Page 27 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

SAMHAIN DAY

BELLE

Ihand Jack another pumpkin head with a proud smile.

Since he seems to wear them out so quickly, I’m knitting more every day.

Tonight, we will go on a lantern walk to honor the spirits of nature. Last night, we carved pumpkins together by candlelight before I introduced him to The Nightmare Before Christmas, and he got a good chuckle over my initial laughter at his name.

Our pumpkins sit on the bookshop’s front display. I’m still dumbfounded by how his is so much better than mine despite how dark it was. He reminded me how good he is with a knife. He proved it when he used that knife to slice off all my clothes and fucked me on that counter between our pumpkins.

Jack also helped me with an organic altar near the graves of his family. He put stumps together, and I placed a framed picture of Mimi in the center with a few apples, mini pumpkins, and a cameo necklace from her jewelry box. Jack left similar offerings. A few tokens from his wife and children. I baked Samhain bread to feed any visiting spirits, and I couldn’t resist adding a few slices of pumpkin bread. We lit a candle, and I said a prayer to every spirit, begging them to let us find his heart.

I closed the shop multiple times over the past week so we could look more. We even searched the grounds that once belonged to the Diviner. The house was nothing but a crumbling foundation of stones.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid, terrified. I’ve felt Jack’s unease, too. We’ve swapped it back and forth. I’d let him hunt me for eternity if it meant we could stay like this. If he goes back, if we can’t speak to each other anymore, I don’t know how I’ll survive the year.

I’ve fantasized more than once about sharing the holiday season with him, baking gingerbread cookies, taking chilly strolls through the winter woods, and sharing hot cocoa before the fireplace in the room where he first fucked me. I’d read A Christmas Carol to him. And Kidnapped by the Krampus, of course…maybe see if I can change pumpkin spice to eggnog. Then, Jack will wrap me in twinkle lights.

Will we still be able to touch one another? Communicate with the thumbs up and thumbs down? Will he even be able to hear me?

All the thoughts stir unease to pulse through me, making me more fidgety.

I drop a book for the third time in a few minutes while trying to put it back on the shelf.

Jack tilts his pumpkin head slightly, and I feel his softening but protective energy through our bond.

He picks up the book and touches the back of my hand from where I stand on the stepladder. Heat floods my face at the memory of the stepladder…and his cane. Belle. Lifting his hand, he captures my chin. Firm but also gentle and comforting. My nerves are fried. How can he be so calm?

Because I have faith, he says, his voice low but steady. I should be used to him reading my thoughts by now. We will find my heart. It’s no coincidence, Belle. You summoned me on October 1st by the magic in your blood and soul, he reminds me. You belong to me, and I to you. Always.

The warmth of his words competes with the cold dread gnawing at my insides. But the warmth ultimately wins. There’s still so much uncertainty, and the fear of losing him forever feels like needles pushing into my spine.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

“Maybe we should look at the book again,”

I say, trying to distract my mind.

“Maybe there’s something we missed.”

Jack nods, his thumb brushing my chin one last time before he moves back to let me descend the ladder. I love how he touches my waist as I step down, as if he knows how much I need him to be my anchor. He may not see it now, but I chose a Halloween-print dress with a black, lace-up corset bodice with a skirt of subtle glowing Jack-O-Lanterns. Stockings and practical ankle boots as usual.

A voice in the back corner of my mind preys on me with the daggered question. What if these moments are the last time he touches me?

Shaking off the thoughts, I head to the bedroom upstairs, my steps quicker as if I can outrun the weight pressing down on my chest. My fingers fumble with the leather-bound book on the nightstand, which we’ve been poring over for weeks. It’s old, worn with time, and filled with cryptic symbols, spells, and fragmented notes, but I can’t help but feel we’ve missed something.

When I come back down, Jack is already in the back room, waiting. I follow him. One of my seasonal assistants will watch the shop along with Mrs. Kravitson, who keeps vigil, on the alert for any Covenant movement. She’s become a fixture ever since our last encounter. The Council is a breath away, as she’s said.

The low hum of customers browsing fills the air, but we’re far enough away, so it feels like a separate world here. Safe. For now.

I set the book on the table, flipping it open to the beginning. My hands tremble, and I force myself to breathe evenly. I press my lips to a tight seam, reading over the Summoning page again, the one stained with my blood.

Jack traces the spine, following the outline with his thumb and index finger.

Belle, he summons me, tapping the inside of the hard portion of the book. The binding—it’s thicker than the rest.

My breath catches in my chest.

“How did we not notice this before?”

He leans over, inspecting the edge of the pages with his fingers. Without hesitation, he reaches into his coat and pulls out his knife. Perhaps I needed to be deprived of one of my senses. When my head is gone, I rely on touch far more. The difference is minute and thin. Let’s see what’s hiding.

I nod, considering how he’s examined every inch of this book with his head intact. I watch as he carefully traces the rectangular outline at the beginning of the book with the tip of the blade, his movements precise, the steady hand of someone who’s done this a thousand times. The leather binding peels away, revealing an envelope tucked inside. I tear it open in a hurry, gasping at a possible miracle.

“It’s—”

A map, he finishes.

My heart skips a beat.

Before we can do anything, Mortimer jumps onto the table, his little paws pattering. I laugh softly as my cat nudges my Headless Horseman’s hand, purring when Jack scratches his cheeks and his neck. He may be the sweetest cat ever, but it’s clear I am now the spare human. Despite how I rescued him and feed him, Jack is his chosen one.

All right, away with you, feline, Jack chuckles, picks up Mortimer by his scruff, and lowers him to the floor. The cat still rubs against his chosen one’s legs.

Jack opens the map carefully, spreading the old parchment across the table. It’s the manor, he says softly, recognizing the layout. I touch the edges, my thumb brushing the location of the carriage house. But this wing—he taps the far west side closest to our special room—I’ve never seen it before.

A hidden wing. My mind races with possibilities, but before I can speak, Jack turns to me. I’ll go. You stay here and close up the shop. We can meet at the Halloween festival with Mrs. Kravitson after. She offered to accompany you, right?

I nod, my mouth dry as I try to focus. Anxiety presses in on my chest, but I slow my breath and my quickening pulse. I can still hear customers.

“Okay, I’ll see you there.”

I glance at the clock. It’s later than I thought, and the festival will be starting soon. I swallow down my anxiety, forcing a smile.

“I’ll just…make sure everything’s locked up and join you.”

The streets will be full of people for the grand parade. A nighttime Halloween and Harvest Fest with performers in masks, luminaries everywhere, and naturally…parade floats. Dozens of people compete for the best—and often spookiest—float with the prize of $10,000. It always draws a crowd. Crowds that come from miles.

The Covenant would be foolish to make any moves tonight. By tomorrow, the curse will be broken. Jack will be mine. Jack is mine. My husband.

Gloved knuckles brushing my cheek, Jack summons me, his hand straying to my waist. Nothing will keep me parted from you, Belladonna Moore, he says, no doubt reading my thoughts and my emotions. Tonight, I will prove it in more ways than one.

I scrunch my brows, confused, but his knuckles drop, and he removes his hand, flexing the muscles.

After a quick fuck against one of my bookshelves to restore his head so he may search more effectively, Jack makes his way to the kitchen and the back door.

Gathering my composure, I try to steady my hands as I pick up the book, head into the main bookshop, and tuck it under the counter.

I turn toward the front, expecting to see Mrs. K busy with the last of the customers, but the small shop feels strangely empty. The soft lighting seems dimmer than ever. I call out softly, “Mrs. K?”

Silence.

No customer remains. Suspicion preys on my nerves. My assistant is gone, too.

Outside, I can make out the luminaries and silhouetted bodies a hundred yards away or so. Since Belladonna’s Bookshop is located at the edge of the town, it’s directly on the main parade route—but at the end. The crowds are scarcer here, preferring to watch closer to the center of town.

A cold and hollow sensation spreads through me. Anxiety returns tenfold. And hope is a delicate thread as I step out into the shop front, peering past the shelves, but she’s nowhere to be found. The front door is slightly ajar, and cold air seeps through the crack.

That’s when I hear the distant sound of shouts. Angry shouts and a scream or two pierce the night. From what I can make out, bodies have gathered in the street. The sound of breaking glass cuts through the night. And in the center of the street, a large fire roars. Too large.

Panic rises in my throat as I hurry to shut the door, lock it, and set the alarm. I search all over the bookshop.

Mrs. Kravitson is gone.

I rake my hands through my curls, nails digging into my skull. Clutching my throat, I remember Jack’s words: “First, you must take care of your heart. When you put yourself first, you put me first. Your heart is my heart.”

Touching a palm to my pounding heart, I take deep breaths, perform some grounding, sensory techniques, and hurry behind the counter to grab my scarf and hat.

Just as I wrap the scarf around my neck, I sense a presence behind me. The energy in the air has seemed to shift, growing colder. Icy claws scrape along my spine before tap, tap, tapping, tapping.

“My long-lost wife.”

Terror rips through me. That voice! My heart ricochets, my mind reels, and I’m spiraling into a panic attack. Every blood cell in my body congeals while my nerve endings catch a black and horrifying fire.

I speak ten billion prayers in my mind, pleading to the heavens that he’s not here. He can’t be here. An earthquake rips through me at the sound of his boots approaching like the thundering of my heart. But I can’t move. Frozen in my helplessness.

Invisible razor blades slash at my throat when I feel him behind me—his cold shadow and his raging heat. I clench my eyes, battling tears as the man I hate most fingers a few of my curls. It feels like my lungs are bleeding from broken glass.

“More beautiful than ever. Can hardly damn breathe at your beauty,”

he says, voice deep, dark, and velvety, beguiling as he always was.

I’m the one who can’t breathe. My fingers dig so hard into the counter before me, they lose all blood, all sensation.

He grips my arms, pressing himself against me from behind, his shadow devouring me. More muscled than ever, he’s a towering statue, cold marble with nothing but ice in his black heart. Acid scalds my throat from his touch, but I still can’t seem to move. Buried six feet in the earth, suffocating beneath the unstoppable force of my former tormentor. Every single moment spent with him slams against me. Blood, bruises, cracked ribs, teeth marks.

Thaddeus lowers his lips to the back of my head, far too tender for the demon inside him.

“I’ve come to bring you home. Belladonna Thorne.”