Page 64
Reese’s forearm presses across my chest before I can get any closer. His voice lands in my ear, low and controlled.
“Everything you say and do is being judged. Don’t give them a reason to vote against you.”
I’m aware of that, but it doesn’t prevent my impulses. I pull in a breath through my nose and hold it until the urge to break Patrick’s teeth passes.
Michael leans into Patrick and whispers something that makes them both grin.
Liam raises his voice again. “The first Trial will commence this weekend. The Shedding.”
Dread drops like a weight into my chest. Zaiya has no idea what awaits her. And a sick part of me is already looking forward to watching her break.
CHAPTER 15
EDWIN
Clouds sit low over the town, a gray burial sheet swollen with rain it refuses to release. My brothers and I carry my father’s casket into his funeral. Crows circle overhead, welcoming him home.
Sacred Spirit Church looms in front of us with its pious red face, a place that has seen every generation of my family pass through its doors on the way to the grave. Grandpa Wallace insisted on honoring the pattern.
Tradition. Legacy. All these inheritances I never asked for.
The crowd parts as we approach. The whole town has gathered. Mayor Tom Woods stands at the front, head bowed in civic performance. Townspeople behind him, wearing their best grief. Then the wider arms of the Order and their polished wives, all of them watching us like a procession of royalty.
It’s never felt more absurd.
We climb the steps and pass through the double doors. The sanctuary is dim and dreadfully ornate in a way I might find beautiful if it weren’t full of lies.
But through the mess of people I’ll have to avoid, there is a light bright enough to burn straight through my sunglasses. The only thing truly holy in this place of worship.
Zaiya is near the back with the Bolton women, her white sundress oddly stark against the gloom. She tries not to look at me. Tries to appear unaffected. But when her eyes meet mine, I feel it. Recognition. She sees through every layer I’ve buried and refuses to retreat.
The casket is placed before the altar, and we take our seats beside Grandpa Wallace. I’ve barely settled when Reverend Bolton rises to speak.
“There are bonds we inherit without asking, yet they weigh on us all the same. And the Lord, in His wisdom, ensures that what is sown in the blood will, in time, be reaped.”
I stare ahead, jaw locked. Reaped. As if my father’s death is some final harvest of sins planted long before I was born, making me next in line to pay for a century of choices made by dead men.
“The weight of a father’s life rests on more shoulders than we realize.”
I nearly laugh.
Frank didn’t know my father. Not the man behind the power, the title, the quiet grief that rooted in him after my mother died. None of these people knew him. They knew what he could do for them. Favors. Protection. Keeping the myth alive.
I feel Zaiya looking at me again. That slow, careful study of hers, as if she’s afraid to be caught and yet incapable of stopping herself. When I turn to meet her eyes, she startles and looks down.
After the service, we drift to the cemetery. Barricades keep the townspeople back while the family gathers at the mausoleum. White marble glows against the darker graves surrounding it. The iron gate screeches open, and the weeping angel welcomes us in.
We carry my father into the green chamber. Stained glass breaks the light into emerald shards across our family crest on the floor. We set him beside my mother.
Together again. A hollow comfort.
Frank steps forward and places a hand on my mother’s tomb. “May the Lord watch over the sons you left behind.”
He lifts his eyes to mine and lowers them again when he finds my scowl.
We don’t need his fucking prayers.
I shove through my relatives and escape into the open air, lungs burning for space. Outside, the thinning crowd is a minor relief. Most people head back inside Sacred Spirit’s basement for the potluck lunch, pretending casseroles and cookies are enough to honor a man like my father.
