Page 99 of Haunt Me, Maybe

“Aven, please…I’m so close. Fuck, your tongue⁠—”

He came on a broken moan, spilling hot across my lips, my chin. I swallowed what I could and then licked him clean while he shuddered through the aftermath. I wiped my chin on my sleeve as he pulled me up to kiss me. When we finally parted, both of us breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered. “It’s a good thing I’m already dead.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Wes

The attic air carried the warm scent of us: sweat and skin and the sweet-sharp edge of release. Aven lay tucked against my side, her head on my chest and one leg slung over mine as her breathing evened out. I stared up at the ceiling beams in the late-morning light.

We had hours still. The plan today was simple: wait for full dark to confront Gideon, when the whole town was likely at the festival—the lights and music and laughter pulling everyone away from the side of town where the old mill and our planned skirmish would take place.

We could stay here and lose ourselves in each other until then, but Aven deserved more. She deserved normal. Just for a little while. A few hours where she could laugh without the shadow of what came after. Where she could be a girl at a festival instead of the one who had to save a town.

I smoothed the hair on the top of her head. “Hey.”

“Hm?” She tilted her face up, eyes still heavy-lidded and soft.

“Let’s go to the festival.”

Her brows lifted. “Now? But⁠—”

“We’ve got time.” I traced the curve of her cheek with my finger. “You should see it. The real Amber Grove without crazy omens chasing us. Not the maze at night or the sad orchard with its rotten fruit. The lights, the food, the ridiculous games. The reason this place throws the damn thing every year. You deserve a couple hours of fun before…” I didn’t finish.

Aven searched my face for a long moment, then gave a small, crooked smile. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“I’m trying to remind you there’s still good in this world. And you’re allowed to touch it.”

She exhaled, like she was letting some of the fear leak out. “Okay, but only if you come with me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Trouble.”

We dressed in quiet tandem. She slipped into one of my favorite skirts—a pleated black one that hit mid-thigh—and tugged on opaque black tights that hugged her legs like a second skin. Her purple hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, the vibrant color catching the attic light like spilled ink mixed with twilight.

She added a cozy oversized sweater against the fall chill, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and laced up her boots. Simple, but on her, it looked effortless. Edgy and sweet all at once.

The kind of look that made my dead pulse stutter. A quick, uneventful walk later, and we reached our destination. The festival grounds sprawled across the open land next to Sunhallow Farm, a riot of color and noise even in daylight.

Strings of bulbs looped between old oak trees, waiting for dusk. Food trucks and booths lined the paths, their wares out on display—caramel apples glistening, fried dough dusted with cinnamon sugar, roasted corn steaming in husks.

Kids shrieked from the hayride wagons trundling past, pulled by patient draft horses while a small Ferris wheel turned lazily, painted red and gold.

Somewhere, a band tuned up. Aven immediately bought a hot spiced cider, wrapped her hands around the cup, and took a sip, her eyes closed in bliss.

“This is so crazy.” She laughed to herself. “It’s perfect.”

I leaned in. “Told you.”

She smiled and stepped deeper into the madness. At first, Aven avoided the rides and obstacles geared toward children, but then the fair booths caught her attention. The ring-toss was the first she tried, and she laughed when she missed all the bottles but the last one.

The worker handed her a tiny stuffed crow, and the both of us balked. It had a cute, normal beak and fuzzy little feet that looked like they belonged on a cartoon bird, not the omen-of-death variety we’d come to expect from anything crow-shaped in this town.

No claws to be found. Only plush black fluff, big shiny button eyes, and an almost dopey, endearing expression that screamed “festival prize” rather than “harbinger”. Aven gingerly accepted it, holding it out at arm’s length like it might sprout real talons and tear us apart any second.

She eventually tucked it under her arm, the way you’d carry something suspicious but too adorable to immediately discard.

“We’re ditching this thing the first chance we get,” she hissed, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud.