Page 85 of Stroke of Shadows

P.S. Remember the rest of my money.

Harper gripped the phone so tightly her hand ached. If she gave Wyatt the chalice, then he’ll leave her alone for a while. It was something, a beam of light in the encroaching darkness. Tossing her phone on the side, she sucked in a pained breath. The wounds on her back tugged, reminding her that she needed to deal with them before infection set in. Moving slowly, she entered her bathroom, only to pause. A single rose had been placed on the counter, each petal seeming made from the softest velvet. She stepped closer, blinking as if it were a mirage and the deep red was just a figment of her imagination.

“A rose,” a deep masculine voice said from behind. “Beautiful. Strong. Resilient.”

Harper’s heart beat rapidly, her head turning to the side to see Sythe leaning against the doorframe. His eyes travelled along the expanse of her back, the skin and cuts bare to the air.

She didn’t ask how he’d gotten inside, or when he left the rose. Not when he looked at her like that. Like her wounds pained him. Like she mattered.

He didn’t say anything as he moved from his position, his fingers featherlight as they brushed along her shoulder to slip the thin straps down her arms. Harper clutched the fabric at her front.

He guided her to the edge of the tub, and it allowed her to finally look at him, at the slight bruising along his jawline and the spots of red splattering his shirt.

She itched to know what happened, but was too scared to break the fragile tension between them. There was safety in silence. In not knowing.

Harper hissed at the first sting of the cotton across her back.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered so quietly she wasn’t sure he’d even heard. “If they find you in my room—”

“I’m not scared of Wyatt, or your uncle.” The cotton swept across her skin like a gentle caress. “Tell me.”

Harper took a second to understand the question, his fingers hesitating on the largest cut. “It was to wash away my sins.”

Sythe’s fingers paused for the briefest second. “What were your sins, exactly?”

“For saying no to Cruz.” Harper licked along her bottom lip, grateful she couldn’t see his face. “For not being untouched.”

The pain in her back turning to a dull ache as Sythe continued to clean each slice.

“For existing,” she finished on a whisper. “It’s supposed to be an honour to be the vessel.”

“There’s no honour in hurting you.” Sythe’s voice was so rough she turned, only to find his eyes glittering silver.

“You act like I have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

“Not me.” Harper swallowed, unsure how a single man could break so many of her shields. “Not unless I want to be punished. Beaten. Raped.”

Sythe flinched, the silver in his eyes glowing.

“You think you know me, Mr Black? But you know nothing.” Harper straightened herself until she stood tall, her hands slipping down to fist by her sides.

Sythe stepped forward, but she refused to retreat. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, his warm breath a welcome distraction across her skin.

“They’re untouchable,” she said, trembling when he cupped her jaw. “They do horrifying things, and they can’t stop him.”

“No one’s untouchable. Not even Angel Beauchamp.”

Harper tilted her head up, his mouth so close to hers.

“You need to trust me,” he said, and anticipation vibrated her blood.

“Why should I trust you?” There was a crackling in the air, searching for a single spark to ignite. “When you still pretend to be something you’re not.”

His eyes traced her lips before flicking up to meet hers. He didn’t bother denying it. “I know you're the rat.”

Harper tried to pull back, but Sythe only crowded her more.

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