Page 4 of Something Worth Keeping
What would I tell them?Cillian already knew Julian wasn’t a threat. Distracting, yes, but definitely not a threat. Which meant…
Mate.
The word surfaced from some deep, primal part of his consciousness - the part that existed before language, before form, and well before he’d learned to wear human skin like camouflage, followed by another revelation that put everything else into perspective.
Beacon. Julian is a beacon.
That’s what the old texts called them. Souls that burned with unvarnished truth, so rare that most Eldritch beings lived millennia without encountering one. A light so pure it could anchor darkness, give form to formlessness, and make an immortal creature understand the concept ofhome.
Cillian’s shadows shuddered with recognition. He’d found his beacon, his fated mate. The one bright soul meant for him alone. That same beacon who had walked away, carrying a box of personal items and worrying about a dying plant.
The absurdity should’ve amused him. Instead, it increased his hunger.
Cillian forced himself through the mechanics of disposal, separating the body into manageable pieces and wrapping them in the dead man’s jacket. His shadows movedsluggishly, distracted, half his attention still focused on the lingering warmth where Julian had stood.
Sixty-three hours before collection.
Julian had calculated that in seconds. More than that, he’d processed the town’s waste management schedule and determined the optimal window for body disposal with barely a second thought.
Cillian wanted to know what other information lived in that remarkable brain. No, that wasn’t enough. He wanted to know everything from what Julian ate for breakfast to how he took his coffee, and perhaps more importantly, why someone had packed his belongings into a cardboard box, because Cillian thought most humans used a bag to carry items of importance.
There was so much Cillian wanted to know about what made Julian smile, what made him angry, whether helived alone…Alone? Is he safe?Or were there others who noticed how extraordinary and so very special that tiny human was?
The possessiveness that thought triggered should have alarmed him. It didn’t.
Cillian gathered the wrapped remains and moved through the shadows, faster than human sight could track. He went three streets over, just as Julian had suggested. The Morrison building loomed ahead, abandoned and falling apart like so many other buildings in Madison. But there, just as Julian had described it, sat the blue dumpster with a broken lock, and its lid slightly ajar.
After depositing the body parts into the dumpster, Cillian arranged refuse over the top to ensure nothing was visible from street level.
Efficient. It definitely was. Cillian straightened, his human form settledback into place - the expensive suit, his dark hair, and the face he showed the world when he needed to walk among mortals unnoticed. His shadows pulled toward the east, in the direction of wherever Julian had gone.
The body disposal wasn’t the end of his job. Cillian knew he should return to Shadow House. He needed to update his brothers on the kill, and it would be sensible to continue tracking those who were part of Vane’s network.
Instead, Cillian stepped out of the alley and followed the path Julian had taken.
Safety, he told himself. The corpse had been Vane’s man. If the Syndicate discovered someone had interfered with their operations, they might investigate. They would definitely be looking for witnesses, and there was a good chance theycould connect the death to the strange human who’d walked through the alley at exactly the wrong moment.
He might not know it, because he’d never mentioned it, but Julian needed protection.That’s all this is - professional concern.
And that was a lie with no substance, but Cillian kept walking.
Cillian’s shadows tracked Julian’s scent through the streets. The scent itself was a unique mixture of citrus soap, dusty papers, a brand of strong coffee, and something indefinablywarm. The trail led through the warehouse district, past shuttered buildings and empty loading docks. Residential areas appeared ahead, older apartment complexes with cracked sidewalks and flickering streetlights.
He should be better at this. Tracking protocol demanded that guardiansmaintain a respectable distance and use proper surveillance techniques. But Cillian’s shadows kept surging forward, as if impatient with the human pace. They wanted to race ahead, to wrap around Julian’s ankles, to feel the warmth of living flesh against their formless dark.
You are helping me, Cillian had said in the alley.
I’m preventing you from making a logistical error, Julian had replied.
As if there was a difference. As if helping Cillian dispose of a body was simply...problem-solving. There was no moral panic, or existential crisis, just practical analysis of a situation followed by useful advice.
Advice Cillian had followed.
His chest ached as his shadows surged. Cillian had spent centuries hiding what he was. He’d gone through those same centuries of watchinghumans scream, run, or fall to the ground in absolute terror when confronted with the truth of his existence. Cillian had learned to move carefully, to wear humanity like armor, and to never allow anyone to see the void beneath.
And yet Julian had looked directly into that void and simply said,You’re leaking shadows onto the pavement.
The scent trail turned left, leading to a modest apartment building with peeling paint and a broken security camera. Instinctively Cillian knew which apartment belonged to his mate. It was on the fourth floor and took up the eastern corner. Yes, there was a light glowing at one of the windows, but Cillian’s soul was in that building. Of course, he’d know where it was.
