Chapter 11
Callan
The deep bass of the music thumps into my head, clearing it of any irrational thoughts. Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I flex my right hand. I’m practically useless with this hand, but I managed to split my knuckles by hitting the wall a couple of times.
“Fucking Aidan,” I mutter, sitting up. The skin is raw.
I don’t like the mess. Aidan is a liability when he’s hungry.
Ethan is too busy playing saviour to rein him in.
This damage is my uniform now. It is the only way to keep Annabelle from seeing the cracks.
It’s too soon. This all played out too soon.
I understand why Ethan moved in on her when he did, but it doesn’t change the fact that we weren’t prepared.
She is waiting. She doesn’t know she is waiting for me. She thinks there is only one of us. One man to save her from the wreckage our father caused her. One man to feed her and keep the ghosts at bay. She has no idea she invited not one but three monsters into her home.
I’m out in the cold for most of this testing phase.
I can’t be the man Ethan and Aidan are. Not yet.
She needs to know me. I need to know her.
Not just the file we have on her, but the little things.
What she looks like when she sleeps, the sounds she makes when she tastes something delicious, how she laughs when she finds something funny but is trying not to.
These are the things I need to know. I want to go to her and start learning.
But she will see straight through me. I look exactly like them, down to the matching tattoos, but my attitude isn’t the same as theirs.
It’s distinctive and a giveaway. Ethan and Aidan have played the game since we were kids.
They would swap places in school, with girls, on their driving test. Aidan failed twice.
Ethan passed first time. For both of them.
The only one who can tell them apart is Dad.
Mum was useless. We were too much for her.
She bailed and paid the price. Jack raised us, and we learned early on what he was.
He didn’t tell us, but there were signs. When we were fifteen, Ethan and Aidan decided to follow him one night. I tagged along just to see if they were right.
They were right.
Ethan became obsessed with it. I don’t really give a single shit. Except when it comes to the Harrison family. I walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of my bedroom and look out over the city. The sunlight is blinding.
The three of us are a single unit in her mind. A singular hero with blue eyes and a dark streak. It’s a lie that will eventually choke her, but for now, it’s the only way to keep her from running.
Jack Deveaux was the beginning of her end. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I stare at the blood on my knuckles. It’s a performance I didn’t want to give.
I prefer the quiet observations, the distance.
But I can’t stay away forever. The pull of her is becoming something I can’t ignore.
Ethan doesn’t want me to watch her, but today, I’ve decided.
I will go to the library while she’s at work and look at her.
She won’t know I’m there. I’ll look, watch her, learn her.
She is the only thing that matters. Not the secrets. Not the blood. Just her.
With the decision made, I check the time. It’s after nine. She should be there now. Ethan will have dropped her off, and Aidan will pick her up. They have integrated themselves into her life as we planned to all along. But things have moved forward, and now we need to adjust.
I need to get out of my comfort zone and play the part. Scooping up the keys to my BMW, I head for the lift.
I head for the private garage, almost looking forward to the library.
It is a quiet place, a place where people go to be invisible.
I can do invisible. I keep my injured hand at the bottom of the wheel, the dull throb a rhythmic penance for Aidan’s lack of restraint.
I park outside and look up at the old gothic building.
I kill the engine and sit for a second, watching people come and go through the heavy front doors.
It suits her. Quiet. Serious. Full of stories and ghosts.
Shoving a baseball cap on, I get out and lock the car, adjusting my white tee in this godforsaken humidity that terrorises the UK at this time of year.
Inside, the air is cooler. It’s a busy morning already, as mothers bring their kids for books to keep them occupied over the summer holidays.
It’s nice to see the kids excited about grabbing as many books as they can.
Annabelle is busy in the toddler books section, sitting on the floor and clapping her hands as a small child with curly blonde hair claps along, laughing loudly.
She smiles, and it lights up her face.
I slip into the shadows, around a set of stacks, pretending to look at books, but really, I’m watching her. Her mask slips as the child runs off, but as another runs up to her, waving a small cardboard book in her face, she forces the smile back in place.
She’s good.
She shows the world she is fine, but underneath, we know she is breaking.
“Can I help you?” an older woman asks, her hair pulled back into a tight bun as she peers at me over her glasses. “You look lost.”
“No, I’m fine,” I say, reaching for a book. “I’m just looking for something on…” I glance at the title and cringe. “Young adult vampires.” Apparently.
She purses her lips. “Mm-hm,” she murmurs and walks away.
Replacing the book, I move deeper into the aisle.
From here, I can still see her through the gap between shelves. She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear while she speaks to one of the mothers, then helps a little boy choose between two picture books. Patient. Soft. Too soft for what the world did to her.
She laughs at something the kid says, and the sound catches me off guard. It is small. Real. Not the strained version she gives adults. I want to hear it again.
I stay where I am and watch.
She stands after a while, brushing dust from her smart black shorts, and wheels a trolley towards the back of the children’s section.
Her expression changes the second nobody is talking to her.
It empties out. Every bit of brightness drains off her face until she looks like she is carrying her own body by force.
That is the woman I recognise from the photographs. From the long lenses. From the reports Ethan built into neat files, as if organising her pain made him less deranged for wanting her.
I trail after her, keeping the stacks between us.
She rounds the corner into a quieter section and stops. Her shoulders drop. She closes her eyes for one second. Just one. Then she opens them and starts shelving again.
Her movements are automatic. Efficient. Dead behind the eyes.
I hate that more than I expect to.
Someone bumps my shoulder as they pass. I step away instantly, irritation flashing under my skin. I adjust my cap lower and move to the end of the aisle.
Annabelle glances up.
For one dangerous second, I think she has seen me.
My body goes still.
But her attention slips past me to a teenage girl asking for help finding a fantasy series, and she gives that same polite little smile and directs her where she needs to go. She doesn’t take her there, just sends her on her way.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, already knowing it will be Ethan.
Where are you?
I text back: Out.
He replies instantly: No shit. Where?
My hesitation must annoy him because then he calls. “Eth,” I murmur. “Leave it alone.”
“Where are you?” Ethan asks, voice flat with that particular brand of control he uses when he is one second from violence.
“At the library.”
Silence. Short. Dangerous.
Then, “Tell me you are not near her.”
I watch Annabelle take a stack of returned books from the trolley and place them on a shelf with careful precision. “I’m not near her.”
“Leave.”
“No.”
His exhale is sharp down the line. “Callan.”
“I said no.” I turn slightly, keeping my face angled away from the passing patrons. “I’m watching. That’s all.”
A child darts past the end of the aisle, shrieking with laughter, and I wait until the noise fades. My gaze returns to Annabelle.
“If she sees you, this becomes a problem.”
“I know.”
“You are not built for improvising with her, about why you are so different to Aidan and me. She will notice it immediately.”
“Like she didn’t notice that Aidan did what Aidan does and smashed his fist into a tile when you present a calm, controlled front to her.”
“That’s different,” he bristles.
“Always is when it comes to him and you.”
“Callan,” he warns, but he can get fucked. He knows I’m right.
“I’m staying. She hasn’t seen me. She won’t see me, and if she does, I’ll make it work.” I hang up. That will irritate him more than anything else. He will stop what he’s doing and drive here just to prove a point.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and shift deeper into the aisle.
The old woman with the bun reappears at the end of it, giving me another suspicious once-over.
I pick up the first hardback within reach and open it to a random page, pretending interest. She lingers, clearly debating whether I am stalking, hiding from law enforcement or just some random weirdo with eclectic reading tastes.
Eventually, she walks off again and I shove it back.
Annabelle moves on to the next section with her trolley.
I follow.
She pauses by the returns desk and speaks to the bun-woman. Annabelle nods at something she says. The woman frowns and says more.
Annabelle turns to look over her shoulder, directly towards me. Clearly, the woman who noticed me lurking is telling her all about me. Annabelle looks back to the woman and nods reluctantly. Then she turns and walks straight towards me.
I move to the next stack over and put a row of romance books between us.
Her steps slow.
I can hear the trolley wheels squeak as she stops at the end of the aisle I just left. For a second, I consider walking straight out. It would be easy. Safer. Smarter.
I stay.
“Ethan?” she asks quietly, moving towards me. “What are you doing? You’re scaring Margaret.”
Up close, the exhaustion is worse. Concealer doesn’t hide the faint shadows under her eyes or the bitemark at her throat, but I see them.
“I wanted to see you,” I say, leaning my hand on the stacks and trying to adopt a pose that Ethan would. You’d think it would be easier, seeing as I’ve known him my whole life.
Her brows draw together. “This isn’t going to be a repeat of yesterday. There are kids here.”
Repeat?
Her eyes narrow a little. She studies me, and I feel the difference between me and my brothers like a live wire under my skin.
Ethan would touch her by now. He would take control of the space, the conversation, her breathing.
I take a step forward and force my hand up to cup the back of her neck.
It clamps down, probably rougher than she is used to.
My palm itches, like a thousand bees are buzzing under my skin.
“You’re mine,” I whisper to her. “I get to see you whenever, however, wherever I want.” I yank my hand back, the time limit far past exceeded on skin-to-skin contact.
She stares into my eyes before her gaze drops to my hand briefly and then back up. “Why not just come up to me?”
“You’re busy.”
“Better than scaring Margaret half to death. She’s about to call the police. I’d better go tell her you’re fine.”
Annabelle’s expression looks like this conversation has exhausted her. “I’ll go,” I say quickly. “I’ll pick you up later.”
I start to step around her, but her hand catches my wrist.
It is the lightest contact. Barely anything.
It still sends a bolt of discomfort through me so fast my body reacts before my mind does. I pull back too sharply.
Her fingers drop away at once.
Something flickers across her face. Not fear. Confusion. “I’m sorry. Did I upset you?”
What? I frown at her as she lowers her gaze, almost in supplication.
It breaks a piece of my soul that was barely patched together.
“No, of course not,” I say quietly. I force myself to move into her personal space and cup her face.
This time it doesn’t feel as painful as the first time. “Annabelle, look at me.”
She lifts her eyes.
She looks destroyed. Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone passing would notice. Quietly. Like she has been hollowed out and is trying to make politeness do the work of a soul.
“I’m not upset,” I tell her. “I’m annoyed at Margaret for thinking I’m a creep.”
That gets the faintest reaction. Not a smile. Not quite. A softening. “You were creeping.”
“I was observing.”
“That is worse.”
I give her that slow smile that Ethan has perfected. “Go. I’ll see you later.”
Reassured, she nods and walks back to the cart loaded up with books.
She is going to mention this to Aidan later, he will improvise because he is the king of that, and I will be back in my bedroom dissecting this shift in my natural reactions when I touched her the second time.