Page 103 of Stroke of Shadows

“We ready to rock this?” he asked, turning as she disappeared up the stairs to the church. The summoning circle had already been completed by the time Sythe had arrived, the previous cracks filled and painted over.

Wyatt reached for the black candle, placing it on top of the salt granules. His lighter worked on the first try.

“Come here.” Wyatt held out a knife in one hand and a rag of fabric in the other. “You trust me, don’t you?” There was a manic energy radiating from him.

Sythe kept the smile on his face, his beast picking up his agitation. “Of course.”

Pulling the sleeve up his left arm, he waited as Wyatt drew the knife down his skin. It didn’t slice deep, but the cut started at his wrist and ended at his elbow. The fabric quickly soaked up the blood, and Sythe pulled his sleeve down before Wyatt could notice how quickly the wound healed.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Wyatt said, closing his eyes. There was relief there, beneath the frantic excitement. He genuinely believed he was getting an army, one capable of taking on the Undercity. “It’s time I took control.”

The fabric hissed as the flame caught it, disintegrating in seconds.

Sythe braced himself for the floor to crack. For the foul breath of a hellhound, or another equally vicious Shadow-Veyn. He waited for the theatrics, and when nothing came, he turned to Wyatt, who was watching him with a grin that set him on edge.

The air shifted, a slight pop of pressure, and then Bishop stood in the centre. The salt granules bubbled, melting hot enough to scorch the concrete floor.

“Where is it?” he demanded immediately, not bothering with a greeting. “Well?”

Wyatt threw the chalice, and Bishop caught it with a single smooth movement of his arm. “A deal’s a deal.”

“So it is.” Bishop turned the chalice carefully in his hand, studying every inch of the thing. “Gideon will be pleased.”

Sythe stiffened, forcing himself to stay where he was. It was unlikely he’d get another chance to take Bishop out. But if he waited, he may be able to destroy the king.

“She’ll be ready by tonight.” Wyatt was unable to keep still, swapping from one foot to the other.

Bishop angled his head, lips curved into a smirk. “Then I’ll take what I want and leave.”

Sythe didn’t see the arm snap out, or the hand as it wrapped around his throat until it was too late.

“Sorry about this, it’s just business,” Wyatt chuckled. “You understand.”

Bishop pulled him until they were chest to chest. “I wonder if you’ll ascend perfectly,” he said, voice dropping. “Just as your brother did.”

“Fuck,” Sythe managed to push out from a crushed throat. “You.” He broke the hold, arcane surging through his chi to encompass his hands and arms. There was no hesitation, the power crackling as he shoved Bishop with all his strength. The Daemon turned at the last second, the blow knocking against his shoulder and missing his heart. Power smashed to the wall, the impact causing it to crumble. If he wasn’t careful, the entire fucking church would fall down on top of them.

Bishop hissed, all pretence gone as black, leathery wings erupted from his back at the same time as horns split through his auburn hair. There was a gasp, Wyatt scrambling back in a panic, but Sythe couldn’t give him much thought.

Click. Click. Click. The high arcs of Bishop’s wings were spiked, the barbs sharp enough to scratch across the ceiling, raining grey dust.

Looked like the plan to use Bishop to get to Gideon had just gone out the window.

Fucking typical.

“If you wanted me to so much, you should have just fed me fries and called me pretty,” he teased, noticing a glint of metal in his peripheral. “I’m easy like that.”

Sythe dived for the knife Wyatt had used, hand curling around the handle. Arcane seared across his back, lightning pulsating from the hit that knocked him across the room.

“Fuck!” The magic began to eat away at his chi, and Sythe grit his teeth at the pain.

“You could be like us.” Bishop flicked his wrist, and two Skulls appeared in a burst of smoke. “Imagine what you could achieve with power like mine.”

Sythe gripped the handle of the knife, the blade still stained with his blood. “Nah, I’m alright thanks mate.”

Nails prickled beneath his fingertips, his beast desperate to get out. The problem was his beast was great against Shadow-Veyn and Lessers. Not so much against a fucking Daemon. Not that his beast cared for that reasoning, fur pressing tightly beneath his skin in protest.

The Skulls moved forward in sync, as if they were one single, creepy mind.

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