Page 41 of Stroke of Shadows

Sythe ignored the urge to do a full body recoil at the thought of eternity with Xee, instead pulling the tools free of the lock and pushing the back door open quietly. The church was dark, which wasn’t unexpected at gone midnight. Bar the inconsistent buzzing of the moths attacking one of the lamps, there were no other sounds that Sythe could pick up on. The inside was silent, which was unexpected. The Leader was supposed to be there. That was the whole point of his late-night visit.

Fuck’s sake.

Closing the door behind him Sythe walked through the church’s kitchen, the area recently bleached from the strong stench, and almost entirely bare. There wasn’t a single object on the counters. No microwave or cooking utensils. It put his clean-freak brother Titus to shame.

Pulling on his beast, Sythe allowed his irises to change, helping his sight with the limited light. There was a slight glow in the distance, the pews coming into view as he made his way into the central part of the church.

There was a split second where he swore there were flames in his peripheral, the skin on his right arm reacting as if it were being seared. Sythe squeezed his eyes shut, taking a slow breath before he was able to reopen them.

It’s not real.

There had once been flames, ones that ate away at his skin that left him almost unrecognisable. But that was long ago. Long enough that the child that had suffered at the hands of an extremist had grown into a man who knew the remnants of pain were nothing but memories.

Stretching out his arm, Sythe pulled the fabric back to check the skin. It was perfect, just like it always was. And yet he couldn’t help but double check, the pain so vivid it was hard to believe his skin wasn’t actually being torn apart.

It had been over twenty years, and still he checked every morning that his arm was still there. That his hand was able to make a fist, and that his tendons hadn’t blackened and his bones weren’t exposed.

Sythe had more distaste than most for the Church of the Light. Especially when it was them who’d attacked his house knowing he and his father, who, at the time, was just a Vector for the Archdruid, were inside.

The Leader at the time had willingly tried to burn them alive, all for the sin of being Breed. Of being ‘unpure.’

Sythe was going to enjoy destroying them.

Karma was a bitch, after all.

‘He’ll just have to forgive me for making a deal with the devil.’

Wyatt’s whiney voice echoed in memory, and Sythe barely controlled the excitement of the hunt. He finally had a lead, and he was going to take great pleasure in finding the Daemon in which Wyatt had stupidly made a deal, and meticulously remove his horned head from his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” Lorraine appeared from a hidden door, her body held tight. “You weren’t invited.”

Sythe quickly blinked his irises back to normal, forcing his beast back. “Leader.” Dipping his head, he allowed a devious smile to curve his lips. “Bit late to be up, isn’t it?”

Her lips pursed, and her eyes hardened. “The Gods do not sleep.”

“It’s called insomnia. I hear lavender and orgasms are a great cure for that.”

She blanched at his bluntness, a slight blush darkening her complexion. But there was heat there, a strange reaction from a woman supposedly abstinent in honour of her Gods.

“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly. “It wasn’t an offer.”

“What are you doing here? Wyatt didn’t mention you were coming.” She tightened the cord around her waist, the robe grey rather than the usual white. It was haphazardly thrown on, revealing a crop top beneath in a pale pink.

He cocked his head, assessing her slowly. “This friend of Wyatt’s, I need to speak with him.”

“Then ask Wyatt. I can’t simply call him.”

Sythe raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t.” She made a sound of impatience. “You shouldn’t be here. If Wyatt catches—”

“Wyatt’s the one who sent me.” Sythe noticed the cold calculation in her eyes. “You don’t want to disappoint him, do you?”

Lorraine’s lips curved with arrogance. “Gideon’s asked me not to call them until there’s an update on the chalice.”

Gideon. Fuck. Wyatt really had made a deal with the devil.

“Have you sent the Undead the three men?”

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