Page 18 of Stroke of Shadows

Except blood continued to pump violently, the liquid molten as it leaked between his fingertips, even with the added pressure. Wyatt wasn’t clotting, and if Sythe didn’t act fast, he’d lose everything he’d been working for.

“I swear to the fucking Gods, if you die…”

Taking a risk, he called his arcane, pressing the smallest amount of his power to the wound. It sealed the skin closed, giving Wyatt long enough for an ambulance to arrive. Sythe barely controlled the rage, biting through his usual patience, jumping into the ambulance along with the paramedics. He remained calm, even when he was moved into a waiting area, and again when he was allowed back into the private hospital room.

Wyatt looked peaceful amongst the white sheets, relaxed in his post-surgery sleep. Drugs and blood loss would be an easy explanation if he woke up and asked about the arcane, not that he’d likely remember anything. Luckily, he would wake up, the doctor assuring Sythe that they’d caught the injury in time. Except that was hours ago, and Sythe was still there.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Sythe had heard the footsteps, but jumped to his feet just like a human would.

Fucking Fates.

In the threshold stood Angel Beauchamp, his face severe, eyes angry. “I asked you a question, boy,” he snapped when Sythe remained silent.

“Sythe.” The secret to the perfect lie was to keep it as close to the truth as possible. “Sythe Black.”

“Breed?” Angel sneered, glaring at the tattoos that peeked beneath Sythe’s t-shirt. He purposely wore long sleeves, revealing only the markings on his throat and hands.

Sythe forced a laugh. “Fuck no, thank the Light. I’m one hundred percent pure.”

Angel grunted in acknowledgment, but his eyes drifted down Sythe’s arms once more to settle on his hands. Most of his glyphs were still there, blended amongst the thorns and roses he’d asked Kace to add. It was common enough knowledge that druids tattooed glyphs on their body, but not to the same extent as the Guardians. A concealment charm wasn’t worth the risk when they’re easily discoverable. So long sleeves it was, even if his arm ached beneath the fabric.

“You were with Wyatt. At the club,” he said, tension still apparent along his shoulders.

“Yes.”

He turned towards his son. “And the cunt who did this?”

“He’ll be dead when I find him.”

Angel nodded, his lips thinning. “The Doc said you saved his life by cauterising the wound with his lighter. He would’ve bled out otherwise. Something to do with the amount of fucking cocaine he’d consumed.”

His eyes were direct when they met Sythe’s, reminding him of some bird of prey.

“I don’t like to be in debt, boy. But I can’t stand here and pretend you didn’t save him.” He held out his hand.

Sythe grabbed it, accepting the firm handshake.

“I’m glad he had a friend like you watching out for him. Us humans need to stick together,” Angel said, releasing his grip. “Now stay. Watch over my idiot son while I sort out the paperwork. I’ll get him moved to a more secure facility while he’s recovering.”

Sythe returned to the chair, watching the rise and fall of Wyatt’s chest. That wasn’t how he was supposed to meet Angel. It wasn’t the plan, yet, for once, Sythe blessed the Fates he didn’t even believe in.

Fucking hell.

Seemed luck was really on his side.

Chapter 6

Harper

Harper eyed the necklace Christina wore, tight enough it dug into the plump flesh of her throat. The diamond was unnecessarily large and was as fake as the grimoire placed on the table between them.

“What do you mean, it’s counterfeit?” Christina asked, magically enhanced lips lifting into a snarl. “Don’t be absurd. This is the original ‘Tales of Magic’ written by the Daeizan himself.” She tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the leather-bound cover. “He wrote it for his human lover.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Clearly, you know nothing of Fae artefacts. I bought this piece at a respectable dealership almost ten years ago. Of course, it’s real, you silly girl!”

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