Chapter 18
In or Out of the Woods…?
Raven
The storm rages around me, a steady drizzle soaking into my clothes, my skin, and grounding me in a way nothing else has in years.
For once, there’s nothing pulling at me. No expectations to meet. No ticking clock reminding me of what I’m supposed to be doing. Just me, wrapped in the untamed fury of the sky.
And I've never felt more alive.
I tip my head back, letting the rain slide over my face, and my thoughts drift to the necklace. I try to remember the memory of my grandmother’s voice weaving through my mind.
I can almost hear it now, the way her voice would drop to a whisper during the magical parts, like we were the only two people in the world who knew the story.
And yet, even as a kid, something about it frustrated me.
Why couldn’t she find love? Why did she have to beg for it? The Queen was powerful, capable of things most people couldn’t even dream of, and yet, she was brought to her knees by the one thing she couldn't control. Her heart.
At this point in my life, though… I kind of get it.
Maybe she was better off without them.
Then again, if I’m being completely honest with myself, who’s the one standing out in the damn rain now? Oh, hey… remember me. The problem. There’s been so many moments where I've wished for the same thing she did. That real, all-consuming, soul-shaking love.
I haven’t exactly had any luck in that department. But maybe that’s for the best.
Still, something about the thought of having to beg the heavens for something as simple and profound as love… hits somewhere deep.
I can picture her now, standing in the middle of the forest, with her arms stretched toward the sky, while the rain pours down, mixing with her tears as she whispers desperate prayers to the universe.
In some strange way, I understand her longing. Her frustration. That deep, aching need to grasp onto something real. Something she couldn’t conjure or create. Someone that would choose her back.
The wind whips around me, curling through my hair, and it's like the storm is mirroring the thoughts tangling inside my head.
But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
My hands slip into my pockets, brushing against the stones I tucked in there. I’ve carried them around, but I still don’t know why. Now, more than ever, I really need answers.
What are they for? What do they do? Why do I need to carry them?
I try to focus on them and how they feel in my hands. Maybe it’s because I’m outside surrounded by nature, or maybe it’s the storm, but I swear they feel warm right now.
And then there’s the necklace. What does it have to do with the stories, and why am I remembering them?
The more I think about it, the more the questions pile up, stacking like dominos with no clear answer in sight. My chest tightens, and I feel a single tear roll down my cheek, mingling with the rain. I spread my arms out, sinking my hands into the mud.
They should be here.
My grandparents should be the ones explaining all of this to me. They always had the answers. Always knew what to say, or what to do. So why did they keep me in the dark about this? What didn't they tell me?
The ache in my chest spreads, feeling like a hollow thing that twists deeper with every thought.
And then, out of nowhere, Kane’s voice cuts through the storm.
Holy fuck.
The butter knife is clenched in my hand, but it’s useless now. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the way he’s looking at me.
That damn smirk doesn't move, but I watch his gaze dip lower, cataloging every inch of me dripping in rain. There’s something in his eyes now, and it's too focused to be accidental.
“I said, why are you looking at me like that?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. My voice is sharper than I meant it to be, edged with irritation, but I can’t help it. I need the irritation, because the way my pulse is hammering isn’t exactly helping my case.
Kane doesn’t answer right away. His jaw ticks, but the rest of his face is carved from stone as he steps closer. Typical Kane, give me nothing and still make me feel everything.
His eyes find mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
“I think the more important question is, why did ye sneak out of the house and come to lay in the mud in the middle of a storm? What the hell were ye thinkin’?”
His accent is thicker now, wrapping around each syllable like a warning. And it hits me hard.
The sound of his voice alone sends a shiver through me, and my nipples harden under the soaked fabric like they're announcing I'm easy.
Damn him.
I readjust, more for attitude than comfort, crossing my arms over my chest as if that will somehow hide the effect he has on me. My thighs press together, and I silently curse my body for betraying me yet again.
“For your information, I didn’t sneak out.” I bite out, every syllable laced with venom. “You said we could make ourselves at home, did you not?”
I don’t give him a chance to respond before more words spill out, fueled by frustration and the lingering adrenaline from thinking I was about to be attacked in the dark.
“I needed to clear my head, and I happen to love thunderstorms.” I lift my chin, daring him to argue. The rain drips down my face, and I'm sure my mascara is halfway to hell by now, but I don’t care. I’m not backing down.
“So I was doing just that. Making myself at home and enjoying nature.” My breath comes faster, my chest rising and falling like I'm gearing up for a fight I'll probably lose. “If that wasn’t allowed, then maybe you should have made that clear.”
He doesn’t say a word.
His eyes stay locked with mine, stormy and dangerous, a mirror of the one tearing up the sky.
Who does he think he is, acting like I need a babysitter? No one told me I couldn’t come outside, and there sure as hell wasn’t a sign warning against it. I checked.
I stood by the door, waiting, half-expecting some sort of alarm to blare the second I stepped outside. But nothing happened.
His frame blocks out everything, and my pulse thunders in my ears like I've already lost. I dig in my heels, refusing to let him see how rattled I am.
The wind slaps my hair into my face as lightning rips the sky open, flooding the world in white light for a second.
And he still doesn’t look away.
Finally, he exhales. “Aye, ye’re right. There wasn’t any rule about goin’ outside, I just—”
He stops and clenches his jaw.
I don’t fill the silence just because it’s there. I'm not doing that shit anymore. Instead, I stare him down, waiting for him to finish his damn sentence.
“I just didn’t think that ye’d come outside, I guess.” His hand flexes at his side, before curling back into a fist.
I lift a brow. “Oh, so you didn’t think I’d come outside because I’m a girl and might get dirty?”
I wave a hand down my body at my soaked clothes and my mud-smeared legs. Walking disaster, right here.
“Hate to break it to you, but I think I’ve already crossed that bridge.”
His gaze drags down over my bare, muddy feet, before crawling back up again.
I catch the flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and damn him, because it’s doing more damage to my resolve than anything else he could say.
There's curiosity in his eyes now, like he’s trying to figure me out.
“Probably because it's the middle of the night, in a place ye don't know, in a country ye’re not from, and it's—” he cuts a hand toward the storm-filled sky. “Well, this.”
His voice drips with frustration as he runs his hand through his hair, that's now messy and wild from the rain. Droplets cling to the strands as they tumble over his forehead. The gesture is careless, yet entirely him.
And just when I think he’s about to walk away, something shifts. His expression hardens in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
It’s that look again, the one that sends a shiver racing down my spine, pooling low in my stomach.
His eyes pierce through me, but beneath it, I can feel his restraint. And somehow, that’s more dangerous than the storm around us.
The air crackles with tension that has nothing to do with the lightning overhead.
I watch his chest rise and fall in a way that tells me exactly how hard he’s working to stay in control. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn't need to. But his eyes drag over me like a physical touch, unraveling something inside me that I don’t fully understand.
My skin hums with awareness under the weight of it. And as much as I hate myself for it… it turns me on. It’s like Niagara fucking Falls with him.
“I didn’t think about any of those things, if you want to know the truth,” I admit quietly, rolling my eyes to cover the unease creeping in. My arms drop to my sides, no longer a defensive shield between us and I look away, trying to ignore everything that's happening.
“I just needed to be outside.”
The admission feels like a mistake the second it leaves my lips. It’s too open. Too raw. And I hate that I feel the need to explain myself to him. But it’s too late to take it back now.
I force myself to meet his gaze again, hoping my face doesn’t betray the storm raging inside me. A storm he seems to have complete control over right now.
He pushes the rain-soaked hair off his forehead, and for a second I see something real. Then it's gone, replaced by that damn mask.
Then he’s right there, towering over me.
He’s too close. And not close enough.
Tension rolls off him in waves, crashing against me, mingling with the storm’s wild electricity. My skin prickles, making every hair on my arms stand up and I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him right now.
He brushes my cheek, light enough I could pretend it never happened—if only my pulse wasn't screaming otherwise.