Page 95 of Stroke of Shadows

Harper licked along her bottom lip, her stomach twisted with tension. “Why that memory?”

Ilzake’s cheekbones seemed to move beneath his skin, making them appear even sharper. “Because I’m curious how you’ve mated to a creature without knowing. A creature I can’t identify, even with my many memories.”

Did she really want to give over a memory?

“You keep the memory itself,” he continued, sensing her hesitation. “Only it’s slightly muted. You would no longer feel the emotions remembered. It will simply leave an echo. In return, I’ll tell you how to heal yourself.”

“How do I know you’ll fulfil your end of the bargain?”

The teacup shattered in his grip, the hot tea splashing across the desk. “You insult me. I am Fae; we are of our word.”

Anxiety had wrapped thick vines around her chest, tightening with every passing second.

“So what will it be?” Ilzake urged, his patience worn.

It wasn’t like she had many options.

“I agree.”

The word had barely left her lips before she saw herself astride Sythe, hips moving with her back bowed. It was definitely her, but Harper was seeing it as if she was an observer. Everything was muted–the scents, the colours, and even the sounds. It must have been when they’d mated, but at the time, it had felt like her entire body had a mind of its own. It had been one of the most empowering sexual experiences of her life, and now, as she watched the memory on repeat, she felt nothing.

Harper drifted closer, feeling like a ghost as the memory replayed from the top. Sythe seemed to have watched her the entire time, his expression open and carved with such need, she wanted to reach out and touch.

‘What do we have here?’ a voice rasped through her mind, and with a slow blink, she was no longer looking at her or Sythe, but at her father. ‘So many locked memories,’ Ilzake purred. ‘So much pain and fear.’

Her next memory wasn’t as an observer, her father’s face close to hers, panic evident in his expression as he seemed to be shoving her into somewhere dark. It wasn’t something she remembered, but was unable to look away as a door was slammed, only to rebound slightly to reveal a sliver of light.

Harper shuffled forward, looking through the gap to find her father and a young teenage Wyatt arguing. It was a child’s memory, and unlike before, nothing was muted at all. The knife Wyatt pulled was as long as his forearm, the colour of her father’s blood so bright it looked fake. Time seemed to skip, her father now on the floor with Angel placing a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. Angel reached down, a look of disgust curling his lip as he picked up something metal. With a flick, he snapped open the lighter before handing it over to his son.

Stop, she thought, a sob caught in her chest. Please.

Just as quickly as the memory came, it disappeared to be replaced with reality.

“That was cruel.” Harper touched her cheek, rubbing the tears she hadn’t even known she’d shed.

Ilzake sat back with a grin. “I didn’t take that memory. Although, I’ll offer you a great exchange rate for it. The pain. The terror…” He licked along his lips, his tongue pink tipped with black. “They would be delicious.”

“You haven’t completed the deal.” Harper shot to her feet, trying to shake the memory’s effect. “Tell me how to heal.”

“Take a sip of tea.”

“No, you tell me how—”

Ilzake burst from his seat, backing her up until she hit the opposite wall. His height dwarfed hers, forcing him to dramatically hunch for their eyes to meet. Without his torso moving, his arm reached back for the cup and brought it straight to her face. “Take a sip of tea,” he said once more, holding it to her lips.

Harper went to protest, but the liquid had already hit her tongue.

Chapter 33

Sythe

Sythe sat with as much patience as he could muster, his ears strained towards where Harper had disappeared to.

“You trust him?” he asked Thea, who sat watching him from the corner of her eye.

She sighed, lifting her arm up towards a floating pixie. “Look, you asked for help. Ilzake’s known to have lived amongst the dark courts and is as old as dirt.”

The pixie floated down, a man dressed in all green complete with a little bandana. She ordered, and then with a burst of glitter the pixie was off towards the bar.

---