“Your father,” I said finally, because the quiet was worse than the words and he’d finally relaxed enough to seem okay. “Does he do this often?”
“Only when I disappoint him.” His eyes found mine, and the vulnerability made my chest ache.
I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “Did you tell him?”
When I tried to look away, his hand came up fast, clasping my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. Not gentle, but no one needed that.
“What do you think, little witch?”
The touch burned more than magic ever had. “I think you were bleeding because of a man who doesn’t deserve your loyalty. Even if he only has a fraction of it. People fear you because of his narrative.”
“They fear me because of my actions. Not his.” His thumb traced my cheekbone, a contradiction to his words. “I’m everything they warn their children about.”
“You’re really not.”
“Syn—”
“You’re not.” I leaned into his palm against my better judgment. “You’re the man who plays the perfect soldier so you can save the people you’re supposed to hunt.”
His breathing changed. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” His other hand found my waist, fingers spreading like he was trying to hold more of me than he should. “Like I’m something better than what my father built.”
“Maybe you are.”
“I’m exactly what he made. Weapon. Monster. The thing that goes bump in the night.”
“The thing that currently needs stitches.”
A sound caught between a laugh and groan escaped him. “Always so practical.”
“One of us has to be.”
His forehead dropped toward mine, stopping just short of touching. “This is such a bad idea.”
“The worst.” I needed an escape from this pull to him, but I also didn’t want it. Still, I tried. “How bad does it hurt?”
He managed a rare smile. “Nightshade’s kicked in. It’s better now. Not to worry, I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you might think it is.”
Those endless gray eyes narrowed on me. “Are you worried, Syneca?”
I’d never heard my name sound like that before. Like pure desire. “No. Of course not.”
His fingers tightened on my waist. “Liar.”
“Prove it,” I breathed, the words coming out far too soft, far too wanting.
His thumb traced slow circles against my hip, burning through the fabric. The other hand lifted, brushing a curl back from my face, his fingers lingering against my jaw. “Tell me we’re nothing. Hunter and witch. Natural enemies. Tell me wanting you is just blood loss making me foolish.”
“Is it?”
“No.” Certain. Final. “I’ve wanted you since you stood in that crowd, removed your hood and stepped forward without fear. Since you looked at my father with nothing but defiance and still played the perfect subservient.” His thumb found my lower lip, barely touching. “Since you trusted me at the docks when you had every reason not to.”
My hands had found his chest, palms flat against scarred skin that almost burned. “You know how this will end, Wickett. We can’t.”
