Chapter 30

The night at Vanessa’s house passed slowly, though the quiet hum of voices and the soft glow of dim lamps in her room kept things from feeling too dark. Chloe had spread herself across the corner of Vanessa’s massive bed, her golden hair fanned across a pillow as she scrolled mindlessly on her phone. Vanessa sat cross-legged in her favorite chair, her arms hugged to her chest, staring out the window into the night as though searching for answers in the darkness.

“Vanessa,” Chloe’s voice broke the silence. “Are you okay? You kind of went all cryptic back there, you know... with the ‘they’re not supposed to be here’ thing.” She dropped her phone and stared at Vanessa intently. “What was that about?”

Vanessa sighed, shaking her head as though trying to clear it. “I don’t know.” She leaned back into the chair, pulling a blanket over her shoulders. “It’s like... there was this darkness. I don’t know how else to explain it. It felt wrong when Damon was near me—like something cold swept over me, and I couldn’t shake it off.”

“Cold?” Chloe wrinkled her nose. “Damon is hot, not cold. You’re just being dramatic.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes, her expression softening with faint annoyance. “I’m serious, Chloe. I don’t like him. I don’t like any of them. There’s something off about the Elvadors. You can laugh all you want, but I’m telling you—there’s something not right about them.”

Chloe groaned dramatically, collapsing back onto the bed. “Whatever. All I know is, I didn’t even get to talk to Damon. That’s the real tragedy here.”

Vanessa snorted and glanced at me, her sharp eyes softening. “What about you, Elizabeth? You’ve been quiet all night. Are you okay?”

I nodded slowly, though the truth sat like a weight in my chest. “Yeah. It’s been... a long night. I don’t know, it just feels like everything magical about tonight was ripped away. And I didn’t even get to say goodnight to Nicholas.”

Chloe whined from the bed. “Oh, come on! You two are like a Nicholas Sparks novel—so sweet it’s nauseating.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes again. “Chloe, stop. Elizabeth, you’re right. The night was ruined.”

I nodded again, falling silent as Chloe grumbled something under her breath. I wrapped my arms around myself and stared out Vanessa’s window, watching the moon hang low over New Orleans. There was an unease curling in my stomach that I couldn’t quite explain—a shadowy feeling I couldn’t shake.

The next morning, New Orleans woke up under a dark cloud. Praveer’s death was the talk of the town—whispers and gasps filled every corner. People gathered in hushed groups, talking about the “tragedy,” the “horrible accident.” I heard snippets of speculation as I walked to the library: “An animal? In this part of town?” or “It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.”

Nothing did make sense.

The library was dim and quiet when I arrived, the usual warmth replaced by an oppressive stillness. Haley was gone, of course. I hadn’t expected her to show up, not after what had happened to her nephew. My heart hurt for her, for her cries that still echoed in my head. I had told Mrs. Cartwright I’d take over for Haley until she came back, but I wasn’t prepared for the way the library felt today.

Something was off.

I pushed through the heavy wooden doors and inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of old books washing over me. Normally, it was comforting. Today, it wasn’t. The shelves seemed taller, the shadows deeper. I set my bag down behind the front desk, shaking off the eerie feeling crawling up my spine.

“Pull it together, Elizabeth,” I whispered to myself.

For a while, I busied myself with shelving books and checking overdue returns. The mundane tasks kept me focused. But just as I started to relax, I heard it—soft, almost imperceptible, like a whisper of wind through a crack in the window.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

I froze, my heart stuttering in my chest.

It came again. A sound—small, faint—coming from somewhere in the back of the library. I swallowed hard and grabbed a stack of books, trying to act like I hadn’t heard it. But the sound grew louder as I moved between the towering shelves, the silence of the library making it impossible to ignore.

Tap... Tap... Tap.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice soft but firm. “Is someone there?”

No response.

I took another step forward, my shoes scuffing lightly against the wooden floor. As I moved deeper into the maze of shelves, the air seemed heavier—thicker, almost. It was like walking into a void.

“Okay, not creepy at all,” I whispered under my breath, trying to steady my breathing.

And then I heard it—another sound, this time closer. A faint shuffle behind me. I spun around with a gasp, my pulse pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears.

“Damon!”

He stood there, leaning casually against a shelf, as though he had been there the entire time. His grey sweater fit snugly over his broad shoulders, his arms crossed as he watched me with an amused smirk. The low light cast shadows across his chiseled jawline, highlighting the dangerous sharpness of his features.

“Miss Lizabeth,” he drawled smoothly, his voice like velvet. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I pressed a hand against my chest, glaring at him. “Startle me? You scared me half to death! What are you even doing here? Sneaking up on people like that—”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “I assure you, scaring you was not my intention.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to match his calm with my irritation. “Then what was your intention? And how do you even know my name?”

His gaze was steady, unblinking. There was something unnerving about the way he looked at me—like he could see right through me. “I know more than you realize, Miss Lizabeth,” he replied softly, his voice carrying an edge of something I couldn’t quite collect.

“Why do you and your sister keep talking like you know me?” I demanded, crossing my arms.

Damon chuckled under his breath, a sound so low and smooth it sent an involuntary shiver up my spine. “We’re observant people, my sister and I. It’s hard not to notice you. Your dedication to books, to art... It suits you.”

I scowled, hating the way his words made my cheeks flush. “And what makes you think I’m so dedicated to books and art?”

He pushed away from the shelf, his movement smooth and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. He stopped near a table, leaning against it with effortless confidence. The way his arms folded over his chest drew my attention to the sheer size of him—his grey sweater doing little to hide the muscle beneath.

“Am I wrong?” he asked, one brow arching in challenge.

I felt my cheeks burn hotter, my irritation flaring. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, unbothered. His lips curled into that faint smirk again, as though my frustration only entertained him.

I huffed and turned on my heel. “I’m busy, Damon. I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing.”

I had barely taken two steps before he was suddenly in front of me again, blocking my way. I stopped short, my breath catching as I looked up at him.

“How did you—”

Damon smiled faintly, his gaze lowering to mine as he reached out slowly. I froze as his fingers brushed against my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was so light, so deliberate, it sent warmth spreading through me like fire.

“I’ll let you be, Lizabeth,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft whisper.

I held my breath, unable to move.

Then, as he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk lingering.

“For now.”

The moment he was gone, I exhaled sharply, my knees suddenly feeling weak. I pressed my hand to my chest, my heart racing like it was trying to escape. It was like time had stopped the second he touched me, like the entire world had faded away, leaving only him.

And I hated it.

I hated the way his presence filled the room like he owned it, the way his voice lingered in my ears, smooth and dangerous. I hated the way he made my skin burn with nothing more than a look or a touch.

And most of all, I hated the way I felt—frozen, helpless, and entirely under his control.

I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself, forcing deep breaths to calm down. “What the hell is wrong with me?” I whispered.

Whatever it was about Damon Elvador, I needed to stay far, far away from him.

Because something told me he wasn’t playing a game at all.

And I didn’t want to know what would happen if I lost.