Page 32 of Stroke of Shadows

It made them dangerous. Deadly.

Which was the reason Sythe and his brothers were created, to destroy the druids who’d chosen to embrace black magic.

“Daemons are not Breed. They’re abominations that shouldn’t even exist,” Edwards said with a pretentious tone.

“With that logic, they should fall under druids, considering that’s technically what they are.”

Sythe swore he could see steam coming from his father’s ears.

“Don’t you ever compare them to us again,” Edwards snarled.

Sythe forced a smile. “Let’s agree to call them naughty druids, then.”

“Those creatures are nothing like us. They made their choice in accepting black magic and must live with the consequences.”

Sythe’s patience was wearing thin. “You should be informing Riley, not me.”

“You’re the son of an Archdruid who also holds a seat within the Council. You should hold more authority, not that brute—”

“Riley’s earned his place.” Sythe’s tone could cut glass. “Do I need to remind you that you’re one of the Vectors who approved the ritual? Who chose his own son to be part of an experiment,” he said before Edwards could add anything else.

“You know, it wasn’t an easy decision.” Edwards snapped each word out like bullets. “You have no idea how many innocent druids were killed before you. Who sacrificed themselves to try to control the surge of Daemonic summonings. I chose you because it was an honour to protect our Breed. It was for your future, to help with the pain and—”

Sythe cut him off. “Fuck off. You had no idea if it’d work or not. Your fucking pride and arrogance were the reason you forced me into the ritual. Not because you wanted to help with the pain.”

His eyes drifted to his father’s chest, knowing the burns that likely still warped his skin. Scars Sythe would have if the ritual that bonded him to his beast hadn’t healed all wounds.

“You’ve given me your message. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a life to get back to.” He knocked on the side of the car, and the driver pulled over.

“This isn’t some joke, Sythe.”

A firm grip on his shoulder.

“You have two options. You either take your place within the Order, or you lead the Guardians against the uprising Daemons.”

Edwards’ smile didn’t contain an ounce of warmth when Sythe looked back. “Or what?”

The question hung taut between them.

“Do you really want to find out?”

Sythe didn’t bother with a response, stepping out into the drizzle. The car sped off, leaving him at the side of the road.

His father always riled him up, causing the ache in his arm to flare up in memory. It was a phantom pain, an echo of the injuries he’d suffered as a kid. It was one of the only reasons Sythe accepted his beast without much fight. Without him, his arm would be a mess of thick, fibrous scars that would hinder his ability to make even a fist.

Pushing all the thoughts and memories of his father to the back of his mind, he pulled out his phone from the plastic bag, only to find the missed messages and phone calls.

That pic is fucking beautiful, my friend. Did he piss himself when you showed him who’s boss?

Hello?

They take you in?

Fuck, some prick must’ve called the cops. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there as soon as I can.

Apparently, they didn’t even charge you! WTF! How did you talk yourself out of that?

Sythe noted the last text was only thirty minutes ago, so he quickly replied with his live location.

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