Page 73 of Psycho Shifters

Dick knew where I was, and he might come after me, but that was the least of my problems. I had two years to come up with a plan to eliminate Dick or get Lucinda away from him.

Overwhelmed by the fae war, I hadn’t thought about Lucinda in a while. She was still away at school, but in two years, she would come home, and I wouldn’t be there. The thought of her devastation, Dick turning on her, or her thinking I had abandoned her, made me ill.

Shivering from fear under my covers, I mentally prayed to the moon goddess for strength.

Somehow, I had to survive a war against fae monsters, survive Dick, survive the alphas, and save my sister. Fear expanded in my chest until tears silently tracked down my face.

The little shadow snake zinged across my arm and offered me comfort. As I ran my fingers over its tiny body, my chest felt a little looser, a little less painful.

I wished more than anything that the numb had recharged. Everything was so much easier when I felt nothing.

Now the world burned around me.

ASCHER

THE SYNDICATE

That night…

The media day had been a shit show, and now we were all back in our room. It was past midnight, and the other three alphas slept soundly.

I couldn’t sleep.

Instead, I stared down at my phone, at my father’s message. “Disgrace our family name one more time and there will be consequences. Complete the mission.”

After reading the message for the hundredth time, I began to type out a reply, but stopped once again.

What could I even say—sorry that I’d gotten my ass handed to me by a fae and a delicate fucking princess had had to save my ass? It was beyond embarrassing.

For my father, there were only three things that mattered in life: (1) the syndicate, (2) pride, and (3) loyalty.

My knuckles, with “SPL” tattooed across them, mocked me as I held my phone.

Father had had them tattooed on me when I was eight. I had cried like a little bitch, and he’d slapped me across my face and told me I wasn’t worthy.

When I was nine years old, my father had tattooed the intricate family crest, a symbol of fire and roses, across my entire back. When I was ten, he’d tattooed more flames across my thigh.

Now I’d lost count of how many rose and flame tattoos I had. At some point, I had started getting them myself. A part of me was addicted to the pain, to the act of getting them done.

One for every person I killed.

The fire blazed in the hearth, and I stared at the curling flames as they spoke to me. My horns itched on my head as a quiet voice whispered through the flames. The whispers were soft and complex. They spoke a language I couldn’t understand.

Since as far back as I could remember, fire had always talked to me. I had never met anyone else who could hear the whispers.

My phone vibrated, and I looked down. “We all saw you on the news. He’s not happy,” my best friend Carter had texted.

When your father ran the largest weapons cartel in the shifter realm and you were his only heir, it was hard to find people you could trust.

Carter was one of the few, and I would die for him. He was nineteen and hadn’t yet been tested at the sacred lake. I hated that I was an alpha. It had taken me away from him.

After my ceremony at the sacred lake, the trajectory of my life had dramatically changed. I had been trained to run my father’s syndicate since birth.

Instead, I was now the perfect weapon for his machinations, an alpha my father could control and trust.

As I stared at the fire, the orange flames called to me, and I wondered if my father’s plan was as perfect as he thought.

Lately, I found myself doubting his orders and my allegiance. I wanted to make a name for myself as a war general. I wanted to make my own life.