Harlow defiantly lifted her chin, putting on an air of confidence. I could still taste her fear in the air exhaled from her lungs. It was intoxicating, calling to the primal shadows within me, especially in this form.
The changes to who I was when I shifted were more than aesthetics. There was no smoke and mirrors here. My instincts to become the deadliest predator in these fields magnified tenfold. I thrived on the fear this form invoked in my prey.
“Does it hurt?” The slight tremble in her voice testified to the fact that she wasn’t as fearless as she pretended to be. But it was the actual question that captured my intrigue.
She wanted to know if it hurt?
I went eerily still, the same unnatural stillness that came over me when I was dangling on my cross frame.
Then laughter erupted from me.
“You want to know if ithurts?” The disbelief saturated my tone. “Which part, kitten? When I swap flesh and bones for straw and sticks? Or do you want to know if my soul feels any pain?”
I dragged a fingertip beneath her chin like one gives an approving stroke to a well-behaved cat. Let her feel the coarse texture of my touch, the abrasive surface of dried foliage, against her delicate skin.
“Both,” she replied. “I want to know where Bale ends and the soul of the scarecrow begins.”
“Pain is irrelevant. There isn’t a part of me that exists without the other.” I leaned in, grinning from husk-formed ear to husk-formed ear. “Sorry to put a hole in whatever savior complex you might have going on.”
She swatted at my hand, still positioned under her chin. Instead of backing off, I doubled down and wrapped it around her dainty little throat. Fuck, it felt more fragile than the dried leaves beneath my boots.
I merely held onto her, firm enough to guide her where I wanted but not putting her in physical distress.
Both her hands wrapped around my forearm, nails dug in, but I felt nothing. It was so much easier to wash away the mess of thoughts she brought to my head when my brain only craved the thrill of watching prey realize they can’t escape their fate.
Instead of her confidence buckling under my intimidation tactics, she held steady.
Stubborn kitty.
Harlow glared at me with those intense emerald eyes; the irises burned fiercely. Her inner hunter vibrated beneath the surface with feline ferocity.
“You’re full of shit. I know exactly what you’re doing,” she boldly accused.
“Is that so? Enlighten me, kitten.” I stroked my thumb over the rapid pulse in her neck.
Pinning me with a look that threatened to light my straw bits on fire in all the sinfully delicious ways, she faintly smiled.
“All this is just your way of showing another piece of yourself, the way you see yourself in the mirror.”
I hummed. “Very psychoanalytical, Harlow. But I will let you in on a little secret.”
Ever so slightly, she dipped her chin, making it clear she was fully listening. My hand readjusted its position on the column of her neck, a reminder of the power of my restraint up until this point.
“When your corpse hits the dirt and your lungs are riddled with straw particles from choking to death on my cock, I think you’ll have a very different opinion.”
Wicked satisfaction filled me at the way her whole body tensed. Finally, I was rattling her resolve.
“You hate me yet?” I raised one stitched brow.
Her denial came in the form of a whisper. “No.”
I smirked. If she didn’t hate me, then I would make her fear me.
Hellfire lit up in the abyss of my eyes, and my hand squeezed her throat just enough to send a dangerous message. If she wanted to see all of me, she was going to get more than she bargained for.
“Let’s put that to the test.”
Forcing myself to release my hold on her neck, I leaned in close. Dragging my nose over the angle of her jaw, I breathed in the scent of her.
