Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
For the first time, he doesn’t seem frightening or all-powerful. I still don’t want to go for another midnight ride with him, but the fear is gone.
“Emery!”
“Here!” I answer.
I glance at the Widow. “He’s a good man. Not every Sterling deserves to be punished for what Silas did.”
Declan bursts through the fog, breath ragged, coat gone, eyes wild as they lock on me. He skids to a stop, chest heaving, his gaze sweeping over me like he’s checking for injuries and plotting to murder anyone who hurt me.
“Emery?” His hoarse voice breaks my name in half. “You’re okay.”
He crosses the distance and pulls me into his arms anyway, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head, keeping my face tucked against his chest—shielding me. “You scared the hell out of me.
“You’re here,” he murmurs, rough and disbelieving. “You’re really here.”
Behind us, the Rider remains still. The fog thins until the cemetery’s completely exposed, stripped bare under the cold night sky.
Declan’s arms tighten around me like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers again. His breath is uneven against my temple.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, even though my mind’s still spinning with the pieces of the puzzle I’ve fit together.
He doesn’t let go right away. His hands slide up and down my arms, pausing when his fingers brush my wrist.
His grip stills.
Something hard flickers through his expression—gone as fast as it comes.
I pull back enough to look down at my arm. The skin there is smooth. Pale. Empty. I push my sleeve up higher.
Nothing. No heat. No pulse. No shimmer.
It’s gone.
Declan swallows hard. “Emery?”
Something creaks behind us. We both turn. Declan steps in front of me, reaching back with one arm as if to protect me or keep me still.
The Rider sits tall in the saddle, unmoving but flickering against the edges of the world. He lifts one gloved hand toward the statue. The Widow remains frozen. But the pressure in the air around her is gone.
For a moment, we’re suspended in time—past, present—and consequences.
The horse pivots. Fog curls in on itself, swallowing the horse and Rider whole.
Cold quiet rushes in to fill the void.
I actually did it. I uncovered a supernatural truth. A legend that’s real. But I don’t even care about my investigation anymore.
I wish my mother was still here so I could give her proof of the supernatural and with it, maybe peace.
Declan lets out a shaky breath. “Are you okay?”
I lift my gaze to the Widow. Moonlight touches her face, giving her an almost peaceful glow. “She needed people to know what happened to her,” I whisper.
Declan frowns at the statue, then glances at my wrist. His thumb brushes over my skin as if he’s searching for any trace of the mark.
“You’re free,” he says, relief lifting his voice. “And still here—with me. He didn’t take you.”
“Told you I’m a sturdy girl,” I quip to lighten the mood.
His eyebrows pinch again. The relief in his expression gives way to loss or regret. He releases me and steps back, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it away from his shoulder.
The horse tattoo and chains are gone.
“You’re free too.” The words leave my lips weighted with sadness.
Declan stares at his shoulder, dragging his fingers over bare skin like he expects the ink to reappear. He’s not smiling or celebrating, yet.
“I can’t feel it anymore.” He slowly shakes his head, stunned. His gaze flicks to the trees as if he’s already counting what his freedom didn’t return.
“No chains,” I say gently. “No more mark.”
Something hopeful flickers in his eyes. Possibility. A future that isn’t limited by iron and oaths.
He’s free. To go anywhere. Or do anything he wants.
From his dazed expression, I don’t think it’s sunk in what this freedom actually gives him.
Or what it takes from us.
The Widow still faces the Sterling family plot, silent but not a threat. I promised to tell her story. And I will. Her truth deserves to be told. People should know the true history, so it’s never repeated again.
Declan drags a hand through his hair and blows out a relieved breath. He seems lighter. Not completely healed but no longer trapped.
“What happened?” he asks.
I open my mouth—then close it again. The curse that bound us is gone. Why do I still feel this connection to him?
“We’re free,” I say.
Why does our freedom have to taste like a farewell?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Emery
Sunlight streams through the front windows of the Applewood Inn. The fog that’s clung to Crowsbridge Hollow since I arrived is gone, burned away by a bright, clear, ordinary morning.
Another benefit of breaking the curse?
I’m going to miss this place.
I’m going to miss—
No.
Can’t go there.
“Ready, dear?” Mrs. Applewood asks, slipping behind the front desk.
My suitcases and bags are scattered around my feet. Even though I spent most nights at Declan’s, I hesitate before giving up my key. Mrs. Applewood raises an eyebrow, waiting.