Chapter 25 #3
The look on his face is dark and intense. A shiver runs through me, which is ridiculous, considering the hot flash I just had. He's ice, and I'm the one overheating.
Shit. I can feel my hands start to tingle and warm, and I force myself to keep moving, to focus on the rhythm instead of whatever the hell is happening. Why does this always happen at the worst times?
He’s effortlessly in control of every move we make as we swirl around the dance floor. As soon as I try to get a better look at him, he spins me and suddenly, he’s gone. Just like that, I’m in the arms of a new partner.
The intensity of the moment lingers, leaving me breathless. We didn’t exchange a single word, yet it felt like something just passed between us.
This dance is a whirlwind, each new partner barely giving me time to catch my breath. Laughter spills from my lips, and every now and then, I catch Rachel’s gaze across the room, and we exchange grins.
When the song ends, I step off the dance floor, and head toward the spot Rachel and I agreed on earlier. I need a moment to breathe.
I don’t get very far before the prickle at the back of my neck is back. Sharper this time.
I look around expecting to see nothing, but when I look to my right, there he is. The brick wall.
My heart stutters and those butterflies in my stomach lose their goddamn minds.
He leans against a column, all sharp edges and devastating precision, like something straight out of a dream. Or worse. Depends on the lighting, and my luck.
A wicked, knowing smile tugs at his lips, like he’s fully aware of the effect he has on me. And damn it, something about him feels achingly familiar.
I blink, and he’s gone. Melted into the crowd so seamlessly I almost question if he was ever there at all.
Umm… okay? That wasn’t weird at all.
Rachel appears out of nowhere, wrapping me in a tight hug.
“This is so much fun!” She exclaims, her grin so bright it's almost contagious. “Are you having fun? Dance with anyone exciting?”
I laugh, shaking off the lingering unease. “Yes!! I honestly can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.”
It’s not a lie. The night is pure magic. And right now, in this dress, I feel like the Winter Queen herself, draped in stardust and mystery. Every single penny spent having this gown made was worth it.
Everything is perfect. The hum of conversation, the golden flicker of candlelight against the glass, the distant echo of laughter. Everything's spun in elegance, and it's intoxicating.
Rachel, unsurprisingly, soaks up attention like it's oxygen. Like moths to a flame. Her dress is a weapon. Blood-red silk hugs her every curve like sin itself. The slit alone should be illegal. The neckline's worse. It’s giving major Jessica Rabbit vibes.
I stand back watching her, and judging by the pack of men hanging onto her every word? Yeah, she knows it.
She beams. “Why have we never come to a ball before?”
I don't get the chance to answer before a tall man with a deep accent is in front of us. His mask is adorned in shimmering blues and purples that compliment his eyes. “Your dance cards aren’t full for this next song, I hope?”
Rachel curtsies while her voice dips into dramatic elegance. “Of course not, good sir.”
The man chuckles, offering his hand.
“I’ll find you,” she calls over her shoulder as he whisks her away. “Make good choices!”
I roll my eyes. Unlikely.
That’s my cue. With the chaos of the ballroom swirling behind me, I slip out into the hall, heading for the one place that’s been pulling at me all night.
The library.
I slow down when I see two security guards standing at attention. They scan the hallway, not missing a thing.
I didn’t really think this through.
I watch one of them raise a hand to his earpiece. There's a pause before they exchange glances. And just like that, they quickly move down the hall in the opposite direction.
My heart rate picks up. What luck.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady my breath as I slip through the heavy doors. The shift is immediate. The music, the voices, the noise, it all melts away.
Now which way?
I close my eyes, piecing together the layout from the last time I was here. Instinct pulls me right, and I follow—hesitating only long enough to second-guess myself.
Each step echoes softly against the plush carpet. My heart races, torn between oh hell yes, and what the fuck am I doing?
After a few more steps, I find what I'm looking for. The library smells exactly like I remember—old paper, polished wood, and something almost… charged.
“Thank you,” I whisper to no one.
A shiver ripples through me as that familiar, high-pitched ringing fills my ears. Only, it’s sharper this time. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to stop, because I don’t have time for this.
The library is dimly lit, but scattered lamps cast a golden glow, illuminating the towering shelves and intricate details of the space.
I move quickly, following my memory to the large desk in the corner.
And then I see the painting that stopped me in my tracks the first time I saw it.
It's a couple frozen in time, their clothes are straight out of a history book.
My eyes are on the man first—tall, broad, and has a chiseled jaw.
He's the whole brooding package for a guy centuries old.
His eyes burn through the canvas, following me with an intensity that makes me wonder if the paint itself is still wet.
I swallow hard.
There’s something timeless about him. Something that tugs at the edges of my memory.
I step closer, caught in his stare. My fingers hover over the canvas—not quite brave…or dumb enough to touch anything. A gut-punch of déjà vu slices through me, sharp enough to steal my breath. My heartbeat hammers in my ears, but my focus shifts to the woman at his side.
She’s beautiful, of course. It's the kind of beautiful that feels intentional. Her hair is falling in waves down her back, and her expression is soft, and almost dreamy. But there's something else. The way she looks at him is loaded, like they're in on some secret the rest of us aren't invited to.
I can’t shake the feeling that this painting means something important, but what?
Then, I see it. The dagger.
How did I not see this before?
Its hilt is embedded with stones eerily similar to mine, but it's not quite the same.
The stones in this one are black, swallowing light instead of reflecting it.
Just like the one stone I usually keep in my pocket.
I think back to the daggers in the display case we saw.
I wonder if this one is in there. Maybe I can get a closer look.
The rest of the painting is rich, vibrant, and alive with color, yet the stones seem to pull everything into them, leaving only emptiness.
I lean in closer, studying every detail.
The dagger couldn’t possibly be connected to mine, could it?
I tear my gaze from the weapon, looking back up at the man. His stare feels like it’s anchoring me in place. The longer I stare at him, the stronger the pull grows. It’s a recognition I can’t explain.
Then, the scent of mint and pine hits me.
I take in a deep breath, and the crisp, woodsy scent weaves through the musty smell of old books. I scan the room, expecting to find someone nearby, but I’m still alone.
A shiver races down my spine, and my breath catches in my throat. I glance back at the painting, half-expecting something to have shifted.
Calm down, Raven. You’re overthinking.
I take a step back, forcing myself to steady my breathing.
My gaze drifts back to the woman. There's a crown resting on her head that’s both delicate yet strangely alive. Vines curl through her hair, with a serpent, poised to strike.
My brows furrow as I lean in, fascinated. There’s an inscription beneath the painting, but the words are barely legible in this lighting.
I squint, trying to make out what it says, when I hear a sound. A faint shuffle somewhere in the library.
Shit. I can’t get caught in here. The last thing I need is to get kicked out of a ball. How embarrassing would that be?
Straightening, my breath hitches. The shadows between the towering shelves seem to stretch wider, pressing in around me.
I scan the space, but I see nothing. Still, I can feel it.
The weight of unseen eyes prickles against my skin, and I can feel it in the air, humming with something.
Well, guess that means it’s time to go.
I look around the corner, making sure the coast is clear.
I hear a low, urgent whisper that snakes down my body like ice.
“Raven.”
I freeze. Every muscle locks as I spin, scanning the shadows behind me. Nothing. The library remains still, pressing in like a held breath.
“Raven, open your eyes.”
My pulse pounds in my ears and I know the chill crawling over my skin isn’t from the draft.
“Hello?” I keep my voice quiet, but it barely carries beyond the shelves.
No answer, but the weight in my chest tightens, warning me to move.
I don't hesitate. Turning on my heel, I quickly retrace my steps, slipping back through the doors.
The second I step into the ballroom, warmth crashes into me, and I realize just how cold the library was.
The hum of conversation, the music, the flicker of candlelight, all of it is a jarring contrast to the quiet unease that still lingers in my bones.
My pulse slows as I look around the room for Rachel.
I spot her near the table, her dress catching the light like liquid fire, making her impossible to miss. Relief flutters in my chest, and I make my way to her.
Then I see him, cutting through the room like a blade.
Every movement is effortless. The dark fits him and the sharp lines of his mask only adds to the dangerous allure he wears so well. The crowds parts instinctively as he moves, but he doesn't acknowledge them.
His eyes are on me.