CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
"Raven," Hunter's voice breaks through the revelry, his dark blonde hair catching the moonlight as he approaches. His brown eyes, always so full of thought, hold mine, and for a moment, the clamor around us fades. "May I have this dance?"
His hand extends toward me, an invitation that stirs something wild within. My heart beats faster, not just from the spirits that whisper along my consciousness, but from the earnestness in his gaze, the gentle question in his offer.
"Of course," I reply, my voice almost lost in the night's festivities. Placing my hand in his, I let him guide me into the throng of dancers. Hunter's touch is confident, yet careful, as if he understands the delicate balance of my existence.
We move together, falling into step with the rhythm of the d
