47. Amber
I yankmyself out of the Shadow Lord’s grasp at the same time as the shadow souls descend upon Lucas.
They swarm him, and in seconds, his screams fill the air. Painful screams as they suck his soul from his body. Screams so haunting that I’ll never be able to erase them from my mind.
Then, as quickly as it began, it ends.
The shadow souls disperse, forming their circle around the garden again, leaving ash where Lucas stood.
It happened so swiftly. He didn’t have a chance to put up a fight.
I hated Lucas. Despised him.
But that… it’s not the kind of death I’d wish on anyone.
I turn back to the Shadow Lord, and while part of me knows I should be celebrating Lucas’s downfall, rage flows through me like fire.
But I say nothing to him. And he makes no moves for me.
So, I gather all the force I can muster, lunge at him, raise my dagger, and slam it into his chest.
A perfect hit.
The thrill of victory surges through me as I release the hilt and stumble backward, waiting for him to melt into a puddle of sludge.
Nothing happens.
He just looks down at the blade embedded in his chest, then back up at me, an amused smirk crawling over his lips.
“Amber,” he says, his voice mocking when he says my name, “you’re going to need a much stronger weapon if you want to get rid of me.”
Easily, and seemingly painlessly, he pulls the dagger from his chest.
Dread pools in my stomach. Because there’s no blood. No wound. It’s as if my attack was a mild inconvenience, and nothing more.
This is bad. Very, very bad.
Glancing around at the surrounding shadow souls, it hits me all over again that I have nowhere to run—nowhere to hide. And my magic is as impossible to sense as it was before.
Out of options, I brace myself for him to use my dagger against me. To end me, in retaliation of me trying to end him. Or for him to order the shadow souls to consume my soul, like they did to Lucas.
He does neither of those things.
Instead, he offers the dagger back to me, handle first, as if he’s returning a toy to a child.
Unsure what else to do—and not wanting to be without a weapon—I take it.
He smiles down at me, chillingly pleased, as if he’s already won the power struggle that’s been brewing between us since we first saw each other in the Fairmont’s lobby.
“It was a valiant attempt,” he says. “And now, I admire your spirit more than ever. I see why the sun goddess chose you to star touch.”
He’s gazing down at me as if he’s enchanted, and an undeniable charge thrums through the space separating us—a magnetic pull both terrifying and exhilarating.
I can’t kill him. I can’t run. Without my magic, I can’t do much of anything.
I glance up at the moon, searching for guidance, and it almost seems to glow brighter in response.
Hope sparks to life inside me. Because the Shadow Lord clearly doesn’t want me dead. I’m not sure what he wants. But the longer we stay out here, the longer I can try to draw on the sunlight that reflects off the moon. Maybe—just maybe—it can replenish my magic enough to help me get out of here.
I just need to keep him talking for as long as I possibly can.
“What’s your name?” I ask, and from the way he tilts his head to study me, I can tell the question caught him by surprise.
“Astrophel,” he finally says. “Do you know what that means?”
The question sounds like a challenge, and the closeness between us feels like a dance. Like I’m one step away from catastrophe—or surrender.
“Can’t say I’ve heard of it.” I shrug, feigning indifference, although I can’t help being intrigued.
“It means ‘lover of stars,’” he explains. “And on this planet, there’s only one star that matters. Only one star that keeps us alive. Only one star whose light I can’t get out of my head, no matter how hard I try.”
I remain still, since while I might not be a science whiz, I know what star he’s talking about.
“That star is the sun,” he continues, stepping closer. “It’s you.”
“I’m not the sun,” I remind him. “Being touched by a goddess doesn’t make me a goddess.”
“You forget that I can feel your soul, Amber.” He smiles—a slow, predatory grin that traps me in his gaze. “You might have been born mortal, but your spirit is destined for so much more.”
“You mean it’s destined to be with yours?”
Saying it feels deceitful to Damien. Because he’s the one I want—not the Shadow Lord.
Astrophel.
For some reason, even though his name is dark and ancient, knowing it humanizes him.
I hate it, but it does.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” he says.
There’s zero chance he and I are destined to be together. Not in a billion years.
“And if I say yes?” I play along, hoping his desire overpowers his doubts. “If I accept your throne of shadows—your kingdom of night?”
It’s like something changes after I speak the words, and suddenly, the shadow souls circling us seem almost protective. A barrier keeping the rest of the world at bay.
“Then you’ll be by my side as I take my place amongst the gods and make this city my kingdom. My Olympus,” he says. “Because soon, our dark savior will fully rise. Ambrogio. Once he does, there will only be two sides. The ones who stand with him and live, and the ones who oppose him and die.”
I’m breathless, and I’m not sure if it’s because of how close he’s standing to me, or how quickly I’m trying to digest everything he’s throwing at me. If I ever get back to Damien and the others—when I get back to them—they’ll need to know everything. And I can’t forget a single word.
“I’ve heard of Ambrogio,” I say slowly, carefully. “The first vampire.”
“My sire,” he says. “And soon, yours as well.”
I take a moment to let that sink in. Because the Shadow Lord isn’t a vampire. He’s a shadow soul.
What he’s saying doesn’t make sense.
“I don’t understand,” I say, since it’s the truth.
His hand reaches out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch sending a shockwave of electricity through my veins. It’s like when he touches me in my dreams, but a hundred times more intense.
I should pull away. Escape his grasp.
Instead, I lean into his touch, my body betraying my mind’s frantic warnings.
“There’s nothing you need to understand,” he says. “Other than this.”
Before I realize what’s happening, he closes the space between us and kisses me.
My breath catches in my throat, and his aura, dark and all-consuming, wraps around me like a cloak. It whispers of secrets and power, and with every breath I take, I’m inhaling more of the shadows that surround him. Letting them seep into my soul and fill the emptiness that destroyed my light.
And, as much as I know I should, I can’t bring myself to stop. Not when he’s making me feel more whole than I have in ages.
Just as I’m about to lose myself entirely, a distant voice cuts through the fog of my mind.
“Amber!” Cassandra calls, yanking me out of the Shadow Lord’s embrace.
The Shadow Lord—Astrophel—pulls away, his eyes piercing mine.
“This isn’t over,” he says, and from the folds of his jacket, he retrieves a small metal object, pressing it into my palm.
“A token,” he murmurs. “So you can come to me at night, like I do to you.”
Before I can protest, his form blurs as he jumps into the river with a leap that defies the laws of physics.
The shadow souls follow, dissolving into the water, leaving ripples that fade into stillness.
Finally, when the last of them are gone, I uncurl my fingers to examine the token.
It’s a thick crescent that comes together on the ends, creating an illusion of the new moon. Tiny, intricate runes are etched along its curve, and its surface is unlike anything I’ve ever seen—dark, almost absorbing the dim light, yet shimmering like oil on water.
Holding it, a rush of emotions floods through me. Longing, fear, a strange sense of connection that tugs at the very core of my being. It’s as if the amulet isn’t just a bridge to Astrophel’s dreams but a tether, linking our souls across the boundaries that separate our physical worlds.
Cassandra calls my name again.
Soon, I’ll go to her.
But first, I pocket the token.
I’ll tell them about it. Eventually.
For now, it’s mine. Holding it gives me power in the darkness.
And, no matter what, I refuse to let anything take my power away ever again.