Page 62 of Echoes From the Void
“You tripped over your own feet to get to her,” Bishop reminds him dryly, his usual formality softening with fondness.
“That was a tactical move to initiate physical contact,” Leo insists with dignity.
Dorian doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Is that what we’re calling social awkwardness these days?”
“Says the man who communicates primarily in withering stares,” Leo shoots back.
“At least I’ve never used coffee as a mating ritual.”
Finn’s embarrassment radiates through our bond as his light flutters nervously. “I’m not... that’s not what I...”
“Ignore them,” Tori says walking toward us, her cheeks pink but her voice steady. Her shadows unconsciously reach for Finn’s light even as she maintains her cool demeanor. “They’re all disasters. You should have seen Bishop’s attempt at asking Frankie on a date. He made a flowchart.”
“It was a logical approach,” Bishop mutters, though our bond carries his fond remembrance of that night.
“It had contingency plans for seventeen different scenarios,” Tori continues mercilessly. “Including, and I quote, spontaneous star gazing.”
I can’t help but smile at the memory—that carefully planned date that led me to discover the cove, my sanctuary for so long. Through the pack bonds, I feel their shared amusement and affection.
“Alright, alright,” I say, feeling Finn’s hope rise through our twin bond. “Pack house it is, and yes, Tori, you’re more than welcome to join us.”
Finn’s relief washes over his face, and Leo bumps his shoulder affectionately. “Come on, disaster twins. Let’s go home.”
The drive back to the pack house is a blur of exhaustion and quiet chatter. By the time we pull into the driveway, the last light of day paints the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks. It feels surreal to be back here after everything that’s happened, but through our bonds, I feel the pack’s collective sense of homecoming.
As we pile out of the cars, stretching cramped limbs, I notice Tori hanging back, her earlier confidence seemingly evaporated. Her shadows curl inward uncertainly. I catch her eye and gesture for her to join us, feeling Finn’s immediate response to her presence through our bond.
“Welcome to Casa de Shadow Shifter,” Leo announces grandly, throwing open the front door, his shadows dancing playfully. “Where the coffee flows freely and the drama never ends.”
“Speak for yourself,” Dorian mutters, shouldering past him, though his usual sharp edges have softened with the comfort of home.
Inside, the familiar scent of home wraps around me like a warm blanket. Such a transformation from the dusty, cobweb-filled wreck we’d first moved into just months ago. The peeling wallpaper and stained carpets are gone, replaced with warm neutrals and plush rugs. Leo’s houseplants crowd the once-broken windowsills, while Dorian’s books fill the custom shelves Bishop insisted on buildingto proper specifications.Even Matteo’s influence shows in the careful arrangement of protective wards disguised as decorative elements around doorways.
Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s wonder echo my own as he takes in the spacious living room, the wall of windows—no longer cracked—overlooking the forest beyond. His light pulses with a tentative sense of belonging.
“This is... wow,” he breathes.
“Pretty sweet digs, right?” Leo grins, darting into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and closing echoes as he rummages around. “Who wants hot chocolate? Or coffee? Or both mixed together in an unholy caffeine bomb?”
“Please, no more coffee,” Matteo groans, collapsing onto the plush sectional. His shadows curl contentedly as he sinks into the familiar comfort. “I think I’m still vibrating from earlier.”
I sink down next to him, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones. Finn hesitates for a moment before perching on the arm of the couch, his light unconsciously reaching for where Tori hovers uncertainly nearby.
“Make yourself at home,” I tell her, patting the space next to me. Through our various bonds, I feel the pack’s warm acceptance. “Mi casa es su casa, or however that goes.”
“Thanks,” she says softly, settling in. Her shadows gradually unfurl from their tight coil as she relaxes. “This is... not what I expected.”
“What, you thought we’d live in some spooky haunted mansion?” Leo calls from the kitchen. “With cobwebs and creaky floors and maybe a dungeon or two?”
“I mean... kind of?” Tori admits sheepishly. “Honestly I’ve never been in one of the pack houses. It’s cozy.”
Bishop snorts as he claims an armchair, his Guardian formality softening in the familiar space. “The dungeon’s in the basement. We only use it on special occasions.”
Tori’s eyes widen, and I can’t help but laugh at her expression, feeling Finn’s amusement echo through our bond. “He’s kidding. Mostly.”
“You’re all terrible,” Dorian sighs, but there’s a hint of fondness in his voice as he leans against the doorframe, his usual rigid posture relaxing slightly.
Leo emerges from the kitchen balancing way too many mugs of hot chocolate, his tongue stuck out in concentration. Through our bond, I feel the others’ automatic shift to catch him if he stumbles. “Okay, we’ve got regular hot chocolate, extra dark for our brooding professor?—”
