Page 59 of Something Worth Keeping
“Julian.” Thorn’s voice carried an edge Julian had never heard before, actual fear. “I’ve known Cillian for thousands of years. Right now, he’s operating on pure instinct. The thinking part of him is gone. All that’s left is predator and rage.”
Cillian’s form rippled, expanding further. More eyes opened across thevoid-mass, each one reflecting light in shades of charcoal and pitch. The creature that had been Cillian turned toward them, and Julian felt the weight of that inhuman attention like atmospheric pressure before a storm.
Rook stepped between Julian and the approaching darkness. “He’s locked onto your location. The mate bond is pulling him, but he’s too far gone to understand what you are to him. He just knows you’re hurt and nearby and…”
“And I need to ground him.” Julian stepped around Rook’s protective stance. “Move.”
“Julian, no…”
“Move.” The command held no room for negotiation. Julian’s analytical mind had already processed the variables - Cillian’s form responding to proximity triggers, the way the tendrils reached toward him specifically, the pattern of the void-mass’s movements tracking Julian’s position. “He’s not hunting me. He’s trying to protect me and doesn’t know how anymore.”
Silas grabbed Julian’s wrist. “If you’re wrong…”
“I’m not wrong.” Julian met the guardian’s ancient gaze without flinching. “I’m never wrong about pattern recognition. Let go.”
The pressure on his wrist released. Julian walked toward the thing that used to be Cillian. Each step sent sharp pain through his wounded shoulder, but Julian kept his pace steady and unhurried. Running would trigger chase instincts. Hesitation would be read as fear. He moved with the same calm determination he used when reshelving misplaced books. Cillian was just another problem requiring proper categorization and systematic resolution.
The void-mass rippled as Julian approached, tendrils coiled and uncoiled, tasting the air. Dozens of eyes fixed on Julian’s movement, tracking him.
Twenty feet away. Fifteen.
“Julian.” Thorn’s warning carried across the distance. “Stop. That’s close enough.”
Julian ignored him.
Ten feet. Close enough now to feel the temperature drop radiating from Cillian’s transformed body. Close enough to see the teeth lining each tendril, the way the darkness seemed to consume light rather than simply blocking it.
The eyes multiplied. Thirty. Forty. More. All focused on Julian.
Five feet.
A tendril lashed out, stopping inches from Julian’s face. The teeth along itslength gnashed, and Julian could smell copper and char and something else - something that registered as fundamentally wrong on an evolutionary level. Every survival instinct screamed at him to run.
Julian extended his hand and touched the tendril.
The texture was exactly what he’d expected. The shadows were never solid, not liquid, but something between states. The tendril was cool against his palm. The teeth retracted at the contact, the aggression bleeding away into confused stillness.
“Cillian.” Julian kept his voice level and matter-of-fact. “I see you’ve made a mess. I imagine you’ve got blood on your shirt again.”
The void-mass shuddered, and more tendrils emerged, circling Julian but not touching. The eyes blinked in irregular patterns, some closing, others opening. The creature seemedto be struggling with something internal, fighting through layers of instinct and rage.
Julian took another step forward, pressing his palm flat against what might have been Cillian’s chest if the mass had maintained any recognizable anatomy. “I know you’re in there. I need you to come back now.”
A sound emerged from the darkness. It wasn’t quite a roar, not quite a scream, but the frequency rattled Julian’s ribcage and made his jaw ache. The tendrils tightened their circle.
“I’m hurt.” Julian maintained his calm tone despite the pain blooming through his shoulder. “You can probably smell the blood. I need you to be Cillian right now, not this. I need you to help me stop the bleeding.”
The void rippled violently. For a moment, Julian thought he’d miscalculated, and that Silas and Thorn had been right about the danger. Then the tendrils wrapped around him, and they weren’t crushing or attacking him, but holding him close, being careful, and almost gentle despite their monstrous appearance.
Eyes proliferated across the darkness until Julian counted over a hundred, all fixed on the wound in his shoulder. The sound that emerged from the creature carried notes of distress.
“Yes, I was shot. That was a calculated risk I took that promised great reward.” Julian pressed harder against the void-mass. “Marcus Vane is dead. The threat is eliminated. You protected me. Now I need you to come back so we can address this injury properly.”
The tendrils trembled. Julian could feel something shifting within the darkness, consciousness struggling toward the surface like a drowning swimmer fighting for air.
“The warehouse is destroyed,” Julian continued, cataloging facts the way he would describe archival damage. “You killed Vane thoroughly. Excessively, actually, although I understand the psychological necessity. The apparatus is broken. Your brothers are safe. I’m safe. You can stop now.”
More shuddering. The eyes began closing in sequence, reducing from hundreds to dozens to…
