Page 82 of Lured By Shadows

“I think you should too,” Oliver added after a beat.

“Thanks,” I chuckled, warmth creeping into my cheeks. “I’ll keep you guys posted if I go through with it.”

Sienna pulled up in front of my place and shifted into park, the engine settling into silence.

“Thank you both,” I said softly, adjusting my bag in my lap. I hadn’t realized how quickly I’d started leaning on them, how naturally their presence had woven into my everyday, or how much it actually meant.

“And also,” I added with a grin as I opened the door, “thanks for today. The ice cream alone made it worth it.”

“It’s brass monkeys out here,” Oliver sniffled dramatically, pulling his jacket tighter. “Close the door!”

I blinked. “Brass monkeys?”

Sienna burst out laughing. “He just means it’s cold.”

Of course, she was basically my personal translator these days, putting up with all his weird sayings like it was her full-time job. Honestly, she deserved some kind of bonus for keeping me from looking totally lost every time.

“Got it,” I laughed, stepping out.

“Have a good night, Ira!” Oliver called after me.

Sienna waved along with him.

As I closed the door and their car pulled away, their voices faded into the night, replaced by the sharp bite of cold air against my skin. I stood there a beat too long, my keys hanging loose in my hand. I could feel myself settling into the routine little by little, letting the small moments build without forcing anything.

And still, beneath that slow sense of stability, there was an undercurrent tugging at the edges of my thoughts, soft but stubborn, refusing to loosen its hold.

Culver.

I wondered what he was doing in that moment and why the space he’d left behind echoed so loudly in my head. If that dumbass Carter had actually managed to shake things loose the way I’d hoped, maybe Culver wouldn’t be looping through my mind nonstop. Maybe I’d be untangling everything piece by piece instead of pretending to.

But that wasn’t happening.

And dragging Carter in my head wasn’t going to fix any of it.

I let myself inside quietly, kicking my shoes off by the door as the house settled around me, dim and calm. My body ached in that dull, end-of-day way—not tired enough to sleep, but too drained to do anything useful—so I padded upstairs, changed into something soft, and collapsed onto my bed like gravity had finally caught up with me.

Staring at the ceiling, I replayed the day in fragments, letting each moment drift through me without trying to hold onto it.

And still—

Culver Scarbrough remained lodged deep inside me, quiet but unyielding. God, he had a pull on me I couldn’t fight, raw and real.

22

“Culver.” Anna’s voice sliced through the howling wind like a lover’s whisper laced with venom, sharp and teasing, as she ascended the crumbling rooftop of the ancient castle. She settled beside me with the grace of a predator born to the shadows, her long legs dangling over the abyss, heels striking the weathered stone in a rhythmic pulse that echoed a forbidden heartbeat. “How are you faring, brother?”

I did not turn toward her. My gaze remained fixed on the valley below, on the cattle moving through the tall grass with their dull, untroubled patience, their movements a monotonous procession. Their mass shifted slowly, peacefully, as though the land itself had forgotten what it meant to be hunted, oblivious to the silent calculus. They grazed without urgency, without awareness, blind to the way death often arrived quietly. Often without warning or spectacle, much as it had claimed legions in the blood-soaked fields of bygone wars.

Their calm felt obscene.

It reminded me too much of the fragile lies mortals built their lives upon, the belief that safety was something earned rather than borrowed, a delusion I had watched shatter time and again.

I perched on the slick moss lining the cracked parapet, the ancient stone pressing into me like the fingers of a corpse long dead but not forgotten. Sensation anchored me, a necessary counterweight against the abyss within. It kept me from drifting too far inward, into the ancient currents of hunger and possession that had shaped my existence through tempests of power and loss.

“There is something stirring,” I rasped, my voice rough, scraped raw by the taste still coating my throat. I dragged the back of my hand across my lips, smearing fresh blood along my mouth and chin, the warmth trailing downward in thin paths. “I sense it slithering nearer, hungry and unrelenting.”

Anna cocked her head, her wild red curls whipping in the gale like flames devouring the night, framing a face as fierce and untamed as her spirit. Her smile held no warmth, only the glint of shattered obsidian in her eyes.