Page 22 of Shackled By Shadows

The familiar walls, the dim light, the stale air, it is all too much. The cabin feels smaller now, more confined. The world outside has left me with no escape from this cage I have willingly walked back into.

I reach up, brushing my fingers on the cold metal at my throat. The necklace gleams faintly in the dim light, a beautiful thing, but no less a reminder of my captivity. The clasp clicks softly as I remove it. The chill of the metal settles on my skin longer than it should.

I set it back in the box from which it came. My fingertips trace the velvet lining, the motion almost automatic before I turn, extending the necklace toward him, my hand wavers, words caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.

To my surprise, he just says, “Keep it.” The softness in his voice startles me. No teasing this time. No sharp edge. Just steady, unyielding calm. “It’s a gift.”

“Keep it?” I repeat, bitterness creeping into my tone.

I force a laugh, but it sounds brittle, hollow even.

“Why would I want a gift from you? Especially one that’s just a prettier kind of prison?”

His lips curl, not into a smirk this time, but something slower, something knowing. The low hum of his chuckle brushes the air between us, disarming and infuriating. “It’s not a prison.” His words come out smooth and gentle. “There’s no magic. It’s just a necklace.”

I narrow my eyes. “But you said I had to wear it to leave.” The accusation slips out sharper than I intend, but I don’t take it back.

His gaze flickers, shadows shifting behind his expression. When he speaks, amusement threads through his words, but there is something else there too, something dimmer. “I never said that.”

My stomach twists. I search his face for the truth, but he gives me nothing, only that maddening, unreadable calm.

I draw in a breath to steady myself. My fingers close around the necklace again, the cool chain against my palm.

The shadows around him deepen, curling in the corners of my vision. I know the motion all too well, the first sign that he will be gone soon.

I swallow hard. “Thank you,” I say finally, the words tasting strange on my tongue. “For showing me.”

He steps in closer, his warmth brushing against me, comforting, dangerous, . . . alluring.

His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, as if giving me a chance to pull away, when I don’t, his fingers brush a stray lock of hair from my face, lingering for a heartbeat. Gently, he cups my cheek, his warm palm against my skin. The tenderness of the gesture steals the breath from my lungs.

I should pull back, I know I should, but I can’t.

His thumb traces a slow, almost absent-minded path along my cheekbone. His touch is featherlight, but it anchors me in place.

I look into his eyes. They are darker than I’ve ever seen them, deep, endless pools where shadows stir and shift. The void in them threatens to swallow me whole. But beneath the darkness, something else flickers—a glimmer of pain that tugs at something deep inside me.

His gaze doesn’t waver. Neither does mine.

“I’m sorry I had to.” His voice is low, raw, stripped of its usual taunt. It wraps around me. The rough pad of his thumb brushes across my cheek in time with the words.

For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.

His fingers flex slightly, as though he wants to pull me closer but holds himself back. “Get some rest,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, rougher. But he doesn’t let go. His hand remains where it is, cradling my face, holding me there, in a way that suggests he isn’t ready to step away, as though there is more he wants to say.

As if, for once, he almost will.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns without another word, the shadows at his back swallowing him whole. The space he leaves behind seems colder. Emptier.

Chapter twelve

Charming as Ever

The next morning, the sharp sound of a knock echoes through the stillness of the cabin, jolting me from a restless sleep.

I shoot upright, breath catching in my throat. For a moment, I’m not sure if I am waking from a dream or a memory. The warmth of his hand on my cheek still lingers vividly as if his touch branded itself there.

I press my fingers to the spot, but the warmth has faded, leaving only the cold.