SHADOWBOUND / AT OBSIDIAN ACADEMY

Chapter 4: Forced Proximity

The air in the Alchemy Dungeons was thick enough to physically choke a troll. It tasted heavily of sulfur, crushed mandrake roots, and the unmistakable, metallic tang of oxidized blood magic. It was a suffocating atmosphere that clung to the skin and burned the back of the throat with every inhaled breath.

​Aria stood over a massive, cast-iron cauldron, her entire body aching with exhaustion. She was wearing a heavy, fireproof dragon-leather apron that was at least three sizes too big for her, the thick straps digging uncomfortably into her shoulders. Her punishment for the disastrous kinetic flare that had sent Professor Vane flying across the amphitheater was a full week of assisting Professor Grimsby.

​Grimsby was a goblin, and he possessed the foulest temper Aria had ever encountered in either the mundane or magical worlds. He was hunched over, his skin a sickly, mottled green, with long, spindly fingers that moved with terrifying speed as he sorted through jars of preserved animal eyes and toxic flora.

​"Stir counter-clockwise, you incompetent mortal!" Grimsby shrieked from across the dimly lit dungeon, slamming a heavy glass vial onto his workbench. "If you stir it clockwise, the base will curdle, and I will have you scrubbing the floors with your own toothbrush for a month!"

​"I am stirring counter-clockwise, Professor," Aria muttered through gritted teeth, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her soot-stained hand.

​She stared down at the ancient, cryptic recipe book resting on an iron stand next to her cauldron. The pages were yellowed and brittle, filled with spidery, elegant handwriting that was incredibly difficult to decipher. Add two drops of Nightshade extract, allow to simmer until the liquid turns a pale lilac, then immediately stabilize with powdered moonstone.

​She reached for the small, obsidian vial of Nightshade extract. Her hands were shaking. She was exhausted, terrified, and deeply homesick. The events of the last few days felt like a fever dream that she couldn't wake up from.

​Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the dungeon slammed open with enough force to c***k the stone wall behind it.

​The temperature in the suffocating room instantly plummeted by ten degrees. The bubbling cauldrons hissed as the sudden cold hit the hot iron, and the flickering torches lining the walls dimmed to a weak, trembling orange glow.

​Aria didn't need to turn around. Her skin prickled with a sudden, localized static charge, and the chaotic magic buried deep within her chest hummed defensively.

​"You are late," Professor Grimsby snapped, though his usually shrieking voice was significantly lower, lacking its usual venom.

​"I had to change my uniform," a dark, impossibly smooth baritone voice replied. "The previous one was ruined by werewolf blood. A rather pathetic sparring partner."

​Aria froze, the vial of Nightshade hovering inches above her cauldron. She slowly turned her head, her heart sinking heavily into her stomach.

​Prince Kaelen stepped fully into the dungeon, the heavy door closing silently behind him, propelled by a tendril of living shadow. He was wearing a fresh, immaculate black combat tunic that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders and chest. His dark hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead, and his storm-grey eyes were scanning the dungeon with a look of absolute, aristocratic boredom.

​"What is he doing here?" Aria blurted out before she could stop herself.

​Kaelen’s eyes snapped toward her. The boredom vanished, instantly replaced by a sharp, lethal irritation. He looked her up and down, taking in her oversized, soot-covered apron, her messy hair, and the exhausted dark circles under her eyes.

​"Unfortunately," Kaelen drawled, his voice dripping with condescension, "my little 'disagreement' in Combat Arts earlier today resulted in the Headmaster assigning me to assist the goblin with his brewing. Believe me, fragile thing, breathing the same contaminated air as you was not on my evening agenda."

​Aria remembered hearing the terrifying rumors whispering through the dining hall at lunch. Kaelen had nearly destroyed the entire training arena while fighting a senior Alpha werewolf. He had let his shadows run completely rampant, breaking three of the Alpha's ribs before the instructors could intervene.

​"Well, the dungeon is large enough," Aria snapped, turning her back to him and focusing on her cauldron. "Stay on that side, and I'll stay on this side. Try not to break anything with your ego."

​The silence that followed her statement was heavy and dangerous. Aria squeezed her eyes shut, immediately regretting her sharp tongue. She was practically inviting a death sentence. But the constant fear and exhaustion were eroding her filter.

​"Miss Vance," Grimsby cackled, a nasty, grating sound. "You do not have the luxury of personal space. I need the Level-Four Restorative Base completed tonight. The Prince will assist you at your station. His precision with elemental heat is exactly what your chaotic, useless hands lack."

​Aria’s stomach twisted. No. Please, no.

​She heard the heavy, deliberate thud of Kaelen's combat boots crossing the stone floor. He stopped right beside her. He was so tall that he completely eclipsed the light from the nearest torch, casting a long, intimidating shadow over her workspace.

​He didn't say a word. He merely crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her cauldron. Up close, beneath the smell of sulfur and dungeon dampness, Aria could smell his personal scent. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once—like the sharp, clean smell of rain on hot asphalt, mixed with dark cedar and ozone.

​"You're doing it wrong," Kaelen murmured softly, his voice vibrating right next to her ear.

​Aria jumped, nearly knocking the iron stand over. She shot him a heated glare. "I am following the instructions perfectly. I just need to add the Nightshade."

​"If you add that now," Kaelen stated flatly, his grey eyes locking onto hers, "the entire base will collapse into a toxic sludge."

​"The book says—"

​"I don't care what the archaic, poorly translated text says," Kaelen interrupted, stepping even closer. He completely ignored her personal boundaries. "The liquid is still too warm. Look at the viscosity. If you drop highly volatile Nightshade into an unstable thermal base, it will violently combust. Are humans naturally this suicidal, or are you just exceptionally stupid?"

​"I know what I'm doing!" Aria lied, her pride flaring hot and reckless. She hated how small and incompetent he made her feel. She hated that he was probably right.

​She turned back to the cauldron, her hand shaking as she uncorked the small obsidian vial.

​"Stop," Kaelen commanded.

​It wasn't a request. Before Aria could move, Kaelen reached out with inhuman, blinding speed and grabbed her wrist.

​The physical contact was shocking. His grip was like a vice made of solid steel. His skin was freezing cold, completely devoid of normal body heat, yet the moment his fingers wrapped tightly around her pulse point, a bizarre, violent jolt of electricity shot straight up Aria’s arm and directly into her chest.

​Aria gasped aloud, her eyes flying wide open. It felt as though a live wire had been directly connected to her heart.

​The chaotic, dormant magic inside her recognized the immense, dark power flowing through his veins and immediately flared in a violent panic.

​"Let go of me!" she hissed, trying to yank her hand away.

​But his grip was unbreakable. Kaelen didn't let go; instead, his storm-grey eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine surprise breaking through his cold mask. He felt the surge of her chaotic energy fighting against his grip. It wasn't weak human energy; it was something ancient, raw, and blindingly bright.

​In her panicked struggle, Aria jerked her hand violently to the side.

​The sudden movement caused the uncorked vial of Nightshade extract to slip from her trembling, sweaty fingers.

​Time seemed to slow down to a terrifying crawl. Aria watched, paralyzed, as the black glass vial plummeted toward the bubbling, unstable lilac liquid in the cauldron.

​"You fool," Kaelen breathed.

​The vial hit the surface.

​The reaction was instantaneous and catastrophic. The pale lilac potion immediately turned a violently bright, toxic neon purple. It expanded massively in a fraction of a second, boiling over the edges of the cast-iron cauldron with a deafening, high-pitched screech that sounded like tearing metal.

​The explosion was inevitable.

​Aria instinctively threw her hands up over her face and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the burning agony of the boiling, toxic sludge to melt the skin from her bones.

​But the agony never came.

​Instead, a profound, freezing darkness enveloped her completely. A heavy, solid shield of pure, unadulterated shadow materialized out of thin air, wrapping around Aria like a protective, impenetrable cocoon.

​The explosion slammed against the outside of the shadow shield with the force of a bomb. The dungeon walls shook violently, dust raining down from the stone ceiling. The sound of shattering glass and sizzling liquid echoed loudly, but inside the cocoon, Aria was perfectly safe.

​A second later, the shadow shield dissipated into thin, cold mist, melting away into the floor.

​Aria slowly lowered her trembling hands and opened her eyes, coughing as a thick, foul-smelling purple smoke filled the room.

​When the smoke cleared enough to see, her heart stopped dead in her chest.

​Kaelen was standing directly in front of her. He hadn't shielded himself; he had used his magic entirely to shield her. He had taken the absolute brunt of the magical splash.

​His immaculate black combat tunic was ruined, covered in thick, bubbling purple sludge that hissed and smoked as it ate through the reinforced fabric. A few drops had splashed against the sharp line of his jaw and his neck, leaving angry, red burns on his pale skin. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles were bone-white.

​He looked absolutely, terrifyingly furious.

​Before Kaelen could unleash the murder in his eyes, Professor Grimsby burst out from beneath his heavy wooden desk, taking in the absolute devastation of his laboratory.

​"My lab!" the goblin shrieked, his voice reaching a hysterical pitch as he tore at his sparse, stringy hair. "You ruined it! You ruined a month's worth of restorative bases! Who did this?!"

​"It was her," Kaelen said. His voice was deadly quiet, devoid of any shouting, but it carried a lethal promise that made Aria’s blood turn to ice. He didn't even look at the goblin; his dark, stormy eyes remained locked entirely on Aria.

​"He grabbed my arm!" Aria argued, her voice trembling violently as she pointed a shaking finger at him. "He startled me!"

​"Silence!" Grimsby roared, stomping his booted foot against the stone floor. "I do not care whose fault it is! You will both pay for this! The infirmary needs those potions by tomorrow morning. You need fresh Moonshade flora to brew this specific base again. The fresh kind. Which only blooms at midnight."

​Aria felt the blood drain completely from her face. She knew where this was going.

​"Moonshade only grows deep within the Forbidden Woods," Grimsby continued, a nasty, vindictive smile spreading across his warty face. "You cannot be serious," Kaelen growled, his shadow aura flaring darkly, whipping around his boots. "I am the Prince of the Shadow Court. I do not do menial labor in the dirt, and I certainly do not forage in the woods like a common peasant."

​"You do if you destroy my lab, Your Highness!" Grimsby snapped back, displaying a shocking amount of bravery. "Tonight. Both of you. You will not return until you have filled a basket with fresh Moonshade. If the rogue beasts in those woods kill you, it will save me the agonizing paperwork of failing you both!"

​Aria looked at Kaelen in pure horror. The Forbidden Woods were strictly off-limits to everyone, rumored to be filled with exiled monsters, flesh-eating plants, and creatures that had escaped from the underworld.

​Kaelen turned his head slowly, deliberately, to look down at Aria. He ignored the burning sludge on his clothes and his neck.

​He leaned down, his face inches from hers. The smell of rain and ozone was now mixed with the acrid scent of burnt magic.

​"If a beast doesn't tear you apart in those woods tonight, human," Kaelen whispered, his voice dangerously low, intimate, and utterly terrifying, "I swear to the gods... I will."