Chapter 23
23
SHILOH
The ballroom is a swirling kaleidoscope of color and sound, filled with the rustle of costumes and the hum of excited chatter. Dom and I stand on the fringe of the crowd, both of us satisfied observers of the spectacle before us.
My chest swells with pride and relief to see the success we had a hand in creating. Weeks of planning, mind-numbing committee meetings, and one very awkward phone call to my estranged stepbrother have all led to this magical moment.
And if I drink enough, I might be able to tune out Melanie’s gloating.
I turn to Dom, allowing myself a moment to appreciate how devastatingly sexy he looks in his costume. The flickering candlelight casts shadows across his chiseled features, while the perfect fit of his tailcoat has me wanting to sink my teeth into those deliciously broad shoulders.
“You know,” I say, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, “if your hair was a bit longer, you'd be the spitting image of Johnny Depp in Sleepy Hollow.”
Dom's lips quirk just a little, though his eyes never leave the crowd as he determinedly maintains an air of bored indifference. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Though I must point out, that film was set over a century after the Connecticut witch trials. Are you accusing me of missing your theme, Oh Great Avalon Lore Expert?”
“Can't you just let a girl tell you that you look hot without being such a smartass?” I roll my eyes, nudging him with my elbow. “Although…if you wanna talk about missing the theme, Melanie will have your balls if you don’t put that mask on.”
He huffs a frustrated sigh, the final piece of his costume still hanging off his finger. “The fuck has my life become?” he mutters before pulling the elastic over his head. The mask is a twisted, black web of spray-painted wicker that obscures the top half of his face and reduces his eyes to glinting obsidian. I wouldn’t be surprised if anyone mistook him for some pagan deity, this imposing creature that would give any sane human a heart attack if they came across him in the middle of a cornfield.
“Fuck me, that thing is terrifying…why am I turned on right now?” I speak low enough that only he can hear me as I stare wide-eyed at the monster that towers over me.
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he leans in close, his breath hot against my cheek. “I’m glad you like it. And you, my little Shy Girl, look tempting enough that every man and woman in this room would likely sell their soul to the devil, just for the chance to touch you.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks, and I glance around nervously, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we're standing. Thankfully, the mask of swirling black lace I’ve fastened over my own eyes should obscure the worst of it. Otherwise, it might be obvious to passersby that my stepbrother is whispering salacious things to me right now.
My heart races with the desire to reach out and touch him, to claim him as mine in front of everyone. But I know I can't. The thought of being at the center of Avalon’s scandal of the year makes my stomach churn.
“Behave yourself, Dominic,” I murmur and take a sip of my drink, savoring the burn of alcohol as it slides down my throat. It’s refreshing, though nothing seems to heat my veins quite as easily as the man standing next to me.
Our flirtatious bubble pops when I spot Ruby and Jemma pushing through the crowd toward us, their faces flushed with excitement and no doubt several drinks of their own.
“Shiloh!” Ruby calls out, grabbing onto my arm. “Come on, girly, you have to dance with us! The DJ is killing it tonight.”
I hesitate for a moment, caught between the desire to stay with Dom and the pull of my best friends. Turning to him again, I ask, “Want to join us?”
The girls exchange confused looks, clearly surprised by my warmth toward the guy I ranted so furiously about only a couple of weeks ago.
Dom's face remains impassive as he shakes his head. “Dancing isn't really my thing. You go ahead.”
Disappointment twists in my chest, but I paste on an understanding smile. It was a long shot anyway. I follow my friends to the dance floor, casting one last, longing glance over my shoulder at Dom's brooding figure.
The music pulses through me as I lose myself in the rhythm of the bass. Ruby and Jemma flank me either side, our bodies moving in sync as we twirl and laugh together like we have on so many wild nights at The Cauldron. For a little while, I forget about the pressure of organizing this event, the constant confusion of strange happenings that have plagued me in recent weeks, and the ever-present weight of my growing feelings for a man I’m not sure I can depend on.
When the beat transitions into a slower melody, I turn, breathless from all the dancing, and blanch a little as I’m met with Greyson's intense gaze.
“May I have this dance?” he asks, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as a hand extends toward me.
I hesitate, reading the not-so-innocent look in his eyes, but before I can politely decline, a hard body presses itself against my spine. Dom's voice cuts through the music, cold and sharp. “Ask someone else. Shiloh's not interested in you.”
Greyson's face flushes a deep crimson as he sputters, “I-I wasn't...I didn't mean…”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Dom talks over him. “Save it. Everyone can see you've had a pathetic crush on her for a while. It’s time to let it go before you really embarrass yourself.”
My eyes widen in shock at his blunt assault. “Dom! Can you shut the fuck up for a second?” I interject, thoroughly mortified. "I'm so sorry, Grey, you didn’t deserve that. Can we talk about thi–”
Before I can even finish my sentence, Greyson mumbles something about getting another drink and hurries away. I whirl on Dom, anger bubbling up inside me. “That was a dick move. Greyson and I have been friends for years, I was going to let him down easy.”
Instead of bothering to respond, Dom pulls me close as the slow song continues. His arm snakes around my waist, holding me firmly against him as he leans down and whispers, “I don't ever want to see another man's hands on you.”
A molten heat licks down my spine at his words, and I struggle to maintain my disapproving expression. Part of me wants to push him away, to scold him for his caveman behavior. But another, more primal part of me, is thrilled at his possessive attitude. His confession feels almost… permanent.
We sway together, the tension between us palpable. I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch–of the warmth of his hand on my exposed lower back and the intoxicating scent of his cologne. The rest of the crowd fades away until it's just us, moving gently to the music.
“What will happen now?” I whisper against his shoulder, too nervous to let him see the vulnerability in my eyes. “This whole Ball business is over and done with…Will you go back to New York soon?”
I feel his body stiffen ever so slightly, the hand on my spine clenching into a tight fist before relaxing again only a second later. “I haven’t figured out the details yet,” he mutters into my hair. “My father has been threatening to send a hunting party if I don’t return to the company soon. But who knows…Maybe I’ll sell my shares and leave. Or maybe I’ll take over and you can come and join me, you wouldn’t have to work anymore if you didn’t want to.”
My jaw almost hits the floor at his suggestion, my lips gaping open with an audible pop! I’ve barely sorted out my own feelings about everything that’s happened between us, and he’s been thinking about us living together in the future?
“Dom… I, um, I don’t know what to–”
“There you are!” We spring apart as Melanie’s shrill greeting almost bursts my ear drum. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Dominic! We need your help judging the costume contest. I’m sure I must have mentioned it to you!”
Dom stares at her blankly, his expression betraying nothing of the fierce annoyance I know he must be feeling. “I'm not interested.”
But Melanie, the ever-persistent first daughter of our humble town, doesn't back down without a fight. “Oh, come now. You're our generous sponsor! Judging the contest is part of your role.”
I bite back a giggle at Dom's obvious displeasure. “She's right, Dom,” I say, unable to resist the urge to tease him a little. “You should go help.” I don’t feel like adding that I’m not quite ready to iron out the details of whatever future he’s supposedly envisioning for the two of us.
The glare he shoots me could melt reinforced steel, but I simply smile innocently in return. With visible reluctance and a grumbled goodbye, he follows Melanie, leaving me alone in the middle of the dance floor.
As I watch him disappear into the crowd, I can't help but feel my amusement overshadowed by something deeper, more visceral. Even as I threw him to the wolves–or rather, to a simpering Melanie–a part of me already craves his return.
Turns out I’m royally fucking fucked, I guess. Surely, I’m not about to pack up and skip town for this guy… I wouldn’t do that… Would I?
The swirling possibilities bounce off the inside of my skull until a dull ache has formed at my temples. I decide I desperately need some air, though that’s as far ahead as I can think right now. Slipping away from the raucous crowd, I make my way through the entrance hall and out into the frigid night.
The grounds of Fairchild Manor are eerily quiet compared to the bustling party inside. Moonlight casts long shadows across the overgrown lawn, and a light mist is rolling in from the woods beyond. It’s not a cornfield, but still a very ideal setting for a horror movie. It makes me smile–but it quickly fades.
As if on cue, I spot a figure in the distance, creeping out from the enormous shadow cast by the manor itself. They're shrouded in a hooded cloak and wielding something that glints in the bluish glow of the moon. For a split second, my heart races with genuine fear, my muscles seizing with the memory of the last couple of times I’ve seen a figure suddenly appear on this estate. But then I remember that I’m at a fucking costume party, and hundreds of people here are cloaked and masked. I chuckle to myself with a shake of my head.
Whoever it is gets steadily closer, before pausing on the grass maybe twenty feet from me and raising that shiny object in the air. It’s a meat cleaver. Or, at least, it’s probably a fake meat cleaver, not unlike the one that Dom chased me through the house with that day we ended up in the library.
I hope this mystery person doesn’t expect a similar happy ending.
I snort at the thought and raise my hand to wave, ready to congratulate the guest on their costume. But they don’t wave back. They just stand there, as if they’re watching me from beneath that hood. The silent face off lasts long enough that I start to get a little uncomfortable…
Why the fuck are they out here in the grounds instead of enjoying the party inside? And why are they just standing there instead of saying hi? Everyone in this town knows each other…
“Alright then,” I mutter to myself, turning to make my way back inside and leave whoever it is to their creepy vigil.
But the moment I take the first step, the mystery figure launches into a sprint. Heading straight for me.
“Nope!” I yelp, long since sick of being chased around this damn place. I shoot back toward the house, my heels sinking into the grass with every laborious step.
I barely make it a few feet before they tackle me, a small shriek bursting from my lips as I fall to the damp ground.
“What the fuck?” I shout, wriggling furiously until I can flip onto my back and shove the asshole off. In the scuffle, their hood falls back, revealing a grotesque rubber mask of a snarling man dripping in blood.
It takes me half a second to notice the erratic tufts of gray hair sticking out from all over the guy’s head. “Cornelius?! Is that you ?”
“Got you good, didn’t I?” his gleeful chirp seeps from behind the mask. “Beware of the Butcher! Ha ha ha! Happy Halloween!”
He scampers away too fast for me to plant my foot between his legs, leaving me raging in the damp grass. “If there is mud on my dress, I will cut a bitch,” I grumble to myself as I clamber to my feet.
The adrenaline soon drains from me, leaving me exhausted and my feet aching from trying to run in stilettos. With a low groan, I begin a slow dawdle back towards the front of the house, remembering that I left a pair of flat ballet pumps in Dom’s car for this exact reason.
Thank fuck he asked me to put his key in my purse.
I find Dom's car easily in the nearest corner of the adjoining field and pop the trunk. With a sigh, I start rummaging through its contents. In my search, I pull out a backpack, unsure as to where Dom might have shoved my shoes while he was packing up our costumes this morning.
But when I pull down the zipper, I don’t find a pair of shoes inside. Instead, I come across a leather notebook. My notebook…one of my old journals. Except it’s not just one. It’s all of them. Every single one.
The faded diaries I poured my heart into for years are sitting in Dom's trunk. My blood runs cold. How the fuck did he get these? And why does he have them?
Excruciating memories suddenly flash through my mind like vicious forks of lighting, and my stomach starts to churn. I’m flooded with all the times I'd written about him, about us– the fantasies, the fears, the deepest parts of myself I never intended anyone else to see.
And he's read all of it.
I'm still standing paralyzed, struck dumb with shock when I hear footsteps crunching across the gravel beyond the fence.
“There you are,” Dom’s voice calls out. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”
The casual familiarity in his voice only fuels the rage building inside me. I hold up the journal in my hand, almost shaking with the urge to launch it at his head. “What the fuck is this, Dominic?”
His expression changes instantly, guilt flashing across his features before he schools them into careful neutrality. It's all the confirmation I need.
“How could you?” I demand, my voice cracking on the last word. “Did you steal these from my house?”
Dom reaches for me, but I instantly back away, stumbling on the uneven ground. “Shiloh, listen–”
“Don't touch me!” I explode. “Why did you really come to town, Dom? Why did you stay? Was this all just some sick game to you? To fuck with me?" A steady stream of tears worms its way down my cheeks. He’s betrayed every last drop of trust he’s managed to leech from me since the day he sauntered into that coffee house.
And I can’t fucking stand him for it.