Page 23 of Into the Night

Gingerly lowering my aching body into the chair, I lift the piece of paper, sniffing it to absorb the last of Griffin’s scent, steeling myself to read it, but I needn’t have bothered. I could have guessed what would happen the second I met him.

Just like everyone else I’ve ever hoped would see something more in me, he’s gone.

I am so sorry, Kali.

My beast is too dangerous. I need to stay away. For both our sakes.

Griffin

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I allow myself one frustrated scream into the desolate silence of the cabin before I tear the note into tiny pieces.

Never again.

It’s time I accept that I’ll never fall in love or have a happily ever after. If the prophecy is true, maybe that’s what’s best for everyone, anyway. Every time I allow myself to dream of something more, it’s even more agonising when it all comes crashing down.

13

GRIFFIN

It’s the second night of the storm, and as promised, the weather has taken an even nastier turn. Yesterday was bad, but tonight is supposed to get a whole lot worse. Nobody should be out on a night like tonight, but my beast, this thing inside me, won’t leave it alone.

He’s furious with me for running. And he’s not going to give me a minute's peace until I see her again.

When I drive down Main Street, most of the shops have closed already, and some of the windows are even covered with plywood to stop flying debris from smashing the glass. Leaves and twigs litter the road, and toppled bins rest on their sides down the alley behind the grocery store.

An older man hurries a younger woman out of the hardware store ahead of him, trying to shield her from the driving rain, as she locks the door behind them. She shrieks as the wind nearly knocks her off her feet, before he links her arm, and they rush to an old pick-up parked nearby.

Cruising slowly around the corner, I see the bar where Kali’s working. The Devil’s Claw. Maisy, the owner of the bed and breakfast I stayed at last night, was coy at first, reluctant to give out any information. But once I assured her that I’d already met Kali, and that I was the new ranger in town, she caved. Apparently, Kali’s two cousins were like sons to John. She assumed I already knew that Kali was close to him as she explained how John had all but adopted the boys and kept a close eye on Kali over the years.

However, I did not.

Briefly, I wonder if John knew we’d hit it off, but then, how could he have?

Despite the weather, there are two cars parked outside the bar, and a warm glow pours from the windows out onto the dark street.

It couldn’t still be open with a storm bearing down, could it?

Not wanting to get noticed, I park my truck further along the street and climb out, tugging on a ball cap and yanking my hood up to protect me from the lashing rain.

Above the wind, I can hear cheesy music, cheerful and loud, blasting from inside. It’s not what I’d expect to hear playing in a dive bar like this. My breath catches when I peer through the glass and spot Kali, her blonde hair pulled back in the same braid I had wrapped around my fist, looking even more radiant than I remember. She’s dancing and singing to herself as she tidies up the counter that’s littered with shot glasses, running a rag over the polished surface.

I can’t sense anyone else here, although there must have been recently if the glasses are any indication.

Has she not seen outside? The weather is even worse than it was last night. She should be home, hunkering down and staying safe until this passes, not cleaning up and having a party for one.

Slowly, I push open the door, preparing myself for a frosty reception, and wait as a gust of wind blows through the bar, bringing with it leaves and rain, and announcing my arrival.

Kali freezes, her back to me. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to meet mine in the mirror behind the bar, and I watch dismayed as all the colour drains from her face. The smile she wore a minute ago is gone, and she looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here, Griffin?” She doesn’t turn to face me, just speaks through her reflection. Her body language is tense, and her posture is rigid. There’s nothing to suggest she’s even remotely happy to see me. Not that I expected her to be.

“Apologising to you.” My voice is gentle, afraid to spook her.

She looks like she might bolt for the door any second.

My heart races just being in the same room as her, and all the words I went over in my mind, how I’d make sure she understood how sorry I was and explaining why I freaked out and ran, are gone. If it was a one-night stand with any other girl, leaving wouldn’t feel so wrong, but we both know that’s not all this is.

Leaving after what we shared, after what we did, was a betrayal. Like I left her standing at the altar. And it makes me sick to my stomach to imagine how she must’ve felt after she woke up and saw I’d left.

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