Midnight Rebel (Midnight Falls, Texas)

Chapter 2

Autumn

The cold night air tightens around me, biting into my skin despite the heavy velvet of my gown. The Manor looms in the distance, its gothic spires casting jagged shadows.

Windows gleam like watchful eyes while fog creeps in from the surrounding forest, swirling around my legs.

I adjust the raven-black mask covering my eyes, cursing under my breath. If I get caught, it’s over.

Worse, I’d face the humiliation of security dragging me out of Midnight Falls’ most exclusive Halloween event.

I’m not here for the spooky ambiance—I’m after the real story behind all the “accidents” plaguing the estate.

A chandelier taking a swan dive during a wedding? Fires popping up like whack-a-mole? Please. If this place is haunted, I’ll eat my press badge.

Colt Montgomery—the heir, my only interview lead—and his ice queen mother, Margaret, have shut me out for weeks. If I don’t dig up something substantial soon, I’m back to writing fluff pieces about pancake breakfasts.

So here I am, skulking around their Halloween bash like some budget cat burglar.

This is my shot to prove I’m more than the small-town girl with “potential.” The one chance to show my editor—and myself—that starting journalism school in my twenties was the right choice. That leaving Midnight Falls behind was worth it.

I pull out my camera, ready to snap evidence of... well, anything at this point.

I skirt around a hedge, pausing at a dry stone fountain, its basin filled with dead leaves. A cracked stone angel looms above, its hollow eyes cold and judgmental.

I uncap my camera lens and take a few shots, zeroing in on the fractures spreading across the weathered stone.

The temperature drops suddenly. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I shake off the eerie sensation and focus on my next target: the crumbling structure near the east wing. Time is ticking; I need to circle the estate before anyone sees me.

I pick up my pace, weaving through the sculpted hedges. My camera’s autofocus whirs as I snap more shots of the stonework. This place. Damn. It breathes secrets.

A sound. Footsteps.

Slowly, I turn, bracing myself for an angry security guard or one of the Midnight Riders. But I see nothing in the darkness. Only the wind stirring the bare trees.

Get it together, Autumn.

I press forward until I reach a partially open window by the east wing. But then—there it is again. The unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching over gravel.

Quiet and deliberate. Someone is approaching from behind.

My chest tightens as instinct kicks in. I duck behind a hedge and curse under my breath. This is bad.

I’ve been careful until now, but if someone catches me sneaking around the Montgomery property, they’ll never let me near this place again.

The wind roars in my ears, drowning out everything except my pounding heart.

Breathe, Autumn. Focus…

The footsteps stop. “I know you’re out there,” a low voice rumbles from the darkness.

I hold perfectly still, my breath stuck in my throat.

A figure too calm, too still, standing by just off the edge of the fountain. His silhouette is striking—a crisp white shirt and black tailcoat cutting a sharp contrast against the night.

The edges of his broad shoulders are framed by moonlight filtering through the trees, his black cape billowing slightly in the breeze.

Beneath his stark white half-mask covering the right side of his face is a strong jaw set with fine edges of shadow.

He could be a guest—maybe.

Or perhaps the source of all these strange accidents. Tension snaps tight in my chest as his eyes sweep over my hiding spot.

He steps closer, smooth and deliberate, like a panther sizing up his prey. “I promise I don’t bite.”

My mind scrambles for an excuse, for a reason I’m wandering the gardens alone, dressed like the world’s most conspicuous detective. I’ll brush it off. Play the part of the disinterested ball attendee.

“I needed some fresh air,” I say, stepping fully into view.

His eyes trail to where my hand is gripping the camera strap. “Is that right?”

I force a shrug and try to steer the conversation. “The ballroom was stifling.”

He steps closer, closing the distance between us until I can feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the cold air.

“You shouldn’t be skulking around out here in the dark,” he says, his voice low, rough—like smoke curling beneath velvet. “It’s dangerous.”

I fight the heat creeping into my neck. “Lots of people are sneaking around the gardens tonight, it seems.”

For the briefest moment, I worry he’s catching on to my real reason for being here. But then something shifts. His posture softens and becomes strangely inviting.

“Dance with me.” It isn’t a question.

Dance? I’m supposed to be snooping. But maybe... if I play along, I’ll get closer to the truth.

“I don’t even know you,” I say, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.

His smile deepens, a glint of teeth visible. “Isn’t that the point of a masquerade? The mystery? The intrigue?”

I shift the camera to my side, its weight a reminder of why I’m here. Damn it, his hand is already outstretched.

The pull of his gaze, the warmth of his proximity—it’s intoxicating. But I can use this. Get information.

“I hope you can dance,” I mutter, pretending to be unaffected by the way his fingers press gently at the small of my back, their heat seeping into my skin.

“The question is, can you keep up?” he replies gruffly, steering me into a graceful spin.

His hand settles against the small of my back, pulling me closer in one seamless motion. I’m so close to him now that his scent—woodsy, leathery—overwhelms me.

We begin to move, a strange sort of waltz without music, the rhythm pulled from the energy coursing between us and the soft rustle of leaves swirling through the wind.

Focus, Autumn. Investigating.

“What’s your name?” I murmur as he spins me out and reels me back into his chest, our bodies practically flush.

He doesn’t answer right away, the small smirk beneath his mask enticing all the wrong things inside me. “Isn’t that against the rules at these masquerades? We’re supposed to stay anonymous, after all... Firefly.”

My stomach flips at the name. “Firefly?”

His nostrils flare as if he’s measuring his words. “You’re lighting up the night, darting around where you probably shouldn’t be. Seems fitting.”

Part of me wants to scoff at the ridiculousness of the line, but part of me is charmed. And the other part under his gaze, is more than a little turned on.

“If I’m Firefly, what does that make you?” I shoot back. “The Phantom of the Opera?”

“Ghost,” he replies without hesitation.

I raise an eyebrow. “Let me guess… because you have a habit of disappearing?”

He’s guiding me effortlessly, his arm snug around my waist. Every step, every turn, is as natural as if our bodies were made to fit together like this.

“Something like that.” He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “What brings a curious firefly to this particular garden?”

He guides me effortlessly, his arm snug around my waist. “I’m naturally curious. Do all ghosts dance so well, or are you a special case?”

“I could ask you the same about fireflies. Do they all ask so many questions?”

The press of his fingers on my back, the heat of his body... it’s distracting. But I can’t lose focus. “Only the curious ones. You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Neither did you,” he counters, his eyes searching mine behind his mask.

“What would you say if I told you I’m looking for answers?”

His eyes, intense behind the mask, pierce right through me. “I’d say you’re asking the wrong questions,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

“Then what’s the right one?” I press, both frustrated and thrilled by this verbal dance.

He spins me out, then pulls me closer. His eyes glint beneath the mask. “You ask a lot of questions, Firefly.”

I’m about to ask another question when he suddenly tenses. His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and the playful air vanishes instantly.

Two burly men in dark suits approach, their stances tense and purposeful. My dance partner’s grip on my waist tightens for a second before he releases me completely. He steps back, the spell between us broken.

He glances toward the approaching men and then back at me, something frustrated in his gaze. The magnetic pull hasn’t left—but now it’s waging war with something else. Something far more urgent.

“Duty calls,” he mutters, his tone clipped.

“Wait—who are you?” I breathe, all pretense dropped now.

“Another time, Firefly.” He pauses, his lips curling with the shadow of a smirk. “Stay inside where it’s safe. I’ll find you.”

Before I can respond, he’s already striding away to meet the two men, his long strides precise and deliberate. Rooted to the spot, I watch him melt into the darkness, disappearing around the hedge as if he never existed.

The night air’s bite grows sharper, but all I sense is the lingering warmth of his hand on my back.

My mind races, trying to piece together what just happened. Who was he? And why did those men pull him away so abruptly? The reporter in me itches to follow, to uncover more about this mysterious “Ghost.”

But I force myself to focus. I came here for information. I came here for answers. Now, all I can think about is seeing him again.

It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t crave this—I should go back to investigating The Manor and do what I came here to do. Not get distracted by some masked stranger.

I shake my head, finally returning to myself long enough to weigh my options. I have the investigation to finish.

I came here to prove myself, to uncover the truth behind the accidents plaguing the Montgomery Estate. That should be my priority.

But I can’t leave. Not yet. Not before I see him again, whoever he is.

I grip my camera tighter, its weight a reminder of my purpose here. The cool metal grounds me, pulling me back to reality. I came here for answers, and I won’t leave without them. But now, those answers include him.

Whoever he is, I have to know more.

With renewed determination, I turn back toward The Manor. There are still areas I haven’t explored, secrets waiting to be uncovered. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll cross paths with my mysterious dance partner again.

My senses are on high alert as I move through the shadowy gardens. Every rustle of leaves, every distant laugh from the party inside, sets my nerves on edge. But beneath the tension, an undercurrent of excitement lurks.

Tonight has become about more than just the story I came to chase. It’s become about unraveling two mysteries: the one surrounding The Manor and the one wearing a raven-black mask who called me Firefly.