Page 62 of Stroke of Shadows

“Why would Sloanee want an alliance?” Wyatt’s lips twisted in disgust.

Angel settled back in his chair, his expression smug. “His son’s looking for a bride. I offered him Harper.”

Sythe stilled, his heart a heavy weight in his chest.

“It’ll be a marriage between two powerful families,” Angel continued. “One from old money, and one from new. It’s a good match.”

“The Halkins are lower class,” Wyatt said, his hands curling like claws against the desk. “How can we continue our blood when you taint it with the fucking Halkins?”

“He may be lower class, but he’s human. He won’t compromise our integrity.”

“You’re fucking delusional.” Wyatt shook his head, the laughter that erupted from his throat on the edge of hysteria.

“You seem to be forgetting who the head of this family is.” Angel moved to the door, his back towards Wyatt. “You’ve disappointed me tonight. Do it again and I’ll remove you from this family myself.” He looked over his shoulder. “Everyone’s replaceable. Even you.”

Without another word he left, his slippers silent against the wood.

Sythe remained where he was, the pain in his stomach pulsing along with the ache in his arm. “He’ll never willingly adapt.”

Wyatt slowly stood, his movements rigid. “You adapt or die.” His slightly enraged smile tightened. “He doesn’t understand, and he’s going to fucking destroy everything our ancestors have built because of his stubbornness.”

Sythe cocked his head. “It’s time for a new head of the family.”

There was a stretch of silent, Wyatt’s anger vibrant. “You knew those cops were there. You tried to warn me.”

“I felt something was off. If you grew up like I did, you learn to trust your gut.”

“Your fucking gut saved us. Fuck.” Wyatt shook his head, but Sythe could read the slight distrust. “Angel’s too stuck in the old ways to see reason, and I’ve worked too hard for him to fuck this up for me. It’s time I took over.”

Sythe pushed off the wall, not used to any weakness as his stomach protested at the movement. “What do you need me to do?”

Wyatt turned to leave, stopping when they were shoulder to shoulder. “I need you to keep doing what I say. Take care of Harp. Drive her. Follow her. Be her fucking shadow, I don’t care.”

“Anything you need, I’m there.”

Wyatt reached out to grip his arm, squeezing once. “You could have left me back there, and you didn’t. I still don’t understand you, Sy. But I’ll remember this.”

“I’ve got you, man.”

“Yeah, it seems you do.” Wyatt frowned, releasing his grip after a few seconds. “I’m going to have to move my schedule up, which means Harper needs to do her fucking job before I lose my temper.”

“The chalice?”

Wyatt eyed him for a moment. “It’s what Gideon wants in exchange.”

“And what do you get out of this deal?”

“I get the manpower I need to finally take my deserved place.” His head turned, and after a single nod, he disappeared into the house.

Sythe waited until Wyatt’s footsteps had faded before he left the study. He’d intended to leave the estate entirely with the purpose to take care of his wounds before he figured out his next plan. But somehow he found himself in front of a door, the dark oak nondescript and identical to the six he’d passed in the same hall. Eight bedrooms had been on the blueprint, and Sythe knew without a doubt it was Harper’s room.

He knew he should leave, that he shouldn’t open that door.

Yet Sythe reached for the handle.

Chapter 22

Harper

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