Page 9 of Secrets in the Shadow

Stewart smiled softly, tapping the boy on his nose. “A tiny creature who causes all sorts of trouble. Does that sound familiar?”

“I da bear,” Ethan said in a huff.

“And the tantrums begin.” Stewart sighed and headed toward the entrance to the kitchen.

Raziel walked right through the back door without opening it, but he kept his distance so he hopefully wouldn’t alert his son to his presence. He just wanted to see Ethan, to hear his voice, not upset him like last time, when he’d had to leave.

Ethan froze, his expression shifting to alarm as his gaze darted toward the table. “Da bear!”

Stewart kept walking. “I know you’re the bear. You can growl around the house after your nap, buddy.”

Ethan shook his head with all the ferocity a toddler could muster. “No! Da bear!” He struggled wildly, almost toppling out of Stewart’s arms. “In ki-pen! Bear in ki-pen!”

Raziel’s jaw tightened as he watched. Ethan’s attachment to the bear was more than just a child’s whim. The faint glow of his power was in the stuffed animal, a beacon of protection.

“C’mon, Ethan,” Stewart groaned, adjusting the wriggling toddler, exhaustion in his voice. “We’ll get the bear after your nap. I swear my legs are too tired to turn around and get it.”

“No!” Ethan thrashed, glaring at Stewart with toddler fury. “Piss a you, Uncuh Stewalulu!”

Stewart stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his lips twitching with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “What have I told you about saying that potty word?”

“Piss a you!” Ethan repeated, jabbing a finger into Stewart’s chest before bursting into heart-wrenching sobs.

Raziel took a step forward, instincts he’d never had before making him want to kill whatever was making his son cry. Despite already knowing Stewart was the cause and why Ethan was crying, Raziel wanted to kill the source causing his tears.

“Okay, okay. You win.” Stewart finally relented, his voice tired but gentle. “We’ll get your bear. Stop crying, buddy. Uncle’s just tired. We both are.”

Raziel watched silently as Stewart carried Ethan into the kitchen, retrieving the abandoned bear to end the tantrum. His son’s hiccups slowed, the tears drying as he clutched the toy close to his chest, his tiny arms wrapping fiercely around it.

Raziel’s fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to wipe away his son’s tears, brush a hand over his golden hair, to reassure his amoretto in ways he couldn’t put into words.

The enchanted bear glowed dimly—a light only an angel could see—but steady, a reminder of the power keeping his son hidden.

When Ethan rested his small head on Stewart’s shoulder, taking comfort in his uncle, Raziel had to look away, clenching his jaw. Seeing his son take solace in someone else’s arms created a hollowness in his chest he feared he may never claw his way out of.

Flashing away, he stood in the dead silence of a forgotten ruin, the crumbling stones shrouded in darkness. The air here was cold, sharp, and blessedly still.

For a moment, silence enveloped him, save for the faint whistle of wind through the cracks in the walls. He let it settle over him, though his mind was far from quiet.

Even though Bashar was unaware of the fact, he had finally found the perfect torture method that would bring Raziel to his knees.

The ability to watch but not interact with his son and mate, forcing him to remain in the shadows, just out of reach of them.

“Congratulations, you piece of shit. You finally broke me,” he said with a bitter laugh. “You want these fucking secrets locked inside my head? Screw you!”

He ground his teeth, leaning the back of his head against the wall, the emptiness of the ruin pressing in on him. Raziel was between a rock and a hard place, in a goddamn freefall, and he didn’t see a light at the end of this shitshow.

Chapter Three

The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of Cody’s small living room, painting the modest space in hues of gold and cream. His house wasn’t much, just a single-story with a handful of rooms, each filled with secondhand furniture and mismatched decor. It was cozy, though, and entirely his. The battered couch sagged slightly in the middle, and the coffee table bore scratches from countless restless nights with his feet propped up on it. His favorite room was the tiny kitchen, where he stood now, frying bacon.

Cody flipped the sizzling slices, the spatula making a satisfying scrape against the pan. The smell was heavenly, rich and smoky, wafting through the house and making his stomach rumble. At his feet, his calico cat, Duchess Poppy Von Fluffington, wound around his legs with persistent meows.

“No.” He pointed the spatula at her. “You’re not getting any bacon. You’re strictly on cat food, Miss Royal Pain.”

She didn’t care. Duchess gave him a demanding yowl then hopped onto the counter with the practiced ease of someone who did this all the time.

“Duchess!” Cody groaned, setting the spatula down. “How many times do I have to tell you—” He reached for her, but the cat had other plans. She darted away, knocking over the salt shaker in her escape.

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