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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.

Her lips curve into a smirk. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.”

The music ends too soon, and applause ripples through the square. Annabel steps back, her hand slipping from mine. The absence is immediate, like the sudden loss of warmth. Before I can say anything, Jonathan reappears, his presence cutting through the moment like a knife .

He’s holding two cups of cider, one of which he hands to Annabel. His eyes flicker to me, his smile tight. “Enjoying yourself, Calum?”

“Immensely,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Annabel takes a sip of cider, her gaze darting between us. The tension is palpable, electric. She thrives on it—I can see it in the way her eyes shine, the way her lips twitch as if suppressing a laugh.

“Shall we?” Jonathan says, his hand resting on the small of her back, steering her away from me.

She glances over her shoulder, her smile coy. “Don’t be a stranger, Calum.”

I retreat to the edge of the square, watching as Jonathan and Annabel weave through the crowd. He’s speaking to her, his expression tight, but she doesn’t seem to be listening. Her gaze flits from face to face, restless, searching.

It doesn’t take long for Jonathan to lose his composure. They stop near the bonfire, and though the flames distort their features, I can see the tension in his posture, the frustration in the way he gestures.

Annabel tilts her head, her body language casual, almost dismissive. I move closer, staying in the shadows, the murmur of their conversation just within reach.

“You’re playing games,” Jonathan says, his voice low but sharp.

Annabel laughs, the sound light and airy. “I’m always playing games, darling. You knew that when you met me.”

“This isn’t funny, Annabel. You pull Calum into this—into us—and what? Expect me to just stand here and watch?”

Her smile fades, her eyes narrowing. “Into us? Don’t flatter yourself, Jonathan. There is no ‘us.’ There never was.”

His hand twitches, as if resisting the urge to reach for her.

“You and Calum both want me, but neither of you truly understands me,” she says, her voice cutting through the night like glass.

Jonathan flinches, but she doesn’t stop. “You think you can pin me down, define me by your terms. But I’m not yours. I’m not his. I’m not anyone’s.”

The words hang in the air, a challenge and a warning. Jonathan stares at her, his expression a mix of anger and hurt. She turns away, walking toward the bonfire, the flames casting her shadow long and distorted.

I stay rooted in place, the weight of her words pressing down on me. She’s right, of course. Annabel has always been an enigma, a puzzle with missing pieces. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting her, from trying to solve her, even if it destroys me in the process.

The festival continues around me, but it feels distant, surreal. The music, the laughter, the glow of the lanterns—it’s all a backdrop to the storm brewing inside me.

And Annabel is the eye of that storm, calm and chaotic all at once.

I know I’ll go to her again. I always do.

And I always will.