Page 110 of Midnights
I try to focus on them and how they feel in my hands. Maybe it’s because I’m outside surrounded by nature, or maybe it’s the storm, but I swear they feel warm right now.
And then there’s the necklace. What does it have to do with the stories, and why am I remembering them?
The more I think about it, the more the questions pile up, stacking like dominos with no clear answer in sight. My chest tightens, and I feel a single tear roll down my cheek, mingling with the rain. I spread my arms out, sinking my hands into the mud.
They should be here.
My grandparents should be the ones explaining all of this to me. They always had the answers. Always knew what to say, or what to do. So why did they keep me in the dark about this? What didn't they tell me?
The ache in my chest spreads, feeling like a hollow thing that twists deeper with every thought.
And then, out of nowhere, Kane’s voice cuts through the storm.
Holy fuck.
The butter knife is clenched in my hand, but it’s useless now. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the way he’s looking at me.
That damn smirk doesn't move, but I watch his gaze dip lower, cataloging every inch of me dripping in rain. There’s something in his eyes now, and it's too focused to be accidental.
“I said, why are you looking at me like that?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. My voice is sharper than I meant it to be, edged with irritation, but I can’t help it. I need the irritation, because the way my pulse is hammering isn’t exactly helping my case.
Kane doesn’t answer right away. His jaw ticks, but the rest of his face is carved from stone as he steps closer. Typical Kane, give me nothing and still make me feel everything.
His eyes find mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
“I think the more important question is, why did ye sneak out of the house and come to lay in the mud in the middle of a storm? What the hell were ye thinkin’?”
His accent is thicker now, wrapping around each syllable like a warning. And it hits me hard.
The sound of his voice alone sends a shiver through me, and my nipples harden under the soaked fabric like they're announcing I'm easy.
Damn him.
I readjust, more for attitude than comfort, crossing my arms over my chest as if that will somehow hide the effect he has on me. My thighs press together, and I silently curse my body for betraying me yet again.
“For your information, I didn’t sneak out.” I bite out, every syllable laced with venom. “You said we couldmake ourselves at home, did you not?”
I don’t give him a chance to respond before more words spill out, fueled by frustration and the lingering adrenaline from thinking I was about to be attacked in the dark.
“I needed to clear my head, and I happen to love thunderstorms.” I lift my chin, daring him to argue. The rain drips down my face, and I'm sure my mascara is halfway to hell by now, but I don’t care. I’m not backing down.
“So I was doing just that. Making myself at home and enjoying nature.” My breath comes faster, my chest rising and falling like I'm gearing up for a fight I'll probably lose. “If that wasn’t allowed, then maybe you should have made that clear.”
He doesn’t say a word.
His eyes stay locked with mine, stormy and dangerous, a mirror of the one tearing up the sky.
Who does he think he is, acting like I need a babysitter? No one told me I couldn’t come outside, and there sure as hell wasn’t a sign warning against it. I checked.
I stood by the door, waiting, half-expecting some sort of alarm to blare the second I stepped outside. But nothing happened.
His frame blocks out everything, and my pulse thunders in my ears like I've already lost. I dig in my heels, refusing to let him see how rattled I am.
The wind slaps my hair into my face as lightning rips the sky open, flooding the world in white light for a second.
And he still doesn’t look away.
Finally, he exhales. “Aye, ye’re right. There wasn’t any rule about goin’ outside, I just—”
