Threads of Ash and Shadow
* I do not own the All Souls Trilogy that right belongs to the Infamous Deborah Harkness. This was just an idea I cooked up, Please feel free to provide constructive feedback and let me know if you would like to see more. Have fun reading Cross Posted on AO3 Under Moonlightfireside.
Diana stared at the closed door of her small apartment, her chest tightening as though sorrow itself had turned into iron bands. Good one, Diana, she thought bitterly, her regret swirling like smoke in her mind. The dim glow of a single lamp cast long shadows on the peeling wallpaper, while the faint hum of the refrigerator punctuated the oppressive silence. The faint scent of lavender, lingering from a long-forgotten candle, mixed uneasily with the metallic tang of the cold, winter air seeping in through the drafty window. She moved as if underwater, each step across the worn, creaking floorboards loud in the heavy stillness. The clatter of plates in her hands offered no comfort, their cool ceramic smooth beneath her trembling fingers.
"I can't believe I did that," she whispered, her voice breaking in the quiet.
The memory was a dagger. A kiss—her first in over a year—and with him, of all people. Matthew Clairmont. A vampire. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears that burned but wouldn't fall. His rejection had been polite, almost gentle, but that only made the sting worse. It wasn't disdain or anger; it was restraint. As if he had wanted to give in but held back. Why?
The silence stretched thin, taut as a bowstring, until it was broken by a sudden, firm knock that shattered the stillness like glass. Diana jolted, her heart leaping into her throat. She froze, every nerve in her body on edge as her mind raced through possibilities. Who could it be at this hour? The faint, muffled sound of the knock seemed to echo louder in the enclosed space of her apartment, amplifying her growing unease. Her hands trembled as she wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Forcing herself to sound steady, she called out,
"One moment," she called, her voice taut.
She crossed the room, hesitating for a beat before opening the door. And froze.
Matthew stood there, his face a mask of tension and unreadable intensity. The space between them felt electric, charged with unsaid words. Her breath caught, and for a brief, irrational moment, she thought she might slam the door and hide. But her feet remained rooted.
"Matthew, I—" she began, but the words caught in her throat as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His movements were swift but unhurried, his gaze locked on hers. Without warning, he pulled her into his arms.
His lips met hers, and the world tilted. The shock melted into a flood of sensation too overwhelming to resist. For a moment, she was paralyzed by disbelief, but then she gave in, her hands fisting in his shirt, sliding up to tangle in his hair. The door clicked shut, though she barely registered it as he pressed her against the cool surface of the entryway wall. A soft moan escaped her as the kiss deepened, his passion igniting something dormant within her.
And then, just as suddenly, it ended. Matthew pulled back, retreating to lean against the opposite wall, his chest rising and falling as though he needed to catch his breath. His face was a storm of emotions—desire warring with guilt, longing tempered by an unyielding resolve. He could feel the pulse of her heartbeat, hear the rush of her blood—a siren call that tugged at the edges of his control. The centuries-old rules of his kind whispered warnings, their weight pressing against the yearning that threatened to consume him. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine defying them all, but the specter of his family's disapproval and the looming shadow of the Covenant dragged him back to reality.
Could vampires even become breathless? she wondered, though the thought barely scratched the surface of her own turmoil. There was something raw in his expression, as if he were wrestling not only with the moment but with the weight of centuries of expectation and duty. The strain in his posture, the slight tremor in his clenched fists, spoke of a battle that was as much with himself as with her.
"I apologize," he said, his voice low and strained, almost reverent. "I should not have... accosted you like that."
Still reeling, Diana pressed trembling fingers to her lips. "I'm fine," she murmured, though the words felt hollow. "If anyone should apologize, it's me. I... I started this."
Her voice faltered, and she looked away, her cheeks flushing. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down.
"Diana, we can't. I can't..." Matthew's words hung in the air, unfinished and heavy. He drew in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as if the admission physically pained him. "Every instinct in me is screaming to stay, to... but I can't." His voice wavered, and he closed his eyes briefly, as though to shield her from the turmoil she could already see etched across his face. "My family, the Covenant, everything that defines who I am tells me I have to let you go—but standing here, I don't know if I'm strong enough to obey."
She turned and walked back toward the kitchen, the weight of his gaze on her back almost tangible. She busied herself with the dishes, her trembling hands betraying the storm within her. The running water and clinking plates did nothing to ease the tension knotted in her chest. "I understand," she said softly, not daring to meet his eyes. "If you've come to make your position crystal clear, Matthew, then congratulations—you've succeeded."
"You don't understand," Matthew said, his voice closer now, low and taut. "There are rules—rules that forbid creatures like us from... mixing."
The words carried a sadness, a regret that sliced deeper than any blade. Diana froze, her grip tightening on the fragile stem of a wineglass as fury simmered beneath her sadness. For a moment, she couldn't trust herself to speak.
Her mind raced, a storm of indignation and despair. The word "rules" ricocheted in her thoughts, fueling a fire that threatened to consume her. Rules. It always came back to rules. Rules that bound her hands, rules that dictated who she could be, how she could feel, and now, who she could love. The sheer absurdity of it made her want to scream. How many others had stood where she stood now, torn apart by edicts etched in the bones of a world long past?
"Rules," she echoed finally, her tone sharp with disbelief. "And who, pray tell, made these rules?"
"The Covenant," Matthew replied, his voice tinged with a weariness that spoke of centuries of compliance. "It was established by nine members of the Congregation—elders from each of the three species: witches, vampires, and demons. They crafted these laws to prevent conflict and maintain balance between our kinds. They believed separation was the only way to preserve order."
He paused, his gaze distant, as though he were sifting through memories older than she could fathom. "It governs every aspect of our lives, Diana. Who we interact with, how we engage with the other species, even the knowledge we're allowed to share. It is absolute."
Diana's grip tightened on the wineglass, her knuckles whitening as she processed his words. Matthew's tone softened, almost hesitant. "It's not just a set of rules; it's a pact sealed with blood and magic. Breaking it isn't just forbidden—it's a death sentence, for some."
Diana absorbed his words in silence, her jaw tightening. A thousand years? Her mind reeled, a kaleidoscope of fury and sorrow. She imagined lives unraveled, bonds broken, all for the sake of a law crafted by people who could no longer witness the wreckage they had wrought. Her chest heaved as anger surged anew, hot and relentless. This wasn't justice. It was tyranny cloaked in tradition.
"A thousand years," she repeated, her voice trembling, edged with restrained fury. "So, our lives are bound by decrees from a world that no longer exists? Laws forged by those who lived and died without knowing the cost of the chains they've left behind?"
She heard him inhale sharply but didn't turn, her back stiff against his gaze. The anger that had flared so briefly now gave way to despair, her shoulders slumping as tears finally escaped, spilling down her cheeks. What was the point of fighting? The world had already decided, long before she was born, that she could never have what her heart so desperately wanted. Tears burned in her eyes and began to flow.
Before she could brush them away, Matthew's hands were on her shoulders, gentle but firm. He turned her toward him, his gaze searching hers as her quiet sobs filled the space between them. The tears came faster now, slipping down her face unchecked, her anguish spilling out in waves. Without a word, he pulled her into an embrace, his cool touch grounding her even as her heart shattered anew.
"It is the way it has always been done," he murmured, his voice a balm and a curse all at once. His words hung between them, a wall that neither could scale, no matter how desperately they wanted to.
Matthew held her tightly as if his embrace alone could shield her from the weight of the world's injustices. But even as his arms encircled her, his mind raced, an internal battle waging within him. The scent of her—salted tears mingling with her natural warmth—was intoxicating. It clawed at his restraint, the monster within him whispering dark temptations. His fingers trembled where they rested against her back, and he willed himself to focus on the sound of her breathing rather than the rhythmic pulse of her heart.
"It's not fair," Diana whispered against his chest, her voice raw and muffled. "Why do they get to decide? Why do you let them?"
Matthew stiffened. Her question was as simple as it was devastating, and he had no answer that wouldn't sound hollow. Instead, he closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he spoke, his words slow and deliberate. "You think I don't ask myself the same question? Every day, Diana, I carry the burden of choices I never made. Family honor. Covenants. Traditions older than memory itself. If I let them go—if I let myself go—I risk destroying not just you and me, but the fragile balance that keeps this world from descending into chaos."
Diana pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face tilted up to meet his gaze. "So you sacrifice yourself, your happiness, for the sake of a balance you didn't create? How is that living, Matthew?"
He faltered, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a stone. "It's survival," he admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. "I've lived centuries, Diana. I've seen what happens when that balance tips. Entire covens wiped out. Blood feuds that span generations. Innocent lives shattered by the greed and recklessness of those who thought they were above the rules."
Her lips parted as if to argue, but he gently placed a hand on her cheek, silencing her. "Do you think I'm proud of my compliance? That it doesn't tear at me every time I see you, every time I think of what could be? I am torn between the life I've known and the life I want—a life that might destroy you."
Diana's breath hitched, and for a moment, the air between them felt alive with tension. As her anger subsided into sorrow, the faint scent of ozone filled the room, a subtle sign of her magic responding to her heightened emotions. Around them, the light in the lamp flickered, and a gentle tremor ran through the air, rattling the plates in the sink.
Matthew stepped back, his gaze flickering toward the shifting shadows on the walls. His voice softened, but the steel of his warning remained. "Your power... It reacts when you're like this. It's beautiful, Diana, but dangerous. You need to control it."
Her hands balled into fists, the flickering light reflecting the fire in her eyes. "I don't need control—I need freedom! I'm tired of being told what I can and cannot feel, what I'm allowed to do, or who I'm allowed to love."
Matthew's chest tightened at her words, his instincts pulling him in two directions at once. He wanted to close the gap between them, to comfort her, to promise her a future together, but the memory of past tragedies held him back. He could almost hear the voices of the elders warning him, see the faces of those who had been punished for their defiance.
Before he could respond, a sudden, sharp sound echoed from outside—a faint rustling, almost imperceptible. Matthew's head snapped toward the door, his predatory senses on high alert. The warmth in his expression hardened into something cold and dangerous.
"We're not alone," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stay here."
Diana's heart raced as she watched him move toward the door, every step fluid and purposeful. The tension between them was momentarily eclipsed by a shared dread, the sense that whatever lay beyond the threshold could be a greater threat than the Covenant itself.
Matthew stopped just short of the door, his senses tuned to the faintest noise, the barest shift in the air. Diana watched him, her pulse thundering in her ears, the tension in the room a tangible force. Her magic simmered beneath her skin, an electric current she struggled to suppress. A thousand possibilities raced through her mind, each more terrifying than the last. She clenched her fists, feeling the prick of power at her fingertips, as though her emotions might break free at any moment.
The sound came again—a faint rustle, followed by the soft scrape of something sliding beneath the door. Matthew moved quickly, picking up the envelope that now lay on the floor. His expression darkened as he turned it over in his hands. There was no marking, no name, just an unassuming brown envelope sealed with an ominous smear of red wax. The scent of old blood tickled his senses, subtle but unmistakable. Beneath it, another scent lingered—faint but distinctive—like burned herbs and iron, a telltale signature of witchcraft.
He turned to Diana, his face a mask of grim resolve. "Stay back," he said, his voice low and commanding.
She bristled but didn't argue, the gravity of the moment too heavy for defiance. Matthew opened the envelope carefully, his movements deliberate. The contents spilled out into his hand: a series of photographs, vivid and grotesque. Diana caught a glimpse of the top image and gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
"No," she whispered, her voice breaking.
The photos were of her parents—their lifeless bodies sprawled on the blood-soaked ground, the brutal evidence of their murder laid bare in agonizing detail. Each image was more horrifying than the last, the vivid colors and stark clarity making it impossible to look away. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps.
Matthew dropped to her side, the photographs forgotten on the floor between them. His hands hovered over her, hesitant, unsure how to comfort her. "Diana," he murmured, his voice soft but urgent. "Look at me. Breathe."
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "This can't… It's not real. It's not…" Her words dissolved into a sob, her body trembling as the weight of the images crushed her.
Matthew gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly as her anguish spilled over. His jaw clenched, rage simmering beneath the surface as he pieced together the intent behind the cruel delivery. This wasn't just a threat; it was a calculated attack on her psyche, designed to break her.
"Who would do this?" she choked out, her voice muffled against his chest.
Matthew didn't answer immediately. His mind raced through the possibilities, each more sinister than the last. The Covenant? A rogue witch? Or perhaps Peter Knox… The name coiled in Matthew's mind like a serpent. He was the only witch sadistic enough to orchestrate something so vile, a man who thrived on manipulation and cruelty. This had his fingerprints all over it.
The thought tightened his jaw, the image of Knox's calculating eyes flashing in his mind. The possibilities churned like a dark tide, each one more damning than the next.
"We'll find out," he said finally, his voice steel-edged. "I promise you, Diana. Whoever did this will pay."
Her hands gripped his shirt tightly, her knuckles white. "It's them," she whispered. "The witches. Gillian told me it wasn't humans who killed them, that it was…" Her voice cracked, and she took a shuddering breath. "I've spent my whole life blaming myself, thinking it was because of my magic, because I was different. But it wasn't. It was them."
Matthew pulled back slightly, enough to look into her tear-streaked face. "You don't know that for sure."
"Don't I?" she shot back, anger flaring through her despair. "Look at these! Look at what they did!" She gestured to the photographs, her magic crackling in the air around her. The light in the room dimmed, shadows deepening as her power surged uncontrollably. A sudden gust of wind whipped through the apartment, rattling the windows and sending papers flying from the table. The air around her seemed to condense, a sudden gust spiraling through the room, lifting papers and rattling the windows. It wasn't just magic—it was the Witch Wind, wild and unrelenting, mirroring the storm inside her.
"Diana!" Matthew's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. He grasped her shoulders firmly but gently, his gaze steady. "Focus! Don't let your magic control you."
She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to calm the storm within her. Slowly, the wind subsided, the shadows receded, and the oppressive energy in the room lifted. The only sound was her ragged breathing as she regained a tenuous hold on her emotions.
Matthew stood, his expression dark. He picked up the photographs and slid them back into the envelope, his movements precise but filled with quiet fury. "This was meant to scare you," he said. "To make you doubt yourself, doubt everything. Don't let them win."
"How can I fight this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do I fight something that's haunted me my entire life?" Her whole life, she had carried the weight of their deaths, believing their magic had drawn danger to them. Now, to think it had been witches all along—her kind—it felt like a betrayal that cut deeper than the sharpest blade."
Matthew's gaze softened, and he knelt before her, taking her hands in his. "You don't have to fight it alone," he said. "We'll face this together. But first, we need to find out who sent this and why."
Diana met his gaze, her tears slowing as a spark of determination flickered in her eyes. The pain and fear were still there, but now they were tempered by something stronger. She nodded, gripping his hands tightly.
"Together," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. But as they stood, the weight of what lay ahead loomed large—a shadow neither of them could yet fully grasp."
Matthew stood and extended a hand to help her up. As she rose, the weight of the photographs lingered, but so did the unspoken promise between them. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it—together.