Shadows Unveiled, page 8
“Piper.” Her voice dropped. “You’re bleeding.”
I gave her a tired, bitter smile. “Yeah. Someone tried to kill me in the showers.”
Her face went stone cold as she rushed over, lifting the edge of my sleeve to inspect the wound. “What? Who?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “They wore a mask. Hit fast. Tried to stab me. I got the knife away, but they got away.”
“Did you see anything? Anything at all?” she asked, already checking around us like the attacker might still be nearby.
“No,” I lied. “Just that they weren’t afraid to come at me naked and bleeding. So I guess that’s where we’re at now.”
“Who?” Willow asked, her eyes scanning the showers behind me. “I didn’t see anyone come in.”
“There are other ways to access the showers,” Mei muttered darkly, already looking like she was calculating every possible angle of attack.
“We have to get you to a nurse,” Kira said firmly, inspecting my shoulder with careful fingers. Her brow furrowed in concern, and I flinched as she touched the tender edge of the cut.
“No,” Mei cut in, stepping forward with a sharpness that silenced the room. “It’ll just make things worse. We don’t need instructors thinking she’s fragile or looking for attention. The minute word gets out that she needed help after a little blood, it’s over.”
“She needs stitches,” Willow said flatly, her voice calm but direct. She was staring at my shoulder, the growing stain of red seeping through the sleeve of my shirt. “That isn’t something you slap a bandage on and hope for the best.”
“Then we do it ourselves,” Mei said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Her eyes flicked to Kira. “Can you get supplies? I’ve done it before. I’ll handle the rest.”
Kira didn’t hesitate. She gave a short nod and disappeared, already moving like she had a plan. I didn’t say a word—I couldn’t. I was too overwhelmed by the pain, by the humiliation of being ambushed and barely making it out, and now, by the reality that this was what survival looked like here.
When we made it back to the dorm, I was quiet, my mind looping back to the fight, to the steam, to the moment my mercy almost cost me everything. The room felt darker than usual, or maybe that was just me. The tension followed us in like a storm cloud. No one cracked a joke. No one tried to pretend this was normal.
A minute later, the door burst open again. Kira stepped in, arms full of bandages, antiseptic, and a sealed suture kit. She looked like she’d just raided a medical supply closet.
“Where the hell did you get all that?” Willow asked, raising a brow as she eyed the haul.
Kira dropped the supplies on the table with a shrug that was a little too casual. “Stephen,” she muttered.
Willow’s lips curled into a grin. “Stephen?”
“I may or may not have promised him the almond chocolate bundt cake we’re getting tonight,” Kira admitted, brushing hair behind her ear like she wasn’t already blushing.
Willow wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, so we’re bribing cute boys now?”
Kira rolled her eyes, but I caught the small smile she tried to hide. For a second, just a second, the weight pressing down on my chest loosened.
They didn’t have to help me. But they did.
Kira handed the supplies to Mei, who was already at the sink, scrubbing her hands like she’d done this a dozen times before. I watched her with a weird mixture of dread and gratitude. The fact that they were willing to go this far for me—for someone who’d barely survived her first day—meant more than I could put into words.
Mei wasted no time. She threaded the needle with a precision that made me wonder what else she was good at, then knelt beside me with quiet determination.
“This is going to suck,” she said, not unkindly.
And it did.
The first stitch made my whole body jolt. I clenched my jaw, a pained grunt slipping out despite everything in me wanting to stay silent. Mei didn’t flinch. Her hand was steady; her focus absolute. Every tug of the thread sent a fresh burn rippling across my shoulder, but I forced myself to stay still, to breathe through the pain.
“You’re doing fine,” Mei said softly, tying off the next loop.
“Define ‘fine,’” I muttered, my knuckles white as I gripped the edge of the bed.
“Still breathing, not screaming? That’s fine enough for me.”
She kept going, and I kept breathing. The rhythm of it all—her stitching, my breath, the sound of Willow unwrapping bandages—almost lulled me into something close to calm. Almost.
“Okami is going to lose his shit,” Mei said under her breath, finishing the last knot. Her words hit harder than the needle had.
“We don’t have to tell him,” I said quickly, too quickly.
She snorted, snipping the thread with a little more force than necessary. “You really think he won’t notice?”
“She has a point,” Willow added, flopping onto her bed. “Okami notices everything. Kinda like how Stephen notices every time Kira walks into a room.”
Kira groaned, her face flushing bright red. “Oh my gosh, stop.”
I managed a laugh, short and shaky but real. The tension in the room cracked open for just a second, giving us a moment to breathe, to pretend things were normal.
But they weren’t. We all knew it.
“There’s nothing he can do anyway,” I said after a beat, my voice quieter now. “Whoever it was got away. It’s not like he can fix that.”
Mei raised an eyebrow, reaching for the gauze. “That’s not the part he’s going to be pissed about.”
And I knew she was right. The part where I almost died again? Yeah. That was going to be a problem.
Willow shook her head, her voice softer now. “Okami can do whatever he wants.” The warning in her words wasn’t loud, but it rang clear. “He’s not just some instructor. His pull at this academy runs deeper than you think.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t—not with the weight of everything pressing in on me. But Kira stepped closer, her arms folded, eyes sharp.
“Did you get a good look at your attacker?” she asked. Not casual. Calculated.
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the knife. It was still damp from the shower, my hand trembling slightly as I placed it on the table between us. “She had this,” I said.
The blade caught the light. It was sleek and deadly, but what made everyone go still was the design—etched right into the hilt.
Kira leaned in first, fingers brushing the carving. “This is a dragon,” she murmured. Her voice went cold. “I recognize this. That’s Starla Cross’s mark.”
The name hit the room like a slap.
Mei went stiff beside me. “That’s not good,” she breathed, staring at the knife like it might bite her. “That’s really not good.”
“She’s brutal,” Willow added, her usual fire dimmed to something tight and quiet. “Deals in black market combat trials. Enchantments. Weapon smuggling. The kind of underground crap no one here talks about unless they want to disappear. If she’s got a reason to come after you…” She trailed off, lips tightening. “It’s not random.”
My blood turned to ice.
This wasn’t some cadet trying to prove something. This was targeted.
I stood up too fast, the chair legs scraping the floor behind me. “I need to go.”
Kira’s eyes snapped to mine. “Piper—no. It’s dangerous. She might not be done.”
“I know.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. I picked the knife up and turned it over in my hands. It felt colder now, heavier. “But if Starla Cross is involved, I need to move. Now.”
Could she be tied to the girls who vanished last year? To the silence no one would explain?
Kira stepped forward, her brows drawn. “Where are you going?”
I met her gaze. “To Okami.”
If anyone could help me unravel this—could deal with someone like Starla Cross—it was him.
Complicated as we were, I trusted him to fight fire with fire.
And I needed someone who burned hotter than hell.
Ten
I left the dorm fast, the door barely clicking shut behind me before I broke into a steady, determined pace. The adrenaline that had kept me upright was already thinning out, and the knife wound on my shoulder flared with renewed heat. Every step sent a sharp pulse through my side, a cruel reminder that I had almost died in the one place that was supposed to be safe.
I gripped the knife tighter. It was still warm from my hand, still real. It grounded me as much as it haunted me.
The academy’s halls were a maze of identical turns and looming shadows. I had no idea where Okami’s room was—stupid, really, considering I’d been there not long ago. But everything about that night had been a blur. Now, without Mei or Kira leading the way, I was completely turned around. Every corridor I turned down ended in a dead end or an unfamiliar stretch of stone and steel. I retraced my steps more than once, frustration and fear knotting together in my chest.
The silence didn’t help. The halls were too quiet, the pre-dinner lull making each footstep feel like a warning bell. My breath echoed back at me. I was alone. Injured. Wandering. If someone wanted to finish what the girl in the showers started, I was gift-wrapped and delivered.
I pressed my hand against the wound. It throbbed. I forced my breathing to even out. I wasn’t helpless. I had survived the mountain. Survived Gabriel. Survived Russell. I could survive this too. I would survive this.
I kept moving, slower now, deliberate. Every corner, I checked twice. Every sound made my grip tighten. I didn’t know where Okami was, but I knew I had to find him. He’d know what to do. He had to know what to do.
And then—
A hand grabbed me.
I barely had time to react before I was yanked around, my training and instincts colliding into one response—I struck with the knife, fast and hard.
But it didn’t land.
He was faster.
The blade slipped from my grip as my back hit the wall, hard. My breath caught in my throat when I saw him.
Okami.
His face was inches from mine, his slate eyes hard and unrelenting. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled, his voice low and furious.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His gaze dropped to the stitches on my shoulder, to the blood already starting to soak through my shirt. His entire expression shifted—still hard, but now edged with something else. Fury. Panic. Maybe both.
“Okami—” I started, but he grabbed my arm again, this time with bruising intent, and pulled me forward.
We didn’t speak as he dragged me down another hallway. Then a staircase. It spiraled up and up, echoing with each step. I was breathless, confused, still shaken, but I followed. I didn’t have a choice.
The moment we reached the top, he shoved open a door. Cool air slammed into my skin as we stepped out onto a wide stone balcony that led to a rooftop. The wind tugged at my damp hair, and in front of us, the sea stretched out like a bruise under the fading light.
It was quiet here. Detached. Like we were above the world entirely.
Okami let go of my arm and stepped back, giving me a moment to breathe. I stayed still, letting the wind cool the heat rising beneath my skin. The rooftop was quiet—no echoing footsteps, no whispers, no knives in the dark. Just the ocean crashing below us and the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.
He turned slowly, his face unreadable, but his eyes… they still burned. “Now,” he said, voice low, tight. “Tell me everything.”
I nodded, exhaling as I tried to center myself. “I was in the shower when someone attacked me,” I said, my voice shakier than I wanted. “I managed to fight back… took the weapon. But…”
The words knotted in my throat. The blood. The adrenaline. The choice I hadn’t made.
I held the knife out to him.
He took it without hesitation, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest second. He turned the blade over in his hand, frowning at the inscription. “The Cross insignia,” he muttered. “They like to think they’re dragons.”
He went quiet for a beat.
“I was supposed to marry her older sister after…” He didn’t finish.
But he didn’t have to.
After his wife died.
A sharp pang twisted in my chest. I wasn’t proud of the flicker of jealousy that followed—at the idea of someone else being close enough to matter, close enough to be chosen.
I turned away, needing air.
The ocean stretched wide and wild in front of me. The moonlight shimmered over the waves like broken glass, and I stared at it, grounding myself in something steady.
“She’ll be dealt with,” Okami said behind me, his tone final.
I turned to face him again, fatigue dragging down every word. “You need to stop.”
His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t speak. The silence said Explain.
“You can’t keep doing this,” I continued, meeting his eyes. “Killing everyone who looks at me wrong. Who throws a punch. Who spreads a rumor.”
“She tried to kill you,” he said, stepping closer. The knife was still in his hand, catching the moonlight like a threat.
“And others will,” I replied, my voice quiet but firm. “You know that. You knew that before I ever came back. When I left with Jeremy, I wanted to escape it—The Sunflower Widow. The Friend Killer. The Heart Breaker.” I laughed once, bitter and humorless. “Doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter how hard I train. They’re going to come for me no matter what.”
His jaw clenched.
“You can’t kill them all,” I added.
“I can. And I will,” he said, voice like iron.
I shook my head. “You’re only making yourself a target.”
His eyes didn’t flinch. “You think I give a shit about that?”
Of course he didn’t.
But I did.
I hesitated, then reached for the thread of reason I’d come here with. “I brought you this knife because of who she is. Her ties to the underworld. Do you think… do you think Starla might know something about the missing girls?”
I swallowed. “About Lianna?”
For the first time since I’d handed him the blade, something in Okami’s expression shifted—just slightly. But it was enough to know I’d struck a nerve.
“You almost get killed, and you’re thinking about the missing girls?” he asked, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to throttle me or hold me in place. His tone was tight, strained, but behind it, I saw the gears turning. He was already considering the connection. We both were.
“I have to find her, Okami,” I said, barely above a whisper. My voice cracked under the weight of it. “I have to find all of them. Before…”
Before someone else ends up like Lianna. Before someone else disappears and no one bothers to look.
He exhaled hard through his nose, like I’d just confirmed his worst fear. His eyes flicked to my shoulder, narrowing when they landed on the stitches. “Whoever patched you up did a shit job.”
“It was better than going to the nurse,” I shot back. “You know what people would’ve said.”
He didn’t respond right away, but I saw it in his face—he knew I was right. A visit to the nurse would’ve been an invitation for whispers, rumors, weakness.
“You need to eat,” he said after a long pause, the shift in topic as subtle as it was intentional. But it didn’t mask the worry. Not from me.
“If I can keep anything down,” I muttered, trying to joke, though it fell flat. My stomach was still tight, coiled from adrenaline and fear.
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk. Just turned to the sea, jaw clenched, moonlight catching the sharp lines of his face.
“She’ll be dealt with,” he said again, quieter this time. But the way he said it—it wasn’t a warning. It was a vow.
I stepped closer to the railing, my voice calm but resolute. “You can’t protect me.”
His head snapped toward me, and before I could even register the movement, his hands were on me—gripping my waist, pinning me back against the stone banister. “You don’t get to say that to me,” he growled. His face was inches from mine, breath hot against the night air, eyes dark and wild with fury. “You’re mine. Mine. Can’t you see that?”
I froze.
The wind blew salt into my skin, but it wasn’t the ocean that made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.
“I hate that you’re here,” he said, his voice sharper now, like each word cut him as much as it cut me. “I hate that they put you in this damn academy to die.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at me. Like I was already bleeding out and he couldn’t stop it.
“I hate that they stuck me here to watch. To stand on the sidelines and pretend I don’t care.”
His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers curling, not tight, but firm. Possessive. Like if he could hold on hard enough, he could keep me from slipping through his grasp.
“I will not lose you, MacKenzie,” he said. “Not to them. Not to this place. Not to anyone.”
The words were low, but they struck like thunder—raw and jagged and desperate.
He meant every syllable.
“Why?” I whispered, the word barely audible over the wind as it whipped around us, tangling my hair and stealing the breath from my lungs. “Why do you care so much?”
His answer came without hesitation. No blink. No flinch. Just that unwavering gaze that locked onto mine and refused to let go.
“Because without you, nothing else matters.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it hit like a strike to the chest—raw, exposed, terrifying in its honesty.
Something in me cracked.
Maybe it was the night, the fear, the fight. Maybe it was the fact that for once, someone wasn’t trying to break me—but trying to keep me standing. But in that moment, I couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. I just felt. And what I felt was him—close, infuriating, protective, impossible.
