Chapter 15
Ryven
I linger in the shadows, back pressed to a tree.
She doesn’t see me—but she always knows I’m near.
I watch as Rory crouches next to my victim and inspects each limb carefully.
She doesn’t disturb the body as she studies each part.
Her head tilts to the side in confusion.
I wonder what she’s thinking in that pretty head of hers.
I know exactly when she spots the mark–my mark– on the woman’s hip. It’s right where hers is. Her head snaps up as her eyes sweep the trees. Searching.
She knows it’s me. And she knows I’m here. I always show up to the scene after a kill. Especially if I know she’s going to be there. It makes me feel closer to her.
Her hand flies to her hip, where my mark is and I smirk. That’s right Rory. Your body remembers who you belong to.
But then something happens that I don’t expect. Thomas stalks over to her and says something that I don’t hear from this distance. But it doesn’t stop me from staring holes into him as he raises his hand and places it gently on Rory’s shoulder.
My body stiffens at their contact. He touched her. He fucking touched what belongs to me and if I could choose my victims he would be next. And one day… he might be.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me from the thoughts starting to form in my head about all the vile things I would do to Thomas. My focus snaps.
Meeting in twenty minutes at the church.
Westley messages me.
I check my watch. It will take me at least forty minutes to return to my house, so I’ll have to jog to make it in time. I glance back at Rory one last time and head toward my home.
The elders stand around the fire pit in the middle of the church. Heads snap toward me as I slip through the door. So much for being unnoticed. Of course they’ve already started. I ran as fast as I could the last mile, but it wasn’t fast enough.
I pull the hood of my cloak over my head and sit. Cedric immediately sees me and calls me out. “Ryven, my boy. So nice of you to join us.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
I dip my head. “My apologies, your excellence.”
He waves me forward. “Come. Join me on stage.” That’s not a request. Nothing ever is with Cedric.
I let out a soft sigh and march with purpose up the aisle. All eyes in the room track my every move as I climb the stage stairs.
Once I’m by his side, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him. “As you all know, Ryven is one of the highest-ranking members of our flock.”
Murmurs come from the pews, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.
Cedric looks out over the crowd and continues.
“That’s why I say this with such pride. But also with sadness.
" He takes a step forward. “Our beloved council member–Kris, has gone missing as of this morning. His whereabouts are unknown, but our order of operations will not be stopped.”
Missing? You have got to be fucking kidding me. I received my last order from him two days ago. Who the hell would have the balls to do anything to a council member? They’re practically untouchable. Or so I thought…
A throat clears nearby, and I look around to find the source. To my surprise, Cedric and the rest of the elders are staring directly at me.
I look behind me to make sure there is no one else behind me and then raise my brow. “I’m sorry. Will you repeat, sir?”
He displays a broad smile and chuckles. “I said your role will be changing within the organization. You’re the head of the other huntsman now. All orders will now filter through you, and you will divvy them out as you see fit.”
My lungs tighten as the words settle in.
Me? Bile rises in my throat. Why me? Why now?
Then it hits me. With this new power I can control everything, or at least try to. With this change, will Rory fight with me instead of fighting against me?
Cedric claps me on the back as the men in the pews rise to their feet to congratulate me.
All except the front row. That is where the other huntsman sit—my fellow brothers of rank.
They stare at me, calculating. They wonder why I was chosen for this job.
Then, one by one, they begin to rise to show their respect. Each one bows their head in unison.
Cedric’s grip tightens around my shoulder as he addresses the crowd. “Ryven is a loyal servant. A faithful blade.”
Applause breaks out. I stand there, stiff as stone, while Cedric’s words echo through the church. His praise always tastes like poison.
“And yet,” he continues, voice lowering like a knife being unsheathed, “even the most faithful can stray from the path. Can forget who they serve.” His eyes don’t leave mine.
My heart ticks once and then again.
He looks at me. Not smiling. Not accusing. Just watching.
“Our enemies hide in plain sight. Rebels. Traitors. Weak men with stronger masks.”
That one lands. Like a blade to my ribs.
“So let this be a reminder,” Cedric finishes, letting his hand drop from my shoulder. “You serve the Dark One—or you serve the fire.”
The firepit behind us roars to life, flames licking the stone rim like it’s hungry. Hungry for sinners.
I bow my head as my shoulders feel heavier. Every order I give now means someone dies.
And they’re watching me. Waiting for me to slip.
I step off the stage. My seat feels miles away and my cloak feels heavier than before. And as I sit, I feel it—that cold crawl at the back of my neck.
Someone here suspects me. I know it. And when they find proof, I won’t get a second chance.