Page 6 of Midnight Rebel

“The question is, can you keep up?” he replies gruffly, steering me into a graceful spin.

His hand settles against the small of my back, pulling me closer in one seamless motion. I’m so close to him now that his scent—woodsy, leathery—overwhelms me.

We begin to move, a strange sort of waltz without music, the rhythm pulled from the energy coursing between us and the soft rustle of leaves swirling through the wind.

Focus, Autumn. Investigating.

“What’s your name?” I murmur as he spins me out and reels me back into his chest, our bodies practically flush.

He doesn’t answer right away, the small smirk beneath his mask enticing all the wrong things inside me. “Isn’t that against the rules at these masquerades? We’re supposed to stay anonymous, after all... Firefly.”

My stomach flips at the name. “Firefly?”

His nostrils flare as if he’s measuring his words. “You’re lighting up the night, darting around where you probably shouldn’t be. Seems fitting.”

Part of me wants to scoff at the ridiculousness of the line, but part of me is charmed. And the other part under his gaze, is more than a little turned on.

“If I’m Firefly, what does that make you?” I shoot back. “The Phantom of the Opera?”

“Ghost,” he replies without hesitation.

I raise an eyebrow. “Let me guess… because you have a habit of disappearing?”

He’s guiding me effortlessly, his arm snug around my waist. Every step, every turn, is as natural as if our bodies were made to fit together like this.

“Something like that.” He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “What brings a curious firefly to this particular garden?”

He guides me effortlessly, his arm snug around my waist. “I’m naturally curious. Do all ghosts dance so well, or are you a special case?”

“I could ask you the same about fireflies. Do they all ask so many questions?”

The press of his fingers on my back, the heat of his body... it’s distracting. But I can’t lose focus. “Only the curious ones. You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Neither did you,” he counters, his eyes searching mine behind his mask.

“What would you say if I told you I’m looking for answers?”

His eyes, intense behind the mask, pierce right through me. “I’d say you’re asking the wrong questions,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

“Then what’s the right one?” I press, both frustrated and thrilled by this verbal dance.

He spins me out, then pulls me closer. His eyes glint beneath the mask. “You ask a lot of questions, Firefly.”

I’m about to ask another question when he suddenly tenses. His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and the playful air vanishes instantly.

Two burly men in dark suits approach, their stances tense and purposeful. My dance partner’s grip on my waist tightens for a second before he releases me completely. He steps back, the spell between us broken.

He glances toward the approaching men and then back at me, something frustrated in his gaze. The magnetic pull hasn’t left—but now it’s waging war with something else. Something far more urgent.

“Duty calls,” he mutters, his tone clipped.

“Wait—who are you?” I breathe, all pretense dropped now.

“Another time, Firefly.” He pauses, his lips curling with the shadow of a smirk. “Stay inside where it’s safe. I’ll find you.”

Before I can respond, he’s already striding away to meet the two men, his long strides precise and deliberate. Rooted to the spot, I watch him melt into the darkness, disappearing around the hedge as if he never existed.

The night air’s bite grows sharper, but all I sense is the lingering warmth of his hand on my back.

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