Page 4 of Dare To Live

The lump in my throat returns.

I have to get out of here.

“Do you know him, Bella?”

The smile I pin to my mouth feels stiff and fake on my face. “I used to, but not anymore. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Wait—”

“Ivan, let her go.” Miles’ voice sounds just as shell-shocked as I feel. “Oh god, you should have shown me these before—”

I don’t catch the rest of the conversation as I hurry from the room. Pushing my way through the crowd, I make my way toward the main doors. My hand is pressed to my stomach. My head is spinning with unwanted memories.

Blood, so much blood. The monster in the dark reaches for me, and I scream and scream and scream.

Chapter 2

Eli

I dust the snow from my legs and stamp my feet before stepping inside. Just a quick trip to the woodshed and back has me covered in the stuff. Thankfully, I had the foresight to take something to cover the wood, so it didn’t get wet on the way back, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Once inside, I close the door and turn the lock, then glance over at the painting on the wall.

“Yeah, yeah. I know I should have done it earlier today. I was busy, okay?”

The painting doesn’t answer me, but the laughter in the boy’s eyes says everything without words anyway.

“It’s not fucking funny. Stop laughing or I will throw out your ashes.” My gaze shifts from the painting to the crystal raven sitting on the mantelpiece. Its wings are outstretched, as though the bird is ready to take off, and the color inside shifts from blue to black to purple, depending how the light hits. I stroke a finger over it. Kellan’s ashes are inside. A gift given to me a couple of weeks after his funeral.

Crouching, I place the logs into the grate, stack the remainder on the rack to one side of it, then light the fire. I lean back on my haunches and watch as the flames lick over the logs, then stand and stretch.

“It’s going to be cold tonight. I’m thinking of having stew for dinner, how about you?”

Neither the raven nor the painting reply. Which is a good thing; otherwise, I’d have to believe I was going crazy, like my stepmom keeps claiming. Stripping out of my jacket, I hang it on the door, then move into the kitchen so I can throw open the freezer and see what’s inside.

There should be stew. I’m pretty sure Roger brought some on his last trip up. I rummage through the sealed Tupperware containers until I find one with the words I want on it.

Bingo.

Studying the instructions, I peel off the lid and pop it into the microwave, then spin the dial until it matches the purple color on the label. I hit start and leave that to cook and turn my attention to the coffeemaker.

By the time I’ve laid out a plate and silverware on a tray and found a clean mug, the microwave has finished, and the coffee is bubbling away. I dish out my food, fill my mug and retreat into the living room. The fire has done its job and heated the room nicely. I settle the fire box in front of the naked flame to direct the heat up to the vents, so the rest of the cabin will warm up.

When I’d made the decision to move in here permanently after Dad died, I’d spent six months and thousands of dollars extending and adapting. I have my own electricity source powered through much stronger generators than we used to have and built an art studio and a fully kitted out gym as separate buildings, as well as added three additional rooms to the main cabin. If I really wanted to, I could get rid of the old fireplace and just use the electricity to heat up the cabin, but I like the way the fire makes me feel, so prefer to use that instead of the top-range heating system I’ve had installed. It’s not like there’s anyone else here, and I don’t feel the cold all that much.

I’ve lived here for five years. When I first moved in, and the work was being completed, I had to make regular trips into the nearest town, which I hated. Eventually, I found and hired a local man, Roger, who deals with anything that requires a trip into the town, and his wife, Adaline, who cooks meals for me, which get delivered once every couple of weeks.

My cell’s ringtone breaks the silence just as I’m mopping up the last bit of stew from my plate with a slice of bread, and I hit the connect button without looking. I don’t need to, there are only two people who have the number.

“Eli. Are you coming home for Christmas?” Elena’s voice sounds down the line.

“Didn’t we have this conversation already?”

“I was hoping you’d change your mind. We could spend it in the Hamptons. It’d be nice.”

The Hamptons is the last place I want to fucking go. I don’t let my irritation at the idea sound in my voice.

“I can’t. I have five pieces I need to finish for a show in January. If I leave here, and then there’s a blizzard which stops me from getting back, I won’t have time to finish them.”

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