the many dining tables that line the room. The ladies in the corner continue their bean shucking, while the remaining shifters—now in human form and consuming a variety of beverages and snacks—perch on the tables around us to watch. We’re all still naked in the aftermath of our shift to human form, but no one bats an eye. Like most shifter communities, they just don’t care much about stuff like that.
I slide onto the bench next to Frost and hold his hand tightly. “You okay?”
He nods, his gaze locked on the low-hanging ceiling where a fan drifts in lazy circles. “I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” I tease him gently, lifting his hand and resting it against my chest, right above my heart.
“Never,” he replies, an echoing note of affection in his tone.
Felicity climbs onto the table beside him, kneeling on one knee next to his trim waist. Her gaze runs over his body where his shadow tattoos are shivering and waving, picking up the pace.
I can feel his anxiety through our bond. Feel the worried hum of his body through his fingers.
“Frost,” I murmur, “look at me.”
His head tilts on the tabletop until our eyes meet. Pale strands of his hair rest over the angles of his cheek bones, and I reach out with my free hand to brush them away. I let my fingers linger on his skin as I say, “Remember to breathe.”
Felicity opens the box and positions it in the palm of her left hand, which she then holds out over Frost’s torso. “Ready?”
“Yes, alpha,” Frost says firmly, turning his gaze back to the ceiling before he closes his eyes.
She leans over him and presses her free hand to his torso right above the mottled bruises he still has from Kian’s resuscitation efforts.
Suddenly, black shadows begin to swirl around the box in her hand.
I watch, a mixture of horror and awe twisting my stomach. The shadows dart out of the box and around her hand, then twist up her arm like snakes. Her eyes close and her head falls back until her face points to the ceiling, while her fingers dig into Frost’s skin.
I eye her hand. I don’t like the rough way she’s handling him. But Frost remains still and silent, so I hold back my need to protect him.
“Dear god,” Felicity breathes, her breaths coming faster. She holds her position, her eyes squeezed shut like she’s in pain. Like she’s experiencing firsthand what’s happening inside him. “Quinton just forced the shadows into you. Violently. As if you were nothing more than useless meat...” She trails off, and her fingers move higher over Frost’s chest. Grimacing, she adds, “They’re everywhere. Your body is a wasteland. The front lines of a war you can’t fight alone.”
Felicity’s words are almost lyrical, and they seem to come from deep inside her without much prompting. I can’t help but wonder what she’s feeling on her end with those shadows crawling up her forearm and shoulder.
Her eyes open, and she looks down at Frost with an almost motherly protectiveness. “How dare he do this to you?”
Frost doesn’t open his eyes to acknowledge her, but I can tell it’s because he can’t. Whatever the shadow magic is doing that’s allowing Felicity to sense the problems inside him, it’s causing him pain. I tighten my grip on his hand to root him to the moment and remind him that I’m here.
Felicity shakes her head, still staring down at Frost’s twisted, pained expression. “If this is how he’s creating feral shifters now, it will end badly. Very, very badly,” she says, almost to herself. “They’ll be unhinged. Violent. Deranged. Unstoppable.”
Her words pierce through my worries over Frost, but quite frankly, I’m not in a position to care about an army of unhinged shadow shifters forced into service by her ex when I just want my mate to be safe.
“Can you fix him?” I ask her.
Her long golden hair slips around her face as she stares down at Frost’s torso. “Perhaps. I don’t think I can pull the excess out of him, but I think I can… rearrange.”
Kian speaks up, his voice gruff. “Rearrange how?”
Felicity’s grip on the shadow box loosens ever so slightly, though the shadows continue to twine around her bare arm. She presses on Frost’s abdomen like a doctor searching for something swollen or out of place, and her gaze goes unfocused.
“The new shadows are fighting for dominance with Frost’s natural shadows—the ones he was born with. It’s not so much that he’s overwhelmed by the number, but that the newly and violently arrived shadows are determined to destroy the old rather than integrate into his natural magical system.”
She falls silent, still staring at the far wall. Her fingers continue to probe Frost’s skin, and every few seconds, she lifts her palm and makes a motion like she’s pushing something out of the way. As she works, the shadows that have clawed up her arm and shoulders begin to seep down her other arm and toward Frost. They mimic her movements above his body, never touching him but clearly performing some kind of assistance to whatever she’s doing.
Beneath my hand, Frost’s fingers twitch. I look away from Felicity to his face, where the skin at the corners of his eyes is tight and his eyes move abruptly beneath his eyelids. Every part of his body is taut—his head tilted back ever so slightly, elongating his neck and showing the corded muscles beneath his skin.
I hate seeing him in pain. Since the night Quinton overloaded him with shadows, he’s been in an even more severe, constant state of pain, and my heart can’t handle seeing him like this.
Please let this work. Please let it be worth it.
