Page 3 of Clash of Sin and Secret

My shoes click against the polished marble floor as I round the gathered clan members and approach them. Tucker’s golden eyes meet mine, unflinching. He doesn’t release his hold on Scottie, and I respect him for that even as jealousy burns through my veins.

“Scots.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.

She turns in Tucker’s arms, her blue eyes rimmed red. “Hey. That was tough. You did well, Z.”

The nickname pierces my heart. At least we’ve come that far. Even from the distance between us, her familiar scent—vanilla and human—floods my senses. “Let’s go home. I can’t be out here anymore.”

Scottie closes the distance and squeezes my forearm. “You gave the clan what they needed to move forward. Francesco would be proud.”

I brush a tear from her cheek, thankful she’s allowing me this moment of tenderness. “We’ll find Daeva and reclaim what they stole from us. Then, we’ll lay our fathers to rest properly.”

“Damn right we will.” Scottie swallows and turns back to Tucker. “Make sure Jack gets to his room. I’ll walk up with Zane.”

Tucker leans down to kiss her and then winks. “See you soon.”

It galls me to see their affection, but I have nothing to say about it. I made my choice years ago when I pushed her away. Now I have to live with watching her find comfort in another man’s arms.

“Shall we?” I hold out my elbow and she accepts the offer, hooking her arm with mine like she did when we were kids.

I may be on the outside looking in for the moment, but I’ll win back her trust. Whatever it takes, Scotland McCullough will be mine again.

Huntley

Zane walks away, arm-in-arm with Scotland, like nothing has changed. Who the fuck cares that she’s been gone for a decade without a word? Or that I was the one who got him back on his feet? Or that I was the one to watch his back and fulfill every one of his needs for that time?

Yeah, who cares?My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack.

“Always the same fucking story,” I mutter, turning away from their retreating forms.

The memorial crowd disperses, leaving behind the lingering scent of grief and anger. I spot Dante and Link by the west entrance, their heads bent together in conversation. Perfect.

I stride up to them, not bothering with pleasantries. “Tell me one of you assholes has turned up something on Kaza.”

Dante shakes his head. “Nothing concrete yet. But we’ve got feelers out in every dark corner of Toronto.”

“Not good enough.” I run a hand through my hair. “That bastard has our king’s head, and we’re standing here with our dicks in our hands.”

Link shifts his weight. “He’s gathering power and building an army of turned vamps. That won’t stay under the radar forever.”

No, it won’t, but patience isn’t my best event. “We need a location—a target to focus on.”

“Speaking of focus,” Dante’s gaze drifts to follow Scottie and Zane down the opposite corridor. “How does it work now? Who’s in charge?”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. “Scottie inheriting Bran’s powers changes nothing. I am still Zane’s right hand. I’m still in charge.”

“But technically, the Sacred Squire is the voice of the king. She’s the one in charge.”

I cut him off with a look. “She might have magic now, but she doesn’t know how to use it. She also doesn’t have fifteen years of experience keeping Zane alive. And she doesn’t know his moves in a fight, the players in Toronto, or the climate of the other races.”

Link and Dante exchange a look that makes my blood boil.

“What?”

Dante holds up his hands. “It’s just…history has a way of repeating itself with those two and she’s his Sacred Squire.”

“In name only.” I step closer, using every inch of my Viking height. “I earned my right to stand next to Zane. Scottie inheriting powers she has no idea how to use won’t change that.”

They nod, but their eyes tell a different story. We’ve all seen it before. Zane and Scottie, the golden duo. The rest of us are just rotating satellites in their orbit.

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