It’s still there, exactly as I left it. The rotting skin. The screaming mouth. The shadow lurking in the background.
And the locket.
I force myself to my feet, my legs trembling beneath me. I approach the painting cautiously, as though it might spring to life again. My hand reaches out, hesitating before brushing against the surface.
The paint is dry.
That can’t be possible. I only just finished it. But the locket, its intricate design, feels as real as the wood beneath my fingertips.
My fingers trace the symbol etched into its center, and a sharp, searing pain shoots through my hand. I yank it back, staring at my palm. A faint burn mark now mars the skin, the symbol etched there like a brand.
Panic grips me, and I stumble backward, knocking over achair in my haste. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I clutch my hand, the pain searing and unrelenting.
The room feels colder now, the air thick with an unseen presence. I turn toward the mirror above the fireplace, and my reflection stares back—pale, haunted, and barely recognizable.
But there’s something else.
In the mirror’s corner, just behind me, a shadow moves.
I spin around, heart pounding, but the room is empty. Only the painting remains, its grotesque image seared into my mind.
I back away slowly, unable to tear my eyes from Annabel’s face. Her scream feels eternal, a silent accusation that I’ll never escape.
And then, as if in response to my fear, the wind picks up again, rattling the windows. The cottage groans, the fire sputtering weakly. The shadows stretch and twist, reaching for me once more.
I sink to the floor, clutching my knees to my chest. My mind races, searching for answers, for any explanation that makes sense. But deep down, I know there’s only one truth.
Annabel isn’t gone.
And she isn’t finished with me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jonathan–past
I’m losing her.
Annabel stands on the sidewalk outside The Chelsea waiting for a cab, her back to me, the wind tearing through her hair and whipping the hem of her dress around her legs. She’s the picture of defiance, an untouchable goddess who knows the power she holds over mortal men. I’ve been waiting out here for her all morning. I watched Calum leave hours ago–probably for a meeting before they head back to Ravensreach.
“Turn around,” I demand, my voice sharp, cutting through the cacophony of city chaos.
She doesn’t move, her posture rigid as she refuses to look at me. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Her words, so dismissive, slice through me. I take a step closer, reach out to her and then think better of it. “You didn’t say that last night,” I reply, venom lacing my tone. “Or have you already forgotten?”
Her shoulders tense, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. Good. She deserves to feel as raw and exposed as I do.
“Last night was a mistake,” she says finally, her voice barelyaudible over the wind tunneling down 23rd Street. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“A mistake?” I laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and hollow. “That’s what you’re calling it? After everything we’ve been through, everything I’ve done for you?”
She turns then, her eyes blazing with that familiar fire that both infuriates and captivates me. “What have you done for me, Jonathan? Besides marry my cousin and make my life more complicated?”
The accusation stings, but I press on, my anger fueling me. “I’ve protected you. I’ve been there for you when Calum was too busy chasing his dreams to notice you were drowning. I’ve loved you in ways he never could.”
“Loved me?” she snaps, her voice rising with fury. “You don’t love me, you’re just trying to shape me into something I’m not. You’re more like him than you think, you know.”
“Don’t compare me to him,” I growl, stepping closer. “Calum doesn’t even know who you really are. He’s in love with some fantasy, some perfect muse he’s conjured up in his head. But I see you. I see the cracks and the flaws, and I still want you.”
