Chapter 5;He who watches

The night wrapped itself around Annabelle like a second skin—silky, suffocating, seductive.

She had walked for hours without knowing where her feet were taking her. Her conversation with Cassian kept replaying in her mind. The way he looked at her. The calm in his voice. The ache that bloomed in her chest when she turned away from him.

She'd never felt something like that. Not since…

No. There was *no since*. Her memory was a shattered mirror, and all she had were jagged pieces that cut when she touched them.

She entered an abandoned house at the edge of town. Empty, crumbling, quiet. Perfect.

It smelled of rot and wood and something older. The bed upstairs still had sheets, torn and dusty. She lay on them, arms stretched above her head, eyes wide open.

The moonlight spilled across her skin. Her body ached, but not with hunger this time.

With *longing.*

She touched the base of her throat. Her skin was warm. Too warm. Her blood thickened in her veins like hot wine.

And then—she *felt* him.

The presence.

The one that had been there since the moment she clawed her way out of the grave. The one that watched her from rooftops. From trees. From inside her *mind.*

He was near now.

Closer than ever.

She sat up fast. Her breath caught in her throat. Not out of fear.

Out of *recognition.*

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the edge of the window, staring into the moonlight. No one was there. But her skin prickled.

He was coming.

And she *wanted* him to.

She closed her eyes.

And the dreams returned.

---

She was *naked.*

Wrapped in silken sheets the color of blood.

Hands touched her body—cool, ancient, possessive. Not like Cassian's would be. These hands knew every inch of her before she knew herself.

Fangs traced her throat but didn't bite.

He was teasing her.

Owning her without words.

She didn't see his face.

Just shadows.

A whisper in her ear.

**"Mine."**

She woke with a gasp.

Her nails had dug into the mattress. Her thighs pressed tightly together. Her breath came hard and fast.

"Who are you?" she whispered into the silence.

But she knew. Not his name. Not his face.

But his *essence.*

Darkness.

Desire.

Power.

He had made her. Buried her. Awakened something eternal in her. And now he wanted her *back.*

And Annabelle… she didn't know if she would resist.

She didn't know if she *wanted* to.