Prologue

I'm dead inside.

Shadows cling to my flesh—not just figurative ones, but real, palpable darkness that responds to the dysphoria within my soul.

A void has taken root where a once vibrant soul danced with the light. I recall, with a bittersweet ache, those days when my heart swelled with an uncontainable love, and tears would well in my eyes at the sight of joyous reunions—those heartwarming scenes of loyal dogs greeting their owners, or battle-weary soldiers returning to the open arms of their children. I cherished such tender and raw moments with a fervor I never dared admit aloud, not even to myself.

The aroma of spring flowers and laughter of children playing in the park, which used to lift my spirits, now seem like distant echoes of a life once lived, and I can say I hated those moments, but I didn't. I loved every simpering second of it.

Now, though, all these years later, I despise the girl I was, with her na?ve heart and hopeful dreams. Her smiles, once the embodiment of her innocence, now seem like illusions, her truths as elusive as shadows, and her tears... those tears that once spoke of a heart too full, now only serve as a reminder of the depths to which she—no, I have fallen.

I loathe her with every fiber of my soulless existence, because she represents a past filled with foolish hopes and unguarded emotions, a stark contrast to the shadowed reality I've embraced.

I hate her. I hate every smile she wore like a shield, every lie she swung like a sword, and every goddamn tear she cried.

I fucking hate her.

As these bitter thoughts claw at me, I find myself in a dim downtown bar. The haunt is filled with the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation. Shadows flicker at the edges of my vision—not just figments created by the dim lighting, but manifestations of a darker force within me. They've been my silent guardians, ever responsive to the emotions I struggle to contain.

But him? The man at the bar with a sleazy grin and predatory gaze? I can fucking kill him. I watch him from my darkened corner, a place where the light doesn't reach—a place I'm not even allowed to exist in yet. No one spares me a glance, they never do, not for the orphan who lives on the outskirts of society, one who others pretend doesn't exist.

It's best for them to think I don't exist. Even now, as I watch him grab the drink his companion was sipping, and he dumps a small packet into her glass, no one notices either of us. She slides back onto the bar stool, with red lipstick smeared across her face and a brilliant white smile. Move, Frankie.

That age-old fear bubbles up as I watch her grab the glass, but thankfully, she doesn't take a sip. It's always like this in every time and every town. They are all the fucking same.

Swallowing my fear, I slide off my stool, pretending to stumble over to them. My steps are confident as my body sways right into them, knocking the drink over.

"I am so sorry," I slur as I fall into his lap and blink up at him. I press a palm against his chest, giggling and biting my lip. Hook, line, and sinker.

"Ugh, you bitch!" Red Lipstick cries out. "Excuse me." She rushes off to clean herself up. She can call me whatever she wants. I'm saving her from a fate worse than death.

Trust me, I know.

Darkness swells around me, and a gruff voice murmurs to me that everything is going to be okay. I just need to relax. Swallowing bile as I push the memories away, I push off from him—only he holds on to me, his touch gentle despite his earlier actions.

So fucking predictable.

"Come on, let me get you home," he says, sweeping my hair off my forehead. I give him a watery smile, one I don't have to fake, not completely.

"Really?" I hiccup.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He lifts me up, setting me on my feet. I sway into him, letting out a giggle which he, of course, finds endearing.

They always do.

Tossing a few bills on the bar, he steers me to the parking lot with a palm on my lower back. He even feels wrong. He looks like a gentleman to the rest of the world, but through the years, I've uncovered his kind. They all feel the same—like an oil spill in fresh water.

"Where do you live, honey?" He pauses just outside the bar.

"Just a block over." I hiccup as I give him a half-truth. He doesn't need to know that my home is my Jeep. I point to an alleyway I scoped out earlier. It's dark, desolate, and isolated—the perfect spot for a perfect crime.

"I'll walk you."

I just bet you will."Thanks." I hang onto him as we walk.

"What's your name, kitten?" He grips me a little tighter.

Is that the third pet name he's given me?

"Josie." Lies, lies. They slip off my tongue like honey, and he has a sweet tooth.

Rounding the corner, he smiles down at me. "That's a very pretty name, Josie."

My body tingles in anticipation.

He doesn't disappoint. Gripping my arms, he slams me against the alley, placing a hand over my lips and a thigh between my legs.

"Such a sweet little thing like you shouldn't be out all by herself." His rotten beer breath gusts over my face.

Why do they always smell like decay and beer?

I give an appropriate little whimper, pushing tears out of my eyes.

"Shh, it's okay, baby. I'll take good care of you." He grips my hip hard, and this time, the whimper is real.

Seriously, do they all get the same playbook?

When his fingers dip under my skirt, it's the sign I need to make my move.

I might not know who or what I am, but what I do know is that I've always had these abilities, which are as much of a part of me as the breath in my lungs. Every hero and villain has an origin story, and mine is born from trauma and abuse.

Perhaps that's why whatever god gifted me the powers I have are dark and cold. They rise now, the shadows that have lingered at the periphery of my senses all evening, peeling off the sticky walls of the alley to wrap around his hands, which he won't notice until it's too late.

"Fuck, I want to savor you." He groans, rolling his body against mine.

Please. No. Stop.

I roll my eyes and unleash the darkness within me. Shadows tighten around his wrists and tug until he falls to the broken concrete with an oomph.

"What the hell?"

I lash out with a shadow, wrapping it around his mouth. "Shhh." I crouch down and crawl over him. "No talking."

He whimpers just as I did moments ago.

My shadows grow until they form two giant black wolves on either side of me.

He begins to cry. It's cute, really, especially when he shakes his head back and forth. If he could talk, I bet he'd be pleading for his life.

Good boys cry like the little bitches they are, and damn me to hell, but I love listening to their whimpers and tasting their tears.

"It's okay. It won't hurt," I promise him, even though I don't know if it hurts or not.

I push him down into the puddle of darkness my body casts—the shadow of myself—and he falls into it, the ground eating him alive.

It's almost too easy.

Slowly, I get to my feet and brush my hands off on my pants before letting them drop to the wolves at my side. "Come on, let's go home." I urge them forward.

I feel nothing as we walk away, and not a single ounce of evidence of what just occurred exists. My shadow eats it all.

"You guys were hungry tonight," I whisper as I run my hands through their dark fur. Even now, their softness surprises me.

I should name them.

One looks up, his red eyes full of excitement before he takes off toward my Jeep, only to hop around as he waits for me. I don't let them out often. Hell, I don't even know where they actually come from, but I do know they are mine, and I am theirs.

It's been us against the world for five years now.

As I approach my Jeep, a glint of white under the windshield wiper catches my eye. I initially dismiss it as another parking ticket, a reminder of my nomadic existence, before I pull it free with a sigh. As the bold letterhead catches my attention, my breath hitches—Shadow Locke University.

The silence in the alleyway feels even more profound as the shadows momentarily freeze around me. The letter feels heavy in my hands, a tangible link to a world so different from the dark corners I've inhabited.

Francesca Vale,

On behalf of Shadow Locke University, I am thrilled to extend to you an offer of admission to the Bachelor of Science program in cybersecurity for the upcoming fall semester…

My mind racesback to the girl I once was, who was full of dreams and untouched by shadows. Could this be a path back to her? Or perhaps a way forward, to meld my dark gifts with something like a normal life?

I only have a GED, obtained in a blur of determination just a month ago. Could I dare to hope for more?

With my wolves by my side, I look down at the letter again, my decision already forming.

"I bet there are a lot of very naughty frat boys," I muse aloud, a smirk playing on my lips despite the weight of the decision. "Who's ready for a road trip?"