Page 108 of Stroke of Shadows

Harper tried to speak through her gag, but there was nothing but a strangled sound. She bit down, but the cloth simply stuck to her tongue.

Blinking past tears, she concentrated on her surroundings, finding nothing but stacked boxes and crates. The walls were grey and nondescript, with metal beams crossing the high ceiling. She’d been tucked in a corner, the overhead lighting long and rectangular that gave off a slight buzz.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.”

Harper flinched at the familiar voice.

Wyatt walked into view, upper lip lifted into a snarl. He grabbed her by her binds, lifting her onto one of the crates as if she weighed nothing. There was an edge to his gaze, a slight madness that terrified her.

“I’ve hated you for so long,” he said, his tone much calmer than his expression. “You were always the favourite.” Reaching into his pocket, he brought out the lighter, the one engraved with his initials. Her father’s initials. The sight jolted her back to the memory Ilzake had awoken.

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, the gag starting to obstruct her airway.

“Pretty little Harper.” The lighter clicked open, but there was no flame. “So beautiful.”

He tried to flick open the lighter again, and Harper flinched at the sound. Still no flame, so he snapped it closed.

“I was always the fuck up, while you were a pretty bauble, he could parade around like a pet.”

Click. Snap.

“Then there was me, his own child, who couldn’t do anything right.”

Click. Snap.

“Yet look at you now.” He laughed softly, his pupils dilated. He was high, she was sure of it. “His precious niece, the fucking rat.”

Click. A flame appeared, the centre almost white. Harper could feel the heat, held barely an inch from her nose.

Wyatt grinned at her fear, the lighter clicking closed once more.

Harper shook with relief as he pocketed it.

“All this time, it was you who was selling us out. Your own fucking family.”

A fist hit the side of her head, knocking her off the crate and onto the floor. Her bound arms were unable to catch her fall and her hip bone took the majority of the damage. Several boxes toppled, most empty other than packing peanuts. They scattered around her like snow.

Harper’s momentum dislodged her gag, allowing her scream to escape. A woman had fallen from the box, the place where her eyes once were nothing but gaping holes framed in fake lashes. Her lips had already been sewn closed, and a strong chemical scent radiated from her in waves.

“Please!” she begged.

He didn’t give the woman a second’s glance, stepping over her as if she wasn’t once a person. “I can’t believe my father ever chose you, knowing you were nothing but a faerie whore. Fuck, even he couldn’t stick to his fucking faith. Not if he let you live. You should never have—”

“Wyatt,” a deep voice interrupted. “Finish setting up before you kill her.”

Her cousin straightened, looking past her towards the darkness. “I don’t take fucking orders from you.”

Harper blinked, only seeing a large shadow before the man stepped into the light. He was huge, standing several inches taller than Wyatt. His face was boxy, with hair as black as coal and long enough to hit his waist. He was startling, but Harper couldn’t scratch the idea that there was something missing. As if he were wearing a disguise. Or a glamour.

The man lifted Wyatt by his shirt as if he weighed nothing. “Careful how you speak to me.”

“Supernatural prick.” Wyatt fought, but was left dangling for a few seconds before he landed heavily on his feet, face twisted with fury. “We’re equal partners, Gideon. Remember?”

“Equal? Is that what you think?” A dark chuckle. “Go, before you ruin our plans. I wish to thank the woman who gave me what I asked when you failed.”

Wyatt’s face turned a pretty shade of red. “She’s mine to use, not yours.”

“As you’ve made it clear.” Something strange flashed beneath his eyes. “Your mistress is asking for you.”

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