Page 93 of Stroke of Shadows
He turned his attention to Harper, black eyes glittering with curiosity. He smiled, and Harper couldn’t look away. She felt like she was falling, the black of his eyes expanding until it ate away at the edges of her peripheral.
A large snarl broke through her trance, and Harper fell against the table.
Sythe had ripped Ilzake from his seat, a forearm pressed to his slim throat. The sight looked ridiculous, with Ilzake being well over a foot taller and long limbs splayed as he was shoved heavily against the wall. The momentum had broken a few of the shelves, the pixies screeching as they tried to catch some of the falling debris. Glitter fluttered all around, covering both Sythe and Ilzake as they spoke in ragged whispers. Sythe’s words, nor Ilzake’s replies, carried the short distance. But both were rigid with anger.
The general chatter of the pub had silenced, and Harper felt all the attention falling on her when Sythe stepped back and Ilzake slipped down the wall, his knees almost at the height of his head when bent.
“Your mate seems a little protective,” Ilzake said, his teeth hidden behind thin lips.
“Careful,” Sythe warned, his expression not so friendly.
Mate. It was the second time she’d heard the phrase today and wasn’t sure what it meant in relation to the situation.
Standing to his full height, Ilzake reached for the broken shelf, putting it back in its place. “It seems we’ve got off on the wrong hand.”
Thea barely contained her laughter. “It’s foot. We’ve got off on the wrong foot.”
Sythe’s fists clenched on the table. “Is this seriously the only person who can help?”
“You insult me now, not druid?” Ilzake looked offended. “Only those of Fae are welcome here, and yet I allow you to remain. So, why are you here?”
“Harper’s sick, and you’re the only High Lord I know,” Thea said in explanation.
Ilzake’s nose wrinkled, as if to snarl. “You’re all wasting my patience.”
“Harper’s aura’s grey.” Thea pursed her lips. “She doesn’t… She was brought up human.”
“Human?” Ilzake looked between all three of them. “Sick.”
“Yes,” Sythe growled. “She’s sick. I know your kind don’t do anything for free. So tell me what you want, and in return, you’ll help us figure out a way to heal her.”
Ilzake cocked his head, and a minute passed before he nodded. “What if what I want is something you don’t want to give?”
“Try me.”
“I want your mating bond.”
Sythe’s irises swirled to liquid silver, followed by a heavy vibration through his chest. She was fascinated by them, because she wasn’t entirely sure it was only Sythe who looked out of those eyes of molten metal.
“I want the memory of it,” Ilzake continued, taking a step back. “The exact moment your souls connected to create that bond.”
Sythe clenched his jaw, his anger palpable. But his voice, when he replied, was hoarse, almost broken. “That’s not mine to give, it’s Harper’s.”
Ilzake’s black eyes met hers, but she immediately concentrated on his flat nose.
“Accompany me to my office, but only her,” Ilzake added when Sythe went to follow.
“I don’t fucking think—”
“It’s okay,” Harper reassured him. “I’ll be okay.”
Sythe looked like he wanted to argue, but Ilzake had already disappeared into a back room. Harper wasn’t sure what to expect when she passed through the hanging beads, but a small room with a single desk wasn’t it. Ilzake folded himself into his chair, long legs yet again unable to stretch beneath the desk.
The ceiling was just as tall as the other room, but instead of the cloud and candlelight, there were shelves, each filled with books and trinkets. At least, that’s what Harper thought they were. There was no ladder to reach the highest point, so she just assumed Ilzake had the arm length to reach.
“You asked Sythe for the mating bond,” she said when he simply watched her.
“I did. Is that a memory you’re willing to give for an answer?” Ilzake stretched his arm to one of the shelves, bringing down a crocheted doily. He placed it at the edge of his desk before reaching up once more, this time bringing down an ornate teapot.