And I know, in that moment, that I’ll never be free of her. Not while I’m alive. Not even after.
Chapter Seven
Calum–past
The festival feels like a fever dream. Lanterns swing from poles, their amber light flickering against the black velvet of the night. Laughter rises in waves, mingling with the crackle of the bonfire at the heart of the square. The air smells of roasted chestnuts and salt, carried in by the sea. Ravensreach dresses itself in this annual spectacle as if to forget its perpetual gloom, even if just for a night.
I stand on the edge of the crowd, the outsider looking in. Always the observer. I’m wearing the suit Annabel liked—black, slim-cut, too formal for this town but just ostentatious enough for her tastes. She said it made me look like a painter who’d stumbled into high society. The irony wasn’t lost on me then, nor is it now.
A band strikes up a lively tune, fiddles and tambourines rattling the air. Couples take to the makeshift dance floor, spinning and stomping as though the night might swallow them whole if they stop. I should leave. The lights, the noise, the sea of faces—all of it presses against me, suffocating.
And then I see her.
Annabel.
She steps into the square like a flame in a sea of shadows. Her dress is deep green, shimmering like wet leaves in moonlight. Her hair falls in loose waves over her bare shoulders, catching the lantern light with every turn of her head. She’s wearing an emerald mask with shimmering black gems at the eyes and she’s laughing, her mouth red like a wound. She clutches Jonathan’s arm, leaning into him in a way that feels deliberate. Proprietary.
He stands taller next to her, his face a mask of pride and unease. Jonathan Grey—the golden boy of Ravensreach, or so he likes to believe. His easy charm and affable grin are dimmed tonight, though. His eyes scan the crowd, hunting. When they land on me, his jaw tightens.
But it’s Annabel who notices me next. Her laughter falters, then resumes, softer, more calculated. Her gaze locks onto mine across the square, slicing through the crowd like a blade.
She doesn’t look away.
I don’t know how it happens, but suddenly she’s before me. Jonathan is nowhere to be seen. Her perfume wraps around me like smoke.
“Calum.” Her voice is silk with an edge of steel, a blade sheathed in velvet. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
Her smile is sharp, the kind that cuts you without drawing blood. “I care about lots of things.”
She steps closer, tilting her head to study me like a painting. The music shifts to something slower, more sensual.
“Dance with me,” she says.
“Annabel—”
“Don’t be boring, Calum.” She holds out a hand, her fingers pale and perfect. The kind of hand you’d see painted on a Renaissance woman, reaching for God. Or maybe the devil.
I hesitate, but only for a moment. Her pull is magnetic, gravitational. I take her hand, and she leads me to the dance floor, past the murmuring crowd. My other hand finds her waist, and the music swells.
At first, it’s awkward. My steps are too stiff, hers too fluid. She laughs, soft and low, her breath warm against my neck. “Relax,” she whispers, her hand tightening around mine. “You’re supposed to be the artist, remember? Where’s your sense of rhythm?”
“Buried under all the eyes watching us.”
“Let them watch.”
She pulls me closer, her body a mere breath away from mine. The crowd blurs, the bonfire a distant glow. All I can see, all I can feel, is her. The curve of her waist beneath my hand, the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her lips part as if to say something but think better of it.
For a moment, it feels like we’re the only ones here, suspended in the glow of the lanterns and the haunting waltz. My heartbeat stumbles, caught between the past and the present.
Her laughter, light and airy, pulls me back. “You’re getting better,” she teases. “Almost like you’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice,” I reply, my voice lower than I intend.
She tilts her head back to look at me, her eyes sparkling with something unreadable. “See? Not so hard.”
“Dancing with you is hard,” I murmur, barely loud enough for her to hear.
