After the pitying stares, after the gossiping, hushed rumors of when I’d finally remove my engagement ring.

I curl my fingers around the diamond that’s still warm from my body heat as Kallum regards me with heated eyes.

“The robe’s not purple,” he says, “but this will do. For now.”

The white threadbare robe from my hotel bathroom loosely drapes my body, the belt doing a poor job of cinching it closed at my waist. The chilly night air touches every exposed section of my skin, clashing with the heat of the fire and torrent blaze in Kallum’s gaze.

I turn to place the necklace on my folded clothes. “And when we’re finally done…”

The snap of the fire cracks through the tension. He turns me to face him, lifting my chin and gaze. “Then we can both leave here satisfied.”

His eyes are dark as flint. He embodies all that is unknown and feared in the night. And as he drops in closer, his woodsy cologne mingles with the scent of the fire to overload my senses.

His mouth hovers far too close to mine. “Are you ready?” he asks.

I only nod because, somewhere beneath the turmoil and unease threading my spine, I can feel the electric buzz—that same sensation I pick up on when I first enter a crime scene, like a nest of swarming hornets. The perpetrator leaves behind an imprint, his presence rooted in the soil and steeped in the air, so thick it’s like trying to breathe through tar.

When you’re attuned, you can see the stain left behind in time. You can even detect the vibrations of emotions, the way Kallum senses me, my pain a feast for his dark soul.

The vibrating current of the marsh wilts in comparison to the charged spark arcing between our lips. There’s a force between us that is too strong to deny. I just don’t know what it means, or whether I’m strong enough to resist its destruction.

I lick my lips, tasting Kallum in the smoky air, and his dark energy crushes against me as he watches the action with savage hunger.

He laces his fingers around mine, then leads me toward the center of the circle where the fire licks a seam between two realms. One a reality I’ve trusted my whole life, and the other a world of duality, where creatures of the night don masks and commit acts of debauchery to satiate their lust.

As Kallum releases my hand, I draw my robe tighter. The coarse material gives me something stable to hang on to as Kallum stalks to the gathered provisions.

The items he collected.

Proving he knew the outcome of tonight before he entered my room.

He may have even known the outcome before I sat down at that visitation table.

Once he told me his intent for the ritual, I could have ran. I could have filed the paperwork to send him away. I could have even told Agent Alister of my location, set my phone to record, and waited for agents to descend on the site.

And the only reason I can logically grasp why I did none of these things is the furious beat of my heart. The awareness that, one way or the other, after tonight, nothing will be the same.

For someone who has existed in a perpetual state of limbo, change is the most frightening idea…but it’s also the most enticing.

I close my eyes and inhale the smoke-filled scent of burning reeds.

When I open my eyes, Kallum has the stolen necessities arranged on the ground around us. Carving knife. Bottle of merlot. The circlet made of the bones of a stag.

I stare at the circlet of bleached bones. Woven by a vine of ivy, the brittle shards of bone form the base where the pale, delicate and slender fawn antlers are twined.

The antlers Kallum took right off the wall of his hotel room, and the stag bones I passed every day that I trudged to this scene, never realizing until tonight they were always intended for me. Just as I never realized that, all those months ago, staring into the startlingly beautiful eyes of a madman, he was bound for me in the end.

Placing my phone next to the knife, Kallum increases the volume on the small speaker, imbuing the night with a rhythmic drumbeat. The languid flames roar to life in response, as if summoned by a kinetic force I’m too dormant to sense.

As Kallum rises to his feet, I feel the shift in tide. His gravity encapsulates every molecule, dominating the elements with his commanding presence.

He turns toward me and unbuttons his black shirt. His eyes are molten, reflecting the stirring dance of the fire. He removes his shirt in a vigorous yet effortless manner that rockets my pulse.

My gaze is drawn to his tight definition, to the leanly carved muscles mapping the planes of his striking body. As he moves closer, my gaze traces the ink that held me captive in the room tonight.

The skull of a stag resides in the center of his chest. The swirled antlers coil up his collarbone and crest the lower half of either side of his neck. When first I stared into those empty sockets, it was like the inky blackness of Kallum’s soul was bleeding into mine.

But as he advances toward me now, my gaze isn’t drawn to the stag—I’m breathless at the sight of the sigil for his muse, the design inked into the flesh over his heart.

Kallum pitches his shirt to the freshly upturned earth and grabs the bottle of red wine. His features are sharpened by the shadows as he approaches.

Uncorking the bottle, he commands, “Drink,” as he tips the rim to my mouth in the same way he did at the party.

I tilt my head back as he pours. The tart flavor of fermented grapes slips over my tongue. I close my mouth to swallow and the wine spills down my chin. Using his thumb, Kallum wipes the maroon liquid from my chin and brings it to his mouth.

I blink back the memory of him tasting the blood from my lip. A turbulent mix of unease and heat swirls my belly as the memory of dancing with him fuses with this moment in time, as if layering one on top of the other.

He licks the wine from his thumb, his gaze boring into mine. “I once thought your sweetness would dribble down my chin.” He pushes in closer and grabs hold of the robe. “But it’s more delectable on you.”

I’m naked beneath the robe, a fact I’m made very aware of as his hand slides along the thick collar and slips beneath. The backs of his fingers graze the curve of my breast, sending a sharp pulse of arousal between my thighs.

He pushes the garment off my shoulders, disrobing me in a sensual manner meant to imitate a ceremony. If not for the burning ember of lust in his eyes, this moment would feel sterile. He takes a step back, bottle held in his hand, to allow his gaze to fully—and shamelessly—wander over my naked body.

The feverish brush of heat everywhere his gaze touches sends a buzz to my head that has nothing to do with the alcohol rushing my system.

“I’m trusting this is how the rites were performed,” I say, shivering against the chill raising the fine hairs along my skin.

“Don’t,” he says, his gaze tracing a deliberate path up my body. “I’ve never witnessed the rites. They’re thousands of years old.” As his gaze roves up to touch mine, his mouth steals into a smoldering smile. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. A goddess to worship.”

“You’re making this up as you go,” I say, accusation strengthening the weak tone of my voice.

He takes a step toward me. “I am, as should you. There are only carvings to demonstrate the Dionysian dance performed during rituals. No one can recreate it authentically. It’s not about the steps or mimicking the rites; it’s about embracing the madness. Surrendering to the frenzy. Experiencing the passion. Such as with chaos magick, no practice can be done wrong. It’s the conjurer’s belief in the power that charges the sigil.”

Turning toward the fire, he gives me a moment to collect my thoughts. All this I knew about him prior to placing myself in this vulnerable position. What’s more distressing is the uncanny sensation of eyes watching.