Page 51 of Stroke of Shadows

She was a Beauchamp, for fuck’s sake.

“Why did you collapse?” he asked again, frustrated with himself. Harper wasn’t his problem. The way she acted, or the way she dressed or spoke.

So why the fuck was he protecting her when he should be back working his way with Wyatt and Angel? She wasn’t an angle he could use, not when she didn’t seem to have much of a voice when it came to her uncle, or her cousin.

“I was overwhelmed,” she said, the lie something she’d clearly practised with the ease with which she’d said it. Except she wouldn’t meet his eyes, her lips thinning before she turned away.

“You’re good,” he said, wanting to rile her up. He wanted something, anything, out of her that wasn’t polite indifference. “But not good enough.” He knew she had emotions, but she was so practised with her replies it made his back teeth ache.

Her head jerked back to face him, those full lips parting. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me the truth.” Sythe leaned forward, captured by the way those fucking eyes watched him. “Why did you collapse? And don’t feed me some bullshit about being overwhelmed.”

He remembered the way her breathing had quickened, and then how her body seemed to just slacken without her consent. She’d been conscious when she was in his arms for a few moments until she’d been pulled under, and his chi had tingled with wild magic.

Druids, even someone like him who held a beast against his soul, couldn’t call or control wild magic. No, that particular magic was reserved from Breed not from this realm. The Fae.

“It’s none of your business, Mr Black.”

Mr Black.

“It’s Sythe.”

He wanted to snarl at her use of his fake name, knowing the urge was ridiculous. He was Mr Black in that moment. That was the whole fucking point.

“Surely you can remember it considering you screamed it when my fingers—”

“They’ll kill you if they find out.” Her head tipped slightly, her hair brushing forward. The rain had dried the strands into a gentle wave barely below just her shoulders. “They can’t know.”

“Is that a threat, darling?” Sythe’s smile widened.

Not a single muscle in her face twitched. “You said you wanted the truth.”

“Seems you have a sense of humour after all.” A smile cut across his face, devoid of any humour. “There’s no need to pretend with me. There’s no audience for you to play to.”

“Don’t insult me.” Her gaze could cut. “Propriety is necessary in my world.”

“Necessary or a shield?”

Her lips pursed, the dark pink tempting even as steel hardened her icy tone. “They can’t know.” Her voice stressed the last word.

Fire seared through his chest, rousing his beast. “They can’t know that you’re here? Or that you collapsed?”

Those eyes of starlight glistened. “Both.”

“Why?”

Harper pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and Sythe locked his body to stop from moving towards her. She looked so fucking innocent. Vulnerable.

He wanted to burn the world just so she didn’t have to feel so exposed, the urge almost as violent as the need to press his lips to hers. To distract her from the secrets she held so tightly to her chest.

He wanted to corrupt her.

Addict her to him, just like he was addicted to her.

“You’re afraid,” he rationalised, watching for a reaction. “If you’re afraid, then why stay? You’re a Beauchamp. You can do anything. Be anyone.”

Her knuckles turned white, hands gripping tightly to her knees. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

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