26. The Shadow
THE SHADOW
W e had a name. We had a target for my knives. But these two wanted to keep “planning.”
“Killing him solves the problem,” I said again, my voice sharper than I intended as I paced the length of the living room, my fists clenched at my sides. “We take the High Lord out, and it’s over. Done.”
Ava sat at the table, her hands flat against the wood, steady in a way that only fueled my frustration.
She shook her head, her jaw tightening with that infuriating resolve of hers. “You’re wrong. Killing him won’t stop the Sochai. They’ll just crown a new High Lord. The rot goes deeper than one man, Ciaran.”
Her words sliced through me because I knew, deep down, she was right. But admitting that felt like surrendering. Like losing.
“So what? We let him keep breathing while we attempt to… infiltrate?” The word tasted bitter on my tongue. “Men like Dr. Vale spent years— years —doing the Sochai’s dirty work without being let into the inner circle. ”
Before Ava could respond, Ty emerged from his bedroom carrying an ornate wooden chest I hadn’t seen in years.
My stomach twisted at the sight of it. It had rested at the foot of my father’s bed.
He set it on the table with deliberate care and opened the lid.
“Why the hell did you bring that here?” I snapped, more to cut through my own unease than anything else.
Ty’s expression was maddeningly calm, like he was impervious to the chaos around him. “I took these from Blackthorn. From the professor’s secret laboratory.”
He opened the chest and began to unload the contents across the table.
Leather-bound journals with the Sochai’s crest embossed on the front, a case of clinking vials—that made my stomach turn—and a small carved wooden box.
“His journals and his… things.” His voice was quiet, focused, like he wasn’t talking about the remnants of the man who had destroyed all three of our lives.
“What are you looking for?” Ava asked him, her tone soft but curious.
Ty didn’t answer immediately, flipping through the brittle pages. “I thought I remembered reading something…”
I turned back to Ava, my anger reigniting. “You think infiltrating them will work? You think either one of us are going to able to walk into their lair and play pretend without them figuring it out?”
Her eyes locked on mine, steady and unwavering. “I’m asking you to think bigger, Ciaran. Killing the High Lord might feel good for five minutes, but it won’t end this. We need to destroy the Sochai entirely.”
Her words hit like a blow, and I hated the way they made me feel. Powerless. Out of control.
I lashed out, not at her, but at the world she was describing. “And what happens when they see through us? When they realize we’re trying to take them down? They’ll kill you, Ava. Is that big enough for you?”
Ava’s voice cut through the air. “I’m not afraid of them.”
The icy determination in her tone sent a shiver down my spine, so eerily like Ty’s that it made my chest tighten.
I forced myself to look away, unable to bear the sight of how much of my brother had seeped into her—how deeply he’d shaped her, changed her.
And I hated it. Hated him. Hated that part of me feared she was better for it.
I reached into an open box and plucked out a gold signet ring. The weight of it settled heavily in my palm.
The crest of the Sochai, snakes in a Celtic knot, was etched into the gold like a brand. Memories surfaced—unwelcome and sharp.
I could see my father’s hand, that ring glinting on his finger as he raised it in anger. I could feel the sting of it, the hard edge cutting into my skin, leaving its mark on my cheek as clearly as it had left its imprint on my soul.
It wasn’t just a ring—it was a symbol of everything he’d been, everything I hated, and everything I swore I’d never become.
“Here!” Ty said, as he flipped open a page in the diary and began to read aloud .
“Tynan, my ever-studious son, will surely follow in my footsteps, a gifted chemist and a worthy heir to my work.
“But Ciaran… ah, Ciaran. There is a fire in him, a raw, untamed darkness that sometimes scares even me.
“Perhaps he will find his way to the highest place of all, wearing the mantle of the High Lord himself…
“One day, when they are ready, my boys will approach the High Lord with my signet ring and ask for entrance into this holy circle.
“As it was, as it has always been.”
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Ty looked up, his expression unreadable, though his fingers tightened on the edges of the diary as if to steady himself.
But me? I couldn’t breathe. My father’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the air stolen from my lungs by the sheer audacity of his pride in me—pride twisted into something monstrous.
Darkness? That’s what he saw when he looked at me? Not a son, not a boy struggling to survive, but a vessel for his sick, twisted ambitions?
Ava let out a gasp. “Of course.”
I could already see the wheels turning in her head. But I refused to go down that train of thought.
The bile rose in my throat, and I flung the ring back into the box like it burned me.
“Fuck that,” I muttered, turning away. “I’m not wearing his fucking ring.”
“It’s not about the ring,” Ava said, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “It’s about what it gets us. A way in.”
She pulled something from her bag, sliding it across the table to me. “I stole it from Ebony’s mail when I ducked home to see her.”
I glanced down and saw the words Darkmoor Alumni Association Fundraising Gala printed across the glossy invitation.
“Two days,” Ava said, her smile dark, her eyes gleaming with determination. “The dean will be there. So will the rest of the Sochai members. It’s the perfect opportunity.”
My lips curled into a scowl. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack,” she said.
Ty lifted his eyebrows. “So, who wants to infiltrate a secret society?”
With a smirk that dared me to argue, Ava added, “We have to get you a suit.”
My diamond cuff links refracted the dim light of the chandeliers. My Valentino suit fit like a glove even if it felt like a straitjacket.
And my father’s Sochai ring burned through the flesh of my finger, straight to the bone.
Ty had wanted to be the one to attend the Darkmoor alumni gala, but Ava had quickly brought up the obvious.
“First, you’re supposed to be dead. Second, you have a criminal record for killing your father, a member of the secret society we’re trying to infiltrate…”
It had to be me.
It was only because I loved Ava that I said yes.
Yes, because if I didn’t say yes, then she’d find some other harebrained way of infiltrating the Society. Like using herself as bait.
At least, if I said yes, it was my life at risk. Not hers.
I said yes because the faster we took down the Sochai, the quicker she could put all this behind her and we had a chance at being together.
At the edge of the gilded ballroom, I reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it in one go. For courage. The warmth spread through my veins. I reminded myself I was doing this for Ava.
The Darkmoor Alumni Gala was held in the grand ballroom of one of the oldest buildings on campus, a place steeped in history and dripping with ostentation.
The high ceilings loomed above me, their gold-plated moldings gleaming under the light of enormous crystal chandeliers. Low-seated couches, upholstered in rich, faded fabrics from centuries past, dotted the room.
I moved carefully through the crowd, my steps measured, my expression cool. I pretended I belonged among Ireland’s elite—industry titans, political giants, and heirs to fortunes older than the Republic itself.
These were people cloaked in untouchable power, their wealth and influence spanning not just the country but much of Europe.
Among the shifting tides of laughter and clinking glasses, I spotted them—the known members of the Sochai. Their whiskey glasses reflected the chandelier’s glow, their cigars smoldering as they leaned in close to share secrets only the most privileged would ever hear. Predators dressed as gentlemen.
But no matter how carefully I scanned the room, my pulse ticking faster with each passing moment, I couldn’t find who I was looking for.
I passed by the double doors of a smaller side room, a drawing room, velvet green armchairs illuminated beneath a chandelier and a golden harp in a solitary corner.
Gauzy white drapes billowed into the room from a stone terrace and the foggy night. It was empty. But the sound of voices outside caught my attention.
My footsteps were damped by the thick carpet as I crossed the small drawing room.
As I pushed aside the curtains and stepped into the frigid, still air, I noticed a female figure disappearing down the stairs to the garden.
There, leaning against the stone balustrade, was the man I’d been looking for.
An Tiarna Ard.
The High Lord.
Steeling my nerves, I swiped my sweaty palms against my suit pants as I went to stand beside Dean McCarthy as if merely admiring the view.
There was little view, of course. The torches lining the edge of the building did little to cut through the mist which swallowed the gardens.
The weight of his attention pressed on me, subtle but unmistakable, as if he were dissecting me from the corner of his eye.
“You look familiar,” he said, his tone veering from casual to suspicious.
It was my opening, but I forced myself not to rush.
I stood still, holding on to a carefully cultivated air of entitlement and quiet confidence. This wasn’t just a conversation; it was a performance. I gambled on arrogance over deference, knowing the High Lord wouldn’t respect someone that was too quick to simper before him.
The silence stretched until the dean exhaled in mock boredom. “Well, it’s getting cold,” he muttered, pushing away from the stone railing.
I chose that exact moment to speak, my tone unhurried as I continued gazing out into the darkness. “Ciaran Donahue.”
The dean froze mid-step, his back stiffening. Slowly, he turned his head toward me.
“You knew my father,” I said, finally meeting his gaze.
His eyes flickered, his composure slipping for the briefest moment. Then he relaxed, settling back into his position with a faint smile tugging at his lips.
So far, so good.
I forced myself to relax, leaning slightly against the stone railing as if I belonged there. But the ease I projected was a lie. Every second in this man’s presence felt like a knife pressed to my throat.
The dean brushed an invisible speck of lint from his lapel. “Pity about your father.”
It was a test. I couldn’t falter.
“My brother was an ungrateful brat,” I said, my voice dropping to a snarl. “I wish I’d been the one to kill him.”
The dean clicked his tongue in disapproval. “He’s family.”
“My father was family,” I snapped.
The dean’s shrug was as dismissive as it was deliberate, his indifference setting my teeth on edge. He was holding his cards close, but I had to force him to show his hand .
I gripped the stone railing, my father’s signet ring scraping against the surface.
A cold chill ran down my spine as I looked at the curl of snakes in that crest, but I couldn’t afford weakness now.
I turned the ring slowly on my finger, the weight of it feeling heavier than ever. “I’ve recently felt… a desire to reconnect with my beloved father’s legacy.”
The dean tilted his head back, staring at the sky as if bored by the conversation. But his voice betrayed his interest. “Our roots are important.”
I swallowed my revulsion and forced out the words. “He was a great man.”
“Hmm.” A noncommittal response.
My throat tightened. “I want to be a great man like him.”
The dean shifted his gaze down to me, his sharp eyes dissecting every nuance of my face.
“In any particular way?” he asked softly. “Your father was a brilliant scientist… a generous philanthropist… an involved member of his alma mater’s alumni society… a loving father of three beautiful, beautiful children.”
I knew he was watching for the smallest flinch, the tiniest crack in my armor. My nails bit into the stone railing as I fought to keep my expression neutral.
“In which way do you mean, Mr. Donahue?” he pressed, his tone almost kind.
I couldn’t say it. The words burned in my throat, too vile to voice. To claim a legacy tied to the Sochai—to the things they’d done to Ava—was unthinkable.
But Ava’s face flashed in my mind, her fiery determination that I’d admired and feared in equal measure. This was for her. It had to be .
“I want to join the Sochai,” I said at last, my voice cold and steady despite the storm inside me.
The dean’s brows furrowed slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.”
He moved to step away, and panic surged in my chest. Shit.
“I’m demanding an invitation to join as is my birthright,” I said firmly, my voice cutting through the misty night.
The dean paused mid-step, then slowly turned back to face me.
“Really?” His voice was laced with mockery. “And you think I can grant you such an invitation? What makes you think you deserve to be part of this… Sochai, if it did so happen to exist?”
I leaned closer, keeping my voice low. “Before he died, my father showed me… everything. In an effort to groom me. He let me… spend time with my sweet, sweet sister.”
The dean’s gaze never wavered from mine as if we were locked in a battle of wills.
I forced myself to finish. “He taught me that my world has no limits. What I desire is mine. I shall not be excluded from the Sochai any longer.”
A long silence hung between us before the dean chuckled, the sound dark and predatory.
“As it was…” He paused, a weighted pause. Like… Like he was waiting for me to answer.
Panic swirled in my chest. I didn’t know the response he wanted, but I had to say something.
The dean’s disappointed expression made my stomach drop.
The dean was about to leave. Disappear. Slip between the curtains and escape. I couldn’t lose this chance, couldn’t let Ava throw herself into danger.
Then, like a whisper from the shadows, Ty’s voice echoed in my mind—his words from the professor’s diary.
“One day, when they are ready, my boys will approach the High Lord with my signet ring and ask for entrance into this holy circle.
“As it was, as it has always been.”
I ripped the ring from my finger and hurled it onto the stone terrace. It skittered across the cold, unforgiving floor, each metallic clatter pounding in my chest like an iron fist, before coming to a stop in front of the dean’s polished black shoes.
I spoke loud and clear. “As it has always been.”
The dean turned slowly, his face twisting into a cruel smile. His gaze flicked from the ring lying on the stones to meet my eyes, assessing me like a predator sizing up prey.
He tilted his head and stroked his weak chin, his voice as smooth as venom. “I always thought it would be your brother who came to us.”
My jaw tightened, but I forced myself not to flinch, not to look away.
The fog curled around us like smoke, thickening with the silence as his unspoken will pressed against me, heavy and suffocating.
After an excruciating pause, the dean bent down, his thin fingers curling around the ring.
I forced myself to stay still as he straightened and walked to me, holding the ring up in the firelight.
Then, with a deliberate slowness, he extended it toward me. Not to hand it back—but to put it on for me .
My stomach churned, but I swallowed down the bile. Forcing my hand forward, I held out my finger, every fiber of my being screaming against the submission.
The cold, unyielding metal slid onto my skin, its weight nauseating.
His grip lingered as he tilted my hand, angling the ring until the flames reflected in the gleaming band and I fought the urge to yank my hand away.
His thumb rubbed over it, almost fondly, like it belonged to him more than to me. “You’ll have to pass the initiation.”
My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral, my voice steady. “I’m ready.”
The dean’s lips curved in a faint, twisted smile. “You have twenty-four hours…”
Twenty-four hours for what? To do what? The tension clawed at me, but I couldn’t push. Not now. Not when I was this close.
Without another word, he leaned in, brushing a cold kiss against each of my cheeks and it left a trail of ice in its wake.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the mist like a phantom.
I was left reeling.
I had no idea what he meant by his parting words—a riddle—echoing in my mind.
“Chase the raven with the Gardener’s gift, across the dark moors to where the winter sun stands still.”