20. Frankie

Chapter 20

Frankie

The chill of the library’s basement seeps through my sweater as Dorian and I descend the worn steps. Our footsteps echo in the quiet. So much has changed since we first started coming down here. I trail behind Dorian, my mind racing with questions I’m not sure I want answers to.

“Watch your step, Francesca,” Dorian murmurs, his intense gaze flickering back to me. Even in the dim light, I can sense his brooding energy, coiled and ready to spring.

“You know, I wasn’t supposed to be at Shadow Locke,” Dorian says suddenly. “I was at Nightshade Academy first, going through their library.” He glances up, a wry smile on his face. “But their collection paled in comparison to what’s here. When I tried to transfer, though…” He trails off, his expression darkening. “Let’s just say my family name isn’t exactly welcome in some circles. It took a lot of convincing—and probably some strings pulled by Blackwood—to get me here.” I catch a glimpse of old pain in his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it.”

My mouth opens and closes, and I choose to say the first thing that comes to me. “Well…” I take a breath of musty air. “I’m glad you are here.” With me.

Our usual alcove comes into view, a hidden sanctuary in this labyrinth of ancient tomes. The stuffy smell of old books hits me. It’s weirdly comforting, like an old friend I’m not sure I should trust anymore. How many hours have I spent here, blissfully unaware of the secrets lurking in the shadows?

It’s been a long couple of months since I’ve been in the real Shadow Locke library. I’d forgotten how peaceful and magical it is down here, filled with books written by those who came long before me—those who may have gone through exactly what I’ve had to go through up to this point.

Maybe there is something to be said about Dorian’s little quip about always finding answers in books, and even if we don’t find anything we’re looking for, I get to spend time with Bishop and Dorian.

I’ll never admit that, of course. I’m still supposed to be mad at them, and yet so much has happened that it feels like that version of me no longer exists. I don’t want to just forget it, and I don’t want to excuse their behavior—or hell, even mine—but I’m ready to work past it.

As we approach our usual alcove, I catch sight of Bishop already there, poring over an ancient-looking tome. He glances up as we advance, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Frankie, Dorian, you won’t believe what I’ve found,” he says, his voice low but intense. “There are references here to shadow beasts, creatures of immense power tied to the very fabric of our realm.” He turns the book toward us, revealing intricate drawings of beings that look disturbingly similar to the eredar beast we encountered. “These texts are thousands of years old,” Bishop continues, “but they describe something eerily familiar, don’t they?”

I exchange a glance with Dorian, a chill running down my spine.

“Francesca.” Dorian’s voice cuts through my thoughts, low and urgent. “We need to start looking now. Every second counts.”

I nod, pulling myself back to the present. “Right. Let’s get to it.” Bishop scans the shelves, trailing his fingers along the spines of ancient books with practiced ease. He’s probably looking for more like the one he just mentioned. The sight of him, so focused and determined, stirs something within me. Maybe it’s admiration, or maybe it’s something more.

“Where do we even begin?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The vastness of the library suddenly feels overwhelming.

I look longingly at the baskets of snacks and sodas lining a bookshelf that Dorian brought in. All my favorites are there—chocolate Pop-Tarts, salty pretzel twists, and even my favorite mango peach juice.

Bishop turns to me, scanning the rows. I can see the tension in his eyes as he looks at the shelves, but it’s gone when he turns to me. “We start with what we know,” he says, his tone authoritative yet reassuring. “The book we’re looking for, Shadows of the Ancients, is older than most of the texts here. We need to approach this methodically.”

I can’t help but smirk, a touch of my usual sass returning. “That narrows it down to about… everything in this basement?”

Dorian’s lips twitch. “Your wit remains intact, Francesca. Perhaps we should divide and conquer. Efficiency is key in a search of this magnitude.”

As we spread out among the stacks, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re on the cusp of something big. The shadows at my feet seem to agree, stretching and twisting with anticipation.

I pause at a particularly old section. The books here are practically crumbling. My fingers hover over a tome, its title faded beyond recognition. As I pull it from the shelf, a cloud of dust erupts, tickling my nose.

“Hey,” I call out, my voice echoing in the silence. “I think I found something interesting.”

Bishop and Dorian are at my side in an instant, their presence both comforting and unsettling. As I open the book, the scent of age and secrets wafts up, tickling my nose until I have to release a sneeze.

As I open the book, the musty scent of ancient knowledge envelops us. The pages are brittle, threatening to crumble under my touch, but the text is still legible. My eyes widen as I begin to read aloud, my voice growing stronger with each word.

“In the shadows of our realm, power flows not from brute strength, but from the deep wells of dark feminine energy. Our packs, the foundation of our society, are built upon this sacred truth.”

Bishop leans in closer, his breath warm on my neck. “This is… unexpected,” he murmurs, his usual composure tinged with a hint of excitement.

I continue reading. “The matriarch, chosen by the dark goddess herself, gathers her protectors. These men, bound by loyalty and love, form a circle of strength around her. It is through her that the pack finds its true power.”

Dorian’s intense gaze meets mine, his eyes gleaming with awe and intrigue. “The dark goddess,” he says, his voice low and charged with energy. “I’ve heard whispers, but never anything concrete. There’s poetry to this revelation, isn’t there? We’ve been living in a world of shadows, unaware of the true depths of our own history.”

My fingers trace the faded illustration on the page—a woman surrounded by shadowy figures, her hands raised in what looks like supplication or command. The image stirs something deep within me, a recognition I can’t quite place.

“Listen to this,” I say, turning the page with renewed determination. “The dark goddess, Nyx, keeper of shadows and secrets, bestowed upon her daughters the gift of shadow manipulation. It is through this gift that the matriarch guides her pack, balancing the darkness and light within each member.”

Bishop’s brow furrows, his mind clearly racing. “This goes against everything we’ve been taught. The shadow realm has always been portrayed as patriarchal. From an anthropological perspective, this could rewrite our entire understanding of shadow society.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” I muse, realization dawning on me. “Someone wanted this forgotten. But why? And how do we uncover the truth?”

As I delve deeper into the text, the story unfolds. Nyx, the primordial goddess of night, gifted her daughters with the ability to harness the shadows. These women became the first shadow shifters, their power rooted in the raw, untamed energy of creation itself. They formed packs, choosing men who would complement and amplify their abilities.

They formed bonds through a bite from the matriarch of the pack, balancing their powers.

“It says here that the balance between the matriarch and her pack was crucial,” I explain, my voice hushed with reverence. “The men provided protection and stability, while the matriarch channeled the goddess’s power, guiding the pack through the ever-shifting shadows of our world.”

Dorian’s hand brushes mine as he leans in to see the text, his touch sending a jolt through me. “This could explain why your powers are so… unique, Francesca,” he says, his voice intense and focused. “If what this book says is true, then you might be tapping into something far more ancient and powerful than we realized. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, isn’t it?”

His words send a chill down my back. Could this be the reason for my unique abilities and heightened connection to the shadows?

Also, doesn’t this mean all shadow shifter women are special? They just have to reconnect with the divine feminine.

“But how did we forget?” Bishop asks, his tone tinged with frustration, yet he still maintains his calm demeanor. “How does an entire society just lose touch with its origins? The implications for our cultural evolution are staggering.”

I flip through more pages, scanning for answers. “Here,” I say, pointing to a passage near the end. “It mentions a great schism. Centuries ago, a group of male shadow shifters, threatened by the power of the matriarchs, began to suppress this knowledge. They rewrote our history, burying the truth of the dark goddess and the true nature of our packs.”

The weight of this revelation settles over us like a heavy cloak. The silence in the library seems to deepen, as if the shadows are holding their breath.

“Hmm…” Dorian taps the next page. “Single pairings were implemented more. This explains why packs aren’t always created like my parents’.”

“This changes everything,” Bishop says softly, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of wonder and uncertainty. “They gave us bits of truth, just not the entire truth.”

Dorian nods. “The woman has always been the one to build the pack, but that was all that was ever taught.”

I nod, my mind racing with the implications. “If this is true, then we’ve been operating on a lie for generations. The way we form packs and understand our powers… it’s all based on a distorted version of our history.”

I might be learning all of this for the first time, but so are they. Their entire world was an illusion, and as I look from Dorian to Bishop, I can see that understanding in the haunted look of their eyes.

Dorian’s hand finds mine, his touch grounding me. “Francesca,” he says, “this could be the key to understanding your abilities and why the eredar are so drawn to you. We’re standing on the precipice of a paradigm shift in shadow society.”

A knot forms in my stomach as I observe the interaction between Dorian and Bishop, feeling the building tension. The conflicts that once divided us now seem insignificant compared to what we just unearthed. We stand at the edge of a monumental discovery, one that could reshape our entire world

“We need to keep digging,” I say, my voice filled with determination. “There has to be more here, more about Nyx and the original matriarchs. If we can uncover the truth, then maybe we can find a way to balance the shadow realm and stop the decay. We can’t let this knowledge slip away again.”

At least it allows me to focus on something other than my own tortured life for a little while.

Bishop nods, his cool exterior now fueled by determination. “I’m on board, but we have to be cautious. If this was hidden before, then there’s probably someone who doesn’t want it revealed. We have to dig deep and compare it to all the underground knowledge out there.”

As we lean in, studying the aged manuscript, a sense of purpose fills me. Despite the hardships we’ve faced, this feels like a fresh start. Though we initially joined forces out of necessity, our bond has grown stronger with this newfound revelation. Even the shadows around us seem to hum with excitement, as if they, too, are becoming aware of a long-buried secret.

I close the book gently, my mind still reeling from the revelations. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Dorian breaks it first, his intense gaze softening slightly. “This reminds me of something my uncle once told me,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Bishop and I exchange a glance, surprised by this personal admission from the usually guarded Dorian.

“Your uncle?” I prompt, curiosity getting the better of me.

Dorian nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Uncle Everett. He’s… unconventional, to say the least. He always insisted that my mother’s family history was more complex than what I’ve been taught. I never took him seriously, but now… it seems his eccentricity may have been a guise for deeper truths.”

“Now you’re wondering what else he might know,” Bishop surmises, understanding dawning in his eyes. “It’s fascinating how these truths can persist, even when officially suppressed. From an academic standpoint, it’s a testament to the resilience of oral traditions.”

“Exactly,” Dorian agrees, his intensity focused inward now. “He used to tell me stories about powerful women in my lineage, but I always assumed they were just tales to entertain a child. Perhaps there was more truth to them than I realized. The layers of deception we’ve been living under… It’s both infuriating and intriguing.”

I lean forward, intrigued by this glimpse into Dorian’s past. “What kind of stories?”

Dorian’s brow furrows as he recalls, his voice taking on a storyteller’s cadence. “He spoke of a great-great-grandmother who could bend shadows to her will earthside, who had a group of devoted protectors. At the time, I thought he was just romanticizing my family history, but now…”

“Now it sounds like he might have been describing a matriarch and her pack,” I finish, a shiver running down my spine. “It’s like we’re uncovering a hidden world that’s been right under our noses this whole time.”

Bishop nods thoughtfully, his calm demeanor a counterpoint to the electric atmosphere. “It makes me wonder about the professors at the university, the ones who’ve been like family to me. Some of them have been around for decades. They might have heard whispers of the old ways passed down through generations.”

“Because of your mom being the dean?” I ask, remembering our earlier conversations.

“Yes,” Bishop says with excitement. “Their academic pursuits might have led them closer to the truth than we realized. We should consider interviewing them, carefully of course, to see what other pieces of the puzzle they might hold.”

I can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. It’s a side of both of them I rarely see—Dorian’s intensity softened by curiosity, and Bishop’s composure energized by discovery.

“This could explain why your mother insisted on the pack system for safety,” I muse, connecting the dots. “Even if she doesn’t know the full history, some instinct about pack dynamics must have survived. It’s like we’re all players in a game we didn’t even know we were part of.”

Bishop’s eyes light up. “You’re right. The way she emphasized the importance of groups, of having a close-knit circle for protection, aligns perfectly with what we just learned about matriarchs and their packs. It’s as if our society has been unconsciously preserving these structures without understanding their true significance.”

“Speaking of packs,” Dorian interjects, his gaze intense as it locks with mine, “perhaps it’s time we revisited the idea of forming one ourselves. In light of this new information, it seems more crucial than ever.”

I feel a flutter in my stomach at his words, a mix of excitement and apprehension. “I… I don’t know,” I hedge, thinking of Tori. “I can’t just leave Tori behind. She’s been with me through thick and thin.”

“Who says you have to?” Bishop asks gently, his voice carrying its usual calm authority. “From what we just learned, it seems the matriarch chooses her pack. There’s no reason Tori couldn’t be part of it. In fact, diversity in the pack structure might be key to unlocking its full potential.”

I blink, surprised by the suggestion. “But I thought… I mean, aren’t packs usually…”

“Usually what?” Dorian challenges, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Comprised solely of males protecting a female? Ones they fuck? It seems we’ve all been operating under some false assumptions, Francesca. Perhaps it’s time we forged our own path and created our own rules based on the truth we’re uncovering.”

The use of my full name, usually an irritation, now sends a warm shiver through me. I look between them, these two men who’ve become so important to me despite our rocky start.

“You’re right,” I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. “We have been.” I pause, not entirely sure. “Tori won’t want to bond.” I chew my lip.

Am I really thinking about this?

“You don’t have to bond.” Bishop leans in. “A pack isn’t about conforming to some predetermined structure. It’s about surrounding yourself with people you trust, people who complement your strengths and shore up your weaknesses. From an anthropological perspective, it’s fascinating to see how these structures might have evolved over time.”

“And people who challenge you,” Dorian adds, his intense gaze never leaving mine. “Who push you to be better and discover the full extent of your abilities. There’s a certain poetry in reclaiming our history and using it to shape our future.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of this moment. “So what you’re saying is…”

“We’re saying,” Bishop continues, his tone measured yet encouraging, “that forming a pack doesn’t mean leaving anyone behind. It means bringing the people who matter most, people you want by your side as we face whatever’s coming, together. It’s about creating a support system that allows each member to reach their full potential.”

The shadows around us seem to pulse with anticipation, as if they, too, are eager for my decision. I think about Tori, Leo, and Matteo and the bonds we’ve all formed over these tumultuous months.

“Okay,” I say, my voice filled with a newfound determination, “but I need to talk to Tori first.”

Dorian’s smile is rare and brilliant, lighting up his usually brooding features. “I think that sounds perfect, Francesca.”

Bishop nods, his calm demeanor infused with warmth. “Agreed.”

As we sit here, surrounded by ancient tomes and new understanding, I feel a sense of rightness settle over me. We may not have all the answers yet, but we’re on the path to discovering them.

The shadows around us seem to dance with approval, as if Nyx herself is watching, pleased to see her children finally remembering the truth of their heritage.

Maybe that is why I’ve always felt a connection to the dark and the mysterious.