26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

Silent Poetry

Anne

Daisy heads back to campus. She has an advanced calculus exam. Even the idea of which makes me shudder. As well as Mary to look after. It worries me, how overloaded she is, mother henning her sister as well as me.

We both carefully avoided the idea of after .

After this semester, when the scholarship has run out.

The bed in here feels like a dream. I’ve always heard money can’t buy happiness, but if it can buy mattresses that feel like clouds, that’s pretty close to the same thing. After three and a half years on a lumpy dorm mattress, my body sinks into a long sleep.

When I wake, a thick fog washes out the landscape, making it more forbidding.

I head downstairs, where Cormac stands at a counter, drinking coffee.

His eyebrows push together when he sees me. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

The Stratford brothers are entirely too comfortable telling me what to do. Or what not to do. Does that come naturally to them as professors? Or as men? Either way, I’m no longer inclined to listen. “I’m going for a walk.”

His eyes flick down to my feet, where I already have my sneakers on. And then back up again. I can see him considering bodily blocking me from leaving.

“I’m going for a walk,” I tell him. “I need some air.”

“William will be here soon.”

I want to ask him where he’s been, but I manage to stop myself. Actually, I expected William to join me in that cloud of a bed. It couldn’t feel cold, not with the blankets that cocooned me. It did feel lonely, though.

That’s probably the part that money can’t buy.

Love.

Outside, wind whips around me. Icy tendrils tugging at my clothes and hair.

It’s a relief to know that William will be here soon.

And embarrassing to care.

It feels humiliating to wonder where William has been, especially after spending so long looking for a grave that didn’t exist. It represented the way I wasn’t important enough to grieve him. Or as I know now, that I wasn’t important enough to entrust with his secret.

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.

A literal one. A metaphorical one, too.

The landscape sprawls out before me, a wild and untamed vista that steals my breath away. Craggy rocks jut out from the heath, their dark silhouettes stark against the muted greens and browns of the moors.

The waterfront is a churning mass of whitecaps and foam, the sea battling against the land in an eternal struggle. It’s a scene straight out of Macbeth , a place where witchcraft and treachery seem not only possible but inevitable.

Or maybe that’s just my overwrought imagination working.

Where will I go next semester?

Maybe I can be a roadie on Carlisle’s new tour.

No, I would be a terrible roadie. I get carsick.

Maybe I can run away with Mary. We can both go undercover with new names, as if we’re witnesses in a protection program. Except that I am tired of hiding.

There’s home, of course.

The place that never felt like home.

I can become a librarian. I would have to clean up bodily fluids from strangers and mother random children who are ignored by the system, but at least I would get to cover the books with protective plastic coating.

I don’t want to go back home.

My heart pounds in my chest, my emotions a storm that rivals the one raging around me. I came here to think, to clear my head, to try to make sense of the chaos that my life has become. But standing here, on the precipice, all I feel is a deep, aching sense of uncertainty.

I love him.

It’s not a welcome truth, but it’s true just the same.

I love William Stratford—his strength, his passion, his presence. I love the way he makes me feel alive, the way he challenges me, the way he touches me. The thought of leaving him, of leaving Tanglewood, feels like a physical pain.

But I can’t rely on him.

Not for money, not for security, not for anything.

I’ve seen the dark path that leads down, seen it in the hollowed-out eyes of my mother, in the clenched fists of my father. I’ve seen what happens when you depend on someone else for your happiness, your safety, your life.

I can’t live that way.

The wind howls, a mournful sound that echoes the turmoil within me. I wrap my arms around myself, a futile attempt to ward off the cold, to hold myself together. But it’s no use. I’m coming apart at the seams, my heart and mind pulling me in opposite directions, threatening to tear me in two.

I think about the university, about the hallowed halls and the whispered secrets, about the dreams and the promises that brought me here. About the Society, about the darkness that lurks beneath the surface, about the power and the corruption that have taken root like a cancer.

And I think about him. About William.

About the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he makes me feel. About the love that burns between us, a flame that threatens to consume us both. About the secrets he keeps, the darkness that clings to him like a shadow. There’s a power around him, a control he exerts over me—and that’s the true danger that lurks beneath his smooth, seductive surface, how badly I want to submit to that power.

I want to let him take care of me.

And then what would I be?

No more independent than Daisy or Mary or any of the women who live in the cult.

The wind screams around me, a wild and primal sound that calls to something deep within me. I close my eyes, letting the noise, the chaos, the uncertainty wash over me. For a brief blink of time, I become part of the cliff, the sea, the wild and untamed landscape.

A voice breaks through the wind. “Anne.”

It brings me back to this moment. He brings me back to myself.

What a heartbreaking thing to realize.

I turn, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath held in my throat. And I face the voice, the darkness, the danger, the threat.

Professor Stratford stands before me, a towering figure against the wild backdrop of the moors. His dark hair is disheveled, tossed by the wind, and his eyes burn with an intensity that makes my breath catch. He’s dressed in all black, the stark color accentuating the muscled lines of his body. His shoulders are broad, his chest powerful, tapering down to a lean waist. He looks every inch the brooding hero, a man carved from the very storm that rages around us.

He strides toward me, his steps sure and deliberate, eating up the distance between us. His jaw is set, his expression determined. There’s a sense of barely leashed power about him, a raw, primal energy that sends a shiver down my spine.

I wrap my arms around myself, a futile attempt to ward off the cold, to protect myself from the intensity of his gaze.

He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes search mine. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

“Have you come to any conclusions?”

That I need you too much. Enough that I have to let you go for my own good.

His eyebrows come together, reminding me of his brother. Which probably means he’s about to tell me something I can’t do. “You can’t leave.”

“I needed air.”

“I mean you can’t leave Tanglewood.”

Oh. That. “We can talk about it later.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping my cheek. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the storm that rages around us, to the fire that burns in his eyes. “You’re right,” he says, his thumb brushing against my skin. “You were right when you said I didn’t trust you.”

Surprise makes my heart skip a beat. “I didn’t think you’d ever admit that.”

“I didn’t want to,” he admits. “But it’s true. If I had trusted you more, I would have told you. I would have let you risk yourself the same way I risked myself. Because God knows my greatest fear happened anyway. You were at the hands of a madman for fucking hours. I let that happen to you, so I can’t act like what I did was protection. All it did was take your choice away. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t think he’d apologize, either. Our power dynamic had been one-sided. Carlisle was right. And like William, I didn’t want to admit that. Not that he forced me to have sex, the way she worried. But we also weren’t a regular dating couple. The age difference, the fact that he was my professor. And how badly, how deeply I longed to be taken care of. While at the same time knowing I couldn’t really accept it.

“I’m sorry, too,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Don’t.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, wanting it to be true.

“Don’t you fucking dare. I will apologize every day for the rest of my life, if I have to, but don’t you dare talk about us as if we’re over.”

My throat feels tight. “I don’t know what else we can do. I’m leaving Tanglewood. For a semester, at least. And for the summer. I’m not sure how long it will take to get fixed. Or how long it will take for me to save up the money on my own.”

His hand slides to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He leans in, his forehead resting against mine. “You can rely on me.”

I shake my head, a small, desperate movement. “You don’t understand.”

His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into my skin. His eyes burn into mine, their dark depths swirling with determination. “I understand that you’re scared,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I understand that you’re hurt, but I also understand this.”

He leans in, his lips brushing against mine. The touch is soft, gentle, a whisper of a kiss. But it sends a jolt of electricity coursing through my body, a spark that ignites a fire deep within me.

“I understand that you’re mine. And I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

I gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. His words, his touch, his presence—it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming, consuming, a storm that threatens to sweep me away. But even as I struggle to resist, even as I fight against the pull that he exerts, I know that I’m lost.

The wind whips around us, but I barely feel the cold. Not with William’s body so close to mine, his hand still tangled in my hair, his forehead pressed against mine. His eyes burn into me, their dark depths swirling with an intensity that steals my breath.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down my spine. “Do you think it only goes one way? I’m yours. Completely. Irrevocably.”

I shake my head, a small, desperate movement. “I can’t rely on you. I can’t depend on you. I won’t be like her. I won’t be like my mother. You don’t know what it was like.”

His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into my skin. His eyes never leave mine, their dark depths swirling with determination and desperation. “I can guess from the way you’ve had to make your own way in the world from such a young age. I can guess from the way it’s a surprise to you whenever anyone helps you in even the smallest way.”

I try to pull away, but his hold is firm, unyielding. “Then you’ll know why this can’t work. You have more money, more power, more everything . It would always be uneven.”

He flinches, his eyes closing briefly. When they open again, they’re filled with pain, with regret. “Do you think that means anything to me?”

I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. “It means something to me .”

His lips crash into mine, silencing my words, stealing my breath. The kiss is fierce, desperate, a wild and primal claim that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through my body. His arms wrap around me, pulling me tight against him, his body a solid, unyielding wall of muscle and heat.

He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes wild. “You can trust me. I’ll be your rock, your shelter, your sanctuary. I’ll be whatever you need, whatever you want. Stay. That’s all I need from you, because if you leave, I’m truly dead.”

I shake my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I can’t stay here. I can’t—”

His hands cup my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears. His eyes burn into mine, their dark depths swirling with desperation and despair. “Then we’ll go. We’ll leave Tanglewood, leave the university, leave all this behind. I’ll leave behind the fucking money. I’ll leave behind my name. We’ll start fresh, somewhere new, somewhere you can feel safe.”

I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. It would be too much to ever ask of him, but even the idea… “You would do that? You would leave all this behind? For me?”

He nods, his jaw set, his expression determined. “I would do anything for you. Anything. I love you. I love you more than anything, more than anyone. I love you more than my life, more than my breath, more than my own fucking soul.”

I gasp, his words sending a shock wave through my body, through my heart, through my very being. “William—”

His hands tighten on my face, his eyes burning into mine. “I love you more than Shakespeare.”

A shaky laugh escapes me. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t devote my life to the study because of goddamn iambic pentameter. It was only ever to describe what I felt inside, what I dreamed about, the love I felt for you before we even met.”

A broken sound escapes me.

I stare at him, my heart pounding, my breath caught in my throat. His words, his touch, his presence—it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming, consuming, a storm that threatens to sweep me away. But even as I struggle to resist, I know that I’m lost.

His dark eyes burn with promise. “I found you in the Pinnacle, where you were a goddamn dream. A forbidden one. Too young. Too risky. And then you walked into my classroom, and I knew that you would be worth the risk. Worth everything. Would I be willing to give it up? In a heartbeat.”

“You don’t have to leave,” I say, my voice wavering.

“Anne—”

“You can stay…with me. Stand with me. Fight with me. Love with me.”

He closes his eyes, his breath ragged, his body tense. When he opens them again, they’re filled with a fierce determination, a fire that burns hot and bright, a reflection of the love that blazes between us. “Yes,” he says, his voice a low growl, a vow that sends a shiver down my spine. “God, yes.”

“Because I love you, too.”

I lean into him, surrendering to his touch, to his kiss, to his keeping. There’s a language between our bodies.

Words are powerful, but they can’t touch this.

We write silent poetry with every heartbeat.

Maybe that’s why I read Shakespeare, too. Maybe he was the dream I had from those early days in the library, having my bruises tended by Ms. O’Connor. And Shakespeare? He was the rope we used to find each other, hand over hand, through the storms of our lives, each of us pulling closer, until we finally met.