Page 36 of Stroke of Shadows

Sythe remained exactly where he was, his body forcibly relaxed. “Bit dramatic, aren’t you?”

“Seriously, Sy. She’s supposed to remain a virgin for the Gods, and if my father thinks you’re messing with her, he’ll order me to kill you.”

“And you do whatever Daddy says?” he joked, making sure his expression was teasing.

Harper sure as fuck hadn’t reacted like a virgin at the club. Hesitant, yes. But not entirely innocent. Sythe turned to lean back against the cabinet, studying Wyatt’s reaction. Something dark passed behind his eyes. Something hidden.

“Come on rich boy, I haven’t given up my life for some random virgin even if she’d sure look good on her knees.” The words were exactly what his character would say, and just as he’d predicted, they seemed to pacify Wyatt.

“Just so we’re clear.” He cocked his head, blue eyes staring for a second too long.

“Fucking crystal.” Sythe said, testing the tension between them. “But touch me again, and you won’t fucking like it.”

Wyatt smirked. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Chapter 13

Sythe

Sythe stepped out of the Bugatti, openly expressing his love for the powerful machine. It wasn’t what he usually liked to work on, preferring classic cars with a little history. But he’d still happily spend hours beneath the hood, studying every miniscule detail.

Cars were a passion, and back home, he’d taken over the majority of the garage. Hours he’d spent breaking vehicles apart, only to rebuild them again from scratch.

Wyatt smoothly slipped from the driving seat, placing sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. He’d aggressively pulled the car directly in front of the church, obstructing the footpath, and forcing pedestrians to scatter or risk being hit.

“Careful not to hit the peasants,” Sythe joked, tugging on his sleeves to make sure most of his tattoos were covered. He couldn’t hide them all, but the roses and thorns were enough to obscure the glyphs.

Usually, only other druids knew what they really were.

Or Daemons.

“Is there a reason we’re here?” From the outside, the church looked like an eyesore, with its weirdly squared shape and painted bricks. Another visual reminder that the Church of the Light believed themselves to be perfect, pure.

“You want us to pray?” he asked, waiting for Wyatt to step ahead. “Because I have an altar at mine.”

Wyatt shook his head. “Unlike my father, I’m not so rigid with my faith. I believe that the Gods provide for the pure, and all this extra crap is unnecessary.” He waved his hand towards the doors, the mark of the flame engraved in the wood.

Almost six weeks he’d been the perfect right-hand man, and Sythe figured out pretty quickly the rumours regarding the Beauchamps being ruthless were true. It was his job to know of the rifts amongst the human higher society, but he’d never given it much consideration until he’d witnessed it first hand. Wyatt’s anger could give a silver poisoned wolf a run for his money, and it was no surprise the Beauchamps were feared.

No one wanted to mess with Angel, who was callous in his own right. Especially when the threat was to send his son.

Six weeks, and this was the first time Sythe had actually stepped foot inside the church.

“You good?” Wyatt whispered, nudging him on the arm.

Sythe hadn’t realised he’d stopped, his foot half inside the door. Pain shot down his right arm, the skin pulling tight. He ignored it, instead wiggling his fingers to reassure himself they all still worked. The memory of the fire was strong, but not enough to pull him from the present.

“Of course.” He nodded for Wyatt to take the lead, following closely behind.

“Let us sit in peace, and pray to the Gods that have gifted us with…”

Sythe drowned out the Leader, a woman known as Lorraine Barkley. Research had –showed she lived a relatively normal and mundane life, being born to two doctors in the Scottish highlands and having a medical PhD herself. Married twice. Widowed twice. No children, but had a cat called Sunbeam, which she used to post on social media until it was hit by a car. Boring, except for the last few years, where she suddenly found her faith. That and the fact she was fucking young to have been chosen as the Leader. A role usually reserved for an older man with a superiority complex.

“Come on,” Wyatt murmured, pulling him towards the back of the room. A few people in the back pews turned, the sudden silence making each of their steps resonate.

Everything was white, so clean it hurt to look at. The pews were wooden, expected as was the pedestal that held a statue of a flame. Two metal firepits sat either side, but what drew Sythe’s attention was the red carpet between them. Almost like a blood stain amongst all the pale tones.

A guttural growl, his beast tearing to the forefront of his mind.

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