Once again, her heart lurched violently within her chest, as though attempting to escape its cage of bone. The air around her grew thick, oppressive even, as the stranger moved swiftly toward the table, his sudden closeness suffocating in its intensity. Although he was squatt in stature beside her chair, his presence was immense, his shadow eclipsing her petite form as effortlessly as a looming storm cloud might blot out the timid light of the moon.
Caralee felt a cold seep into her bones, a chill that had nothing to do with the cool night beyond the tavern's walls. She held her breath, eyes wide with trepidation as she studied his pale, angular features. The candlelight flickered restlessly, casting eerie shadows upon his sharp cheekbones and pronounced jawline, further accentuating the predatory gleam in his eyes.
"Pardon me, sir, but do I know you?" Her voice trembled softly, betraying her attempt at composure. She held tightly to the possibility that this encounter was benign—perhaps an acquaintance of Donovan's, or a messenger bearing news—but her instincts screamed otherwise.
The man's gaze narrowed perceptibly, his eyes—like chips of flint—scrutinizing every nuance of her expression, as though he might glean her secrets by sight alone. "I am afraid we have not been formally acquainted. My name is Jacabo." He inclined his head slightly, extending a hand that seemed ghostly pale against the deep fabric of his coat. His eyes, fixed, unblinking upon her, appeared to pierce into the very core of her being.
Caralee hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as she reached forward, compelled by etiquette despite her better judgment. As her hand touched his, a violent shiver jolted through her body. His skin was deathly cold—like marble, like ice—and she recoiled immediately, forgetting all decorum entirely as her heart pounded beneath her breast.
"Forgive me," Jacabo murmured, a smirk curving his thin lips upward. "It is rather cold tonight, and I am unfortunately without gloves." His words were smooth, yet beneath the veneer lay something dark and mocking, a silent jeer that clawed subtly at her defenses.
Drawing herself upright, Caralee steadied her nerves, forcing strength into her voice. "Excuse me, sir, but I apologize—I have little time for pleasantries. Perhaps you have mistaken me for someone else? I am expecting my fiancé shortly." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, though it offered her a frail shield of protection.
Jacabo's expression hardened, his gaze sharpening with evident amusement and skepticism. "A fiancé? How curious—I noticed no ring upon your finger." His eyes bore into her, coldly accusing. "What sort of man would allow a woman of your delicate beauty to wander unaccompanied in a place such as this?" His voice dripped with thinly veiled menace, each syllable scraping against her resolve.
A sudden sense of foreboding twisted within her stomach, a primal instinct that screamed at her to flee. Yet she remained trapped in place, Jacabo positioned strategically, blocking any clear escape route. Caralee could feel every hair on the nape of her neck stand on end, warning her silently of imminent danger.
As if sensing her panic, Jacabo's voice softened to a sinister purr. "Very well. Since you prefer honesty over civility, let me speak plainly. My master seeks an audience with you, Caralee. He has expended considerable effort in his search, waiting a very long time to finally speak with you." His voice held an unearthly calmness, yet beneath the calm lay an undercurrent of dark urgency.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs, confusion and apprehension warring for dominance within her. The mention of her name, her true name, spoken by this unsettling stranger, filled her with dread. He spoke slowly, deliberately, baiting her carefully as one might tempt prey into a trap. "I know you harbor questions—questions about your parents, your origins, your true family."
A sharp ache pierced her chest, raw and immediate. Her breath hitched audibly, betraying her longing despite her caution. "I have no family," she whispered hoarsely, the words painful, carrying with them a lifetime of sorrow and solitude.
"Oh, but you do," Jacabo's voice was smooth as silk, edged with insidious promise. "They long for you, Caralee. Imagine the joy of reunion, the comfort of familiar embraces, whispered memories brought back to life."
For a brief, agonizing moment, hope blossomed fiercely within her, igniting desperate visions of lost love and warm embraces that she had believed nothing more than a child's ardent dreams, at best— distant memories faded, now almost forever extinguished. Her body trembled with a yearning so potent it physically hurt.
But the shadow of doubt, reinforced by the insistent echo of Adel's words, surged forward, crushing that fleeting hope beneath the cold weight of suspicion. "No," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, definitive. "My family is dead. Whatever you intend, you will not deceive me."
Jacabo's demeanor shifted subtly, irritation darkening his eyes, a cold anger simmering beneath his composed façade. "What a pity," he said, his tone venomous, his posture rigid. "Your mother will be deeply saddened by your refusal."
The world seemed to freeze in that moment, suspended by shock and fear. A sudden warning rang through her entire body. Caralee pushed herself from her chair, her movements frantic as adrenaline surged through her veins. Jacabo made no effort to stop her, merely watching, eyes glittering darkly as she forced herself past him. His silence was oppressive, his lack of resistance oddly more terrifying than if he had physically restrained her.
Her mind screamed at her to escape, every nerve ending ablaze with panic. She needed to flee, immediately, before whatever dark fate this stranger represented could claim her. She no longer cared if he blocked her path, she would plow through his tiny little body, no matter how massive his shadow seemed.
Caralee stumbled forward, her breaths ragged as she clumsily staggered towards the door, no longer caring if she drew attention, or the curious glances of the other patrons, her only thought was one of a desperate escape into the uncertain embrace of the night.