31. Leo

Chapter 31

Leo

The pack house feels alive around me. Every smell and creaky floorboard reminds me of the weird little family we’ve patched together. It’s home, for better or worse.

I sprawl across the worn couch, feeling its leather grip me like a lover’s embrace, the musty parchment and earthy herbs hanging from the rafters filling my lungs with each breath. The shadows in the corners give me the creeps. Our dinky oil lamps aren’t doing much to keep them back. I swear they are watching us, just waiting for us to screw up.

Our place is as messed up as we are. From the outside, it looks like someone tried to build a haunted house and gave up halfway. The stone is weathered, the wood is twisted, and I swear sometimes I can hear it breathing.

Inside, the heart of our sanctuary beats with a rhythm all its own. Exposed beams crisscross the ceiling like the bars of a gilded cage, while mismatched furniture crowds the space, each piece holding memories of laughter and pain in equal measure. The massive hearth dominates one wall, its maw large enough to swallow a man whole—a thought that sends a shiver down my spine more often than I’d like to admit.

My fingers trace the intricate patterns on an ancient tome of shadow magic, feeling the cool metal burn against my skin. The fading sunlight paints everything in shades of blood and gold, a fitting backdrop for the horrors that always seem to find us.

The sharp knock at the door shatters the illusion of peace, echoing through the house like a death knell. Every instinct screams danger, my lion clawing at the surface of my skin, desperate to protect what’s ours.

With a sigh that carries the weight of too many battles, I unfold my lanky frame from the couch. Each step toward the door feels like marching to my execution, the floorboards groaning beneath my feet in sympathy. I slap on my usual grin. It’s like a reflex at this point. Sometimes I wonder if I even know how to make any other face.

When I swing the door open, even that carefully constructed facade crumbles.

Dorian looks like hell warmed over. His usual perfect hair is a mess, and he reeks of smoke and... something worse. His eyes are wild, like he’s seen some serious shit. He keeps looking around like he thinks something’s going to jump out and eat him. It’s freaking me out, to be honest

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” I say, trying to act cool even though my heart’s racing. “Tall, dark, and broody decided to join the party. What’s the occasion, Dorian? Run out of hair gel?”

“Leo,” he rasps, his voice raw with emotions I can’t name. “I need to speak with Frankie and the rest of the pack. It’s... It’s important.” He looks past me, scanning the interior with a hunger that sets my teeth on edge. “I... I wasn’t sure I’d find you here. How did you even know about this place?”

I raise an eyebrow, filing away this odd bit of information in the ever-growing list of shit that might get us killed . “Let’s just say a little shadow beast led us to the perfect den, but that’s a story for another time. Right now, you look like you danced with the devil and lost.”

As Dorian enters, bringing the scent of night air and barely contained chaos with him, I bound up the stairs. The old wood screams beneath my feet, a symphony of pain that matches the crescendo of dread building in my chest. “Frankie! Matteo!” I call out, my voice carrying a hint of its usual playfulness, a desperate attempt to cling to normalcy. “We’ve got company, and it’s the kind that might eat us!”

Footsteps thunder above, and my packmates appear. Frankie comes down first, her hair all crazy like usual, but her face is all business. Her eyes flash, ready for a fight. It makes my heart do this weird flip-flop thing—part hell yeah and part oh crap . The aroma of wildflowers and steel intensifies, her very being a weapon poised to strike.

Matteo follows, his calculated gaze dissecting the scene before him. His presence brings a false calm, the eye of a storm that threatens to tear us all apart. I watch his eyes dart to every possible exit, cataloging escape routes with the precision of a man who knows the value of a quick getaway.

“Dorian,” Frankie says, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. The leather of her jacket creaks as she crosses her arms, her stance wide and unyielding—a queen ready to defend her castle.

Dorian takes a shuddering breath, and I swear I see the weight of centuries settling on his shoulders. The scent of his fear hits me like a physical blow, acrid and sharp with an underlying note of rot that makes my stomach churn. Beneath it all, I catch whiffs of smoke and copper, promises of violence yet to come.

“That,” Matteo says, his voice serious, “is our big problem. It’s killing the shadow realm, bit by bit, and it’s getting closer.”

The tension in the room ratchets up several notches, thick enough to choke on. My trademark grin fades, replaced by a grimace that feels carved into my face. For once, not even my well-honed humor can pierce this veil of dread that’s descended upon us.

Matteo’s eyes narrow, no doubt already calculating our odds of survival. Frankie, my brave, beautiful Frankie, looks like an avenging angel preparing for the apocalypse.

“Alright, Dorian,” Frankie says, her voice low and dangerous, a growl that sends shivers down my spine. Her eyes, as sharp as broken glass, never leave his face. “But we play by my rules now. I want the truth, all of it, no matter how ugly, because if you’re holding back even a shred of information, so help me, I’ll—” She cuts herself off, taking a deep breath that seems to steady the foundation of the house. “Just... don’t make me regret this.”

We file into the living room like condemned men marching to the gallows, the floorboards groaning beneath our feet in a funeral dirge. The air thickens with each passing second, heavy with unspoken accusations and simmering rage. As we settle onto the worn leather couch, it creaks in protest, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the suffocating silence. Shadows dance at the edges of my vision, and I can’t shake the feeling that they are closing in, waiting to devour us whole.

Dorian’s fingers trace the embossed cover of an ancient tome on the coffee table, his touch almost reverent. Even in the midst of a crisis, his love for arcane knowledge shines through. The gesture seems to ground him, and when he speaks, his voice is steadier, though no less terrifying for its calm.

“First, I apologize for not showing up yesterday,” he begins, his eyes meeting each of ours in turn, burning with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. “I’ve kept things from you. My intentions were... misguided. The weight of my family’s secrets... it’s a burden I never wanted to share.” For a brief moment, a flash of his old charm surfaces, a glimpse of the man he once was. “But I suppose that’s what I get for thinking I could outrun fate.”

Dorian takes a deep breath, his eyes boring into ours with an intensity that makes my wolf want to bare its throat in submission. “I’m... I’m the descendant of Dorian Gray.”

The name hangs in the air like a death sentence, heavy with the weight of literary infamy and supernatural horror. I feel my jaw drop, and I hear Matteo’s sharp intake of breath, a rare display of surprise from our usually unflappable strategist.

“Wait,” Frankie says, her brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief. “Dorian Gray as in... the fictional character? The one who sold his soul for eternal youth?”

Dorian’s laugh is hollow, echoing in the suddenly too small room. “Oh, if only it were that simple, Frankie. The story is just the tip of a very dark, very fucked up iceberg.”

He takes a shuddering breath, and I swear I can see the weight of centuries settling on his shoulders. “My ancestor, the real Dorian Gray, didn’t just sell his soul, he tore a hole in reality itself, trying to escape death, and when the dust settled, he was... changed. Immortal, yes, but also cursed. And that curse? It didn’t die with him. It’s been passed down, growing stronger with each generation, until it reached me.”

The silence that follows is so thick I could cut it with my claws. Frankie’s eyes are wide, a mix of horror and fascination that I’m sure is mirrored on my own face. Matteo’s already scribbling in that notebook of his, probably calculating the odds of us all dying horribly.

“Hold up,” I interject, my mind reeling from the implications. “Are you saying Oscar Wilde was some kind of supernatural biographer? Because I have to say, that puts a whole new spin on English class.”

Dorian’s laugh is hollow, devoid of any real humor. “Not exactly. Wilde knew parts of the story, but he didn’t know the whole truth. No one did until recently—until it was too late to stop the curse from spreading.”

“What truth?” Matteo leans forward, his eyes sharp with a hunger for knowledge that matches Dorian’s.

Dorian’s fingers trace the embroidery on a throw pillow, his gaze distant, lost in memories too painful to fully resurface. “The painting... It was real—a magical artifact that stored all of Dorian Gray’s sins, including his aging, his... darkness—but when it was destroyed, the curse didn’t end. It passed on to his descendants, growing stronger with each generation.”

“And now it’s yours,” Frankie says softly, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and understanding.

Dorian nods, the weight of centuries visible in the slump of his shoulders. “But there’s more. My mother... She wasn’t just human, she was a shadow shifter.”

The revelation hits like a physical blow. I find myself gripping the armrest of the couch, my claws threatening to emerge and shred the leather to ribbons.

“So you’re a hybrid?” Frankie questions, her voice barely above a whisper. “A cursed immortal and a shadow shifter?”

Dorian just nods slowly, the gesture carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken confessions.

“How is that possible?” Matteo asks, his voice tight with barely contained excitement and fear. “The implications for genetic inheritance of magical abilities?—”

“Matteo,” Frankie cuts him off gently, her tone brooking no argument. “Let Dorian explain. I have a feeling we’re only scratching the surface of this nightmare.”

Dorian shoots her a grateful look, though it’s tinged with a sadness that makes my heart ache. “It’s complicated. The shadow shifter abilities are unpredictable in me. They are becoming more and more volatile, feeding off the darkness of the curse. I came here to look for a solution, a way to break free from this legacy of pain and corruption.”

“But?” I prompt, sensing there’s more to the story.

A flicker of something crosses Dorian’s face. “I can do more, much more, but it comes at a price that might be too high for any of us to pay.”

“The curse,” Frankie says, her voice steady despite the tremor I can see in her hands. It’s not a question, but a statement, an acknowledgment of the doom hanging over us all.

Dorian nods, his eyes clouding over with a darkness that seems to dim the lights in the room. “The darkness that was once contained in the painting... It’s part of me now. Always there, always... hungry.” His voice drops to a whisper that seems to echo in the sudden stillness. “Sometimes, I’m not sure where the curse ends and I begin. Sometimes, I’m not sure there’s any difference at all.”

The scent of his fear spikes, sharp and acrid, filling the air with the stench of despair and barely contained violence. I resist the urge to gag and flee from this harbinger of doom we’ve invited into our sanctuary.

“So what exactly can you do?” I ask, partly out of morbid curiosity and partly to distract from the oppressive atmosphere.

Dorian hesitates then holds out his hand. The shadows in the room seem to deepen, coalescing around his fingers like living ink. They twist and writhe, forming shapes—a rose that bleeds black petals, a skull with eyes that follow our every move, a wolf with jaws that snap at the air—before dissolving back into formless darkness that seems to pulse with malevolent life.

“That’s... intense,” I remark, my voice a bit higher than usual, betraying the fear that claws at my insides.

“It’s not just parlor tricks,” Dorian says, his voice tight with a mixture of pride and revulsion. “I can... I can use shadows like doorways and walk right through them. Sometimes I can make the dark stuff real. Like, your worst nightmares come to life kind of real. It’s as messed up as it sounds.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words, and ice spreads through my veins. Holy crap. That’s something else. Part of me wants to say cool , but the rest of me is screaming run for your life . This could save our butts or get us all killed. Probably both.

“But you can control it, right?” Frankie asks, her voice gentle but firm, a lifeline in the sea of chaos we’re drowning in.

Dorian’s silence speaks volumes, a confession more damning than any words could be.

“That’s why I’m here,” he finally says, his voice cracking under the strain of his confession. “I need help. I thought I could handle this on my own, but... I can’t. The darkness is getting stronger, and I’m afraid of what might happen if I lose control. Of what I might become. Of what I might do to those I care about.”

The weight of his confession settles over us like a shroud, smothering any last vestiges of hope or normalcy. I look at my packmates, seeing my own mix of emotions reflected in their faces—fear, sympathy, determination, and, beneath it all, a fierce love that burns brighter than any darkness.

Frankie takes a deep breath, and she squares her shoulders, taking on the mantle of leadership that sits so naturally on her. God, she’s beautiful like this—all fierce determination and quiet strength. I catch Matteo’s eye and know he’s thinking the same thing. The air between us crackles with unspoken tension, a reminder of the complicated web we’re all tangled in, but now’s not the time for that particular can of worms. We have bigger fish to fry, or bigger shadows to... whatever. You get the idea.

Frankie’s scent changes, getting that edge to it that means she’s in full alpha mode. It always makes me shiver a bit. The girl has some serious presence when she wants to. “Dorian,” she says, her voice steady despite the tremor I see in her hands, “thank you for trusting us with this. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been carrying this burden alone.”

She pauses, her gaze sweeping over us before settling back on Dorian with an intensity that makes him flinch. “I’ve made a decision. If you’re willing, I’d like to offer you a place in our pack.”

The hope that blossoms on Dorian’s face is almost painful to witness, a fragile thing that could be crushed with a single wrong word. “You... You’d do that? Even knowing what I am? What I might become? The danger I pose to you all?”

“Because of what you are,” Frankie corrects him gently, her voice carrying a strength that seems to make the foundation of the house tremble. “You’re one of us, Dorian—shadow shifter, cursed heir, whatever label you want to use. You’re family, and family doesn’t abandon each other, no matter how dark the path ahead might be.” Frankie’s voice carries the steel I’ve come to rely on, the same strength that got us through the beast attacks and that whole Nyx fiasco. “We’ve faced some serious shit already—shadow beasts, crazy professors, my own out-of-control powers. Your curse? It’s just another bump in our very weird road.”

I feel my chest swell with pride at her words, even as fear gnaws at my insides. This, right here, is why Frankie is our alpha and why I’d follow her into the depths of hell itself.

“But,” she continues, her voice taking on a tone of quiet authority, “there will be conditions. No more secrets. No more lies. We need to be able to trust each other completely if we’re going to face what’s coming, and we will find a way to break this curse, Dorian, together, even if it kills us all in the process.”

Dorian nods eagerly, tears shimmering in his eyes like liquid shadows. “Of course. Anything. I... Thank you. All of you. I don’t deserve this chance, this... redemption.”

As Dorian’s words hang in the air, I can’t help but feel a maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me—pride in Frankie’s leadership, concern for Dorian’s predicament, and an undercurrent of excitement at the prospect of a new pack member. Beneath it all, though, there’s a nagging worry that we might be signing our own death warrants, inviting a darkness into our lives that we may never be able to banish.

“Well,” I say, plastering on my best reassuring grin even though my heart’s doing the cha-cha in my chest, “welcome to Casa del Chaos, Dorian. We have movie nights, midnight snack runs, and a strict no summoning Cthulhu in the living room policy. Think you can keep your tentacled friends on a leash?”

Dorian lets out a surprised laugh, the sound raw and rusty, as if he’s forgotten how. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, but the shadows around him seem to pulse and writhe, a reminder of the beast that lurks just beneath his skin. “I’ll do my best, Leo. Though I can’t promise I won’t slip up now and then. The darkness has a mind of its own sometimes.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Matteo chimes in, his voice warm but eyes sharp and calculating. “To catch each other when we fall or to put each other down if we go too far.” The words hang in the air, a promise and a threat rolled into one.

I feel a shiver run down my spine at Matteo’s words, but I push through it. This is what family means in our world—love tempered with the knowledge that we might have to destroy what we hold dear. “Welcome home,” I say, and before I can think better of it, I lunge forward and tackle Dorian to the ground.

The moment we hit the floor, I realize my mistake. Dorian’s body goes rigid beneath me, and the temperature in the room plummets. Shadows explode outward from his form, writhing tendrils that reach for me with hungry, grasping fingers. When his eyes meet mine, they are as black as pitch, endless voids that threaten to swallow me whole.

“Leo!” Frankie’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp with fear and command. “Get back!”

I scramble away, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Dorian remains on the floor, his body convulsing as he fights for control. The shadows dance around him, forming nightmarish shapes—snarling beasts, reaching hands, and faces twisted in eternal agony.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian rasps between clenched teeth. “I can’t... I can’t control it. You need to... to...”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Frankie says firmly, though I can smell the fear rolling off her in waves. She takes a step toward Dorian, her hand outstretched. “Fight it, Dorian. You’re stronger than this curse. You’re one of us now.”

Matteo moves to flank her, his body tense and ready for action. I pull myself to my feet, ignoring the trembling in my limbs. We form a protective circle around Dorian, a living barrier between him and the rest of the world.

“Remember who you are,” Matteo says, his voice low and steady. “You’re not just the curse. You’re Dorian Gray, shadow shifter, scholar, and friend. Focus on that.”

I watch in awe as Dorian’s body arches, a silent scream tearing from his throat. The shadows around him pulse and throb, as if caught between two worlds, and then, slowly, painfully, they begin to recede. Color returns to Dorian’s face, and his eyes, when they open, are their normal stormy gray.

“I... I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to... I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t,” Frankie says softly, kneeling beside him. She reaches out, hesitates for a moment, then places her hand on his shoulder. “You fought it. You won.”

“This time,” Dorian says bitterly. “But what about next time? Or the time after that? I’m a ticking time bomb, Frankie. You should run while you still can.”

I feel a laugh bubble up in my throat, slightly hysterical but genuine. “Buddy, if we ran from every ticking time bomb that walked through our door, we’d have no pack at all. Have you met us? We’re all disasters waiting to happen.”

Matteo nods, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Leo’s right for once. We all have our demons, Dorian. Yours are just a bit more... tangible than most.”

Frankie helps Dorian to his feet, her touch gentle but firm. “This is what pack means, Dorian. We face our demons together, no matter how dark they might be.”

As Dorian leans into Frankie’s touch, and Matteo’s eyes soften with understanding, I feel that weird connection between us all. It’s like an invisible rubber band, stretching and snapping into place, and it’s stronger now with Dorian.

And yet darker.

In this moment, I know that nothing will ever be the same.

We just let a walking curse into our pack. It’s crazy, but hey, maybe that’s our brand of normal. Maybe it’s exactly the kind of crazy we need, because in this world of shadows and secrets, sometimes the only way to fight the darkness is to embrace it.

As we settle back into the living room, the tension slowly bleeding away, I can’t help but wonder what new horrors tomorrow will bring. For now, though, we’re together, we’re pack, and come hell or high water, we’ll face whatever comes next as one.

Even if it kills us all.