Chapter 41 Kristen
It was too loud in the main room.
The lights pulsed with the bass, the air smelled like sugar and sweat, and someone was already trying to climb onto the kitchen counter with a funnel. I barely glanced over my shoulder as I slipped through the crowd, hand still wrapped around Caleb’s.
He followed close behind me, the warmth of his palm anchoring me through the chaos. I didn’t look back to see if anyone noticed. I didn’t care. Not Clarissa, not Anna, not even Aunt Patricia, who was still laughing with two boys near the window.
I just wanted to get away.
I pulled Caleb through the back hallway, past the linen closet and the old study that smelled like dust and forgotten books. The last door at the end of the hall opened into a spare room no one ever used—a narrow bed, clean sheets, and a window that rattled when the wind blew hard enough.
I stepped inside, heart pounding. Caleb followed.
Before I could turn to close the door, his hand grabbed my waist and pulled me backward—hard enough to make me gasp. I turned and his mouth was already on mine, hungry and urgent, tasting like mint and something darker. His kiss wasn’t soft. It was greedy. My back hit the door and it shut with a low thud.
I didn’t pull away.
His hands moved up my spine, dragging along the fabric of my shirt, gripping at my sides like he was trying to memorize the shape of me. I kissed him harder, fingers threading into his hair, tugging a little, just to see how he’d react. He groaned low against my mouth, and it made my knees go weak.
Everything blurred.
His hands slipped beneath my shirt, skin against skin, dragging fire up my ribs. I let him peel the fabric off over my head. He tossed it somewhere behind us. My fingers were already at his collar, fumbling for the buttons. He didn’t wait—just yanked the shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor.
We were a mess of limbs and mouths, heat and tension.
My bra was gone in seconds.
He kissed down my neck, slow at first, then faster, like he couldn’t get enough. His lips grazed my collarbone. Then lower. His hands pushed at my jeans, and I helped, toeing off my shoes as he fumbled with the zipper. I laughed a little, breathless. He didn’t. His eyes were dark, focused, hungry.
The back of my knees hit the bed.
He eased me down with one hand pressed to my sternum, mouth still at my chest, sucking a bruise into my skin like he wanted to leave proof.
I arched under him, heart racing, skin hot. I could barely breathe.
My fingers dragged down his chest, found the edge of his jeans, pulled.
His mouth was at my stomach now. I gasped.
And then—
He paused.
I blinked, trying to catch my breath, confused by the sudden stillness.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, dark glass bottle. The shape was strange. Not like anything you’d buy in a store. The liquid inside shimmered faintly purple, catching light that wasn’t there.
“What is that?” I asked, voice rough.
He unscrewed the top and took a long drink without answering.
Then he looked at me and smiled.
“Magic,” he said.
I pushed myself up slightly on my elbows, the adrenaline slipping just a little.
“What kind of magic?”
He held it out to me like it was nothing. “Makes everything better.”
I didn’t take it. “Be specific.”
He laughed under his breath and crawled back up over me. The bottle hovered between us, his other hand curling around my hip.
“It won’t hurt you,” he said. “Promise.”
I stared at it.
At him.
My brain ticked through every warning I’d ever been given—about drinks, about boys, about gifted types with more charm than sense.
But my thighs were already slick. My mouth still tasted like him. His body was hot against mine and the air smelled like sex and sugar and maybe a little danger.
“Fine,” I muttered.
I took the bottle.
Tipped it back.
It tasted sweet at first. Almost floral.
Then something else. Bitter. Cold. Like swallowing a ghost.
I handed it back, trying not to gag. “That was awful.”
Caleb grinned. “Yeah. It is.”
And then the floor tilted.
My hand slipped from the edge of the bed.
The bottle dropped from my fingers and hit the floor with a dull clink.
“Hey—” I tried to sit up.
The room rippled.
The walls flickered. The lights stuttered.
And just like that—the illusion cracked.
The grand ballroom vanished. The shimmering lights, the floating candles, the marble floors—gone.
I was in a normal room. My room. The spare bedroom with its plain white walls, peeling posters, and rattling fan.
“What… what was that?” I mumbled.
Caleb stood at the foot of the bed, watching me.
His eyes didn’t look like they had before.
They were darker now. Deeper. Less human.
My limbs wouldn’t move.
“What… did you—”
I couldn’t finish.
My vision doubled.
Then narrowed.
My body slumped sideways on the bed as my muscles gave out one by one.
“Caleb,” I whispered, barely able to shape the word.
He tilted his head at me.
And smiled.
But it wasn’t the smile from the kitchen. Or the hallway. Or even the bed.
This one was different.
Wrong.
It curled slowly, like it didn’t belong to a boy at all.
Like it had been borrowed.
Like something wearing a boy was very pleased with itself.
My breath caught in my throat.
Too late.
The last thing I saw was his shadow stretching toward me—
And then nothing.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Not light.
Not even sound.
Just—
Blank.