Page 63 of Shadowed Whispers

The eclipse. It’s months away, and usually one of the best nights of a shadow shifter’s life, where the veil thins and our power surges. Usually, we can’t shift in the human world, but on the night of the lunar eclipse, we are free to be who we are.

This eclipse, however, has an ominous vibe that only I seem to feel. It’s like a ticking clock counting down the hours until our world frays and dies.

I don’t have a clue how to save it, but I know who I want to spend that time with, and it isn’t Tori.

“I have plans with the guys,” I deflect. It isn’t an outright lie, but it isn’t the truth either.

She pouts. “Will you guys come to the cove?” She looks back at Chloe and Amanda. “We are going to have a small bonfire.”

I snort. Small, my ass.

“None of your parties are ever small, Tori.” She always invites the entire school.

She shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, and I guess it isn’t because college is good for at least one thing, and that’s parties. I know I’ve spent more than enough mornings waking up hungover on the beach.

“Besides, I’d love to spend time with my future pack.” She blinks up at me.

A pack that wants nothing to do with becoming a pack, aside from Leo and Matteo. No, we aren’t a pack, not yet. I need something to throw all of us together. I can’t figure out what that is, but I will.

“You girls should get to bed.” I take a step back, hoping she gets the hint.

She doesn’t. “Go ahead, girls, I’ll catch up.” She fucking winks at them.

“You too, Tori. Don’t forget I can write you up,” I warn her.

“You won’t because I’m your future mate,” she purrs, shadows swirling in her eyes.

She isn’t my mate, and she will never be. Hell, I was just balls deep in Frankie days ago.

“Go to bed, Victoria.” To get her out of my hair, I tack on, “We will stop by the bonfire.”

Excitement ripples through her, and she kisses my cheek before spinning around and taking off.

I feel like all I’m doing is dodging bullets and making no progress forward.

Tomorrow, the die will be cast. Everything must change.

It’s not just a necessity—it’s survival.

As I watch Tori’s retreating figure blending into the semi-darkness with a grace that’s both alluring and infuriating, a cold wind brushes against my face, as if to remind me of the encroaching chill of our dying world. The air feels heavy, laden with unspoken promises and looming threats, mirroring the turmoil that churns within me.

Turning away, I look up at the moon, its surface marred by the shadows that seem to play across its face, reminding me of the fractures in our own realm. It’s a glaring testament to the fissures within my own soul, pulled between duty and desire, leadership and longing.

The distant sound of the waves crashing against the shore attempts to soothe my restless spirit, but tonight, the rhythmic cadence seems more like a mournful lament for what might soon be lost. The night air, usually a cloak of comfort, now feels like the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.

Every step I take toward the solitude of my quarters is heavy with the burden of impending choices, the alliances that need forging, and the bonds that need mending. The silence of the night provides a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me, each step a reminder of the solitary path I must tread.

In the silence, my thoughts turn once again to Frankie, her fierce independence, and her unwillingness to bend. I see a spark in her that our world needs, the fiery core that could either save us or lead us farther into darkness. It’s a gamble, but one I’m willing to stake everything on.

Tomorrow will be the catalyst. Whether it brings salvation or damnation, I can’t say, but change is essential, and I will be the one to ignite it. As the cool breeze turns colder, I pull my jacket tighter around me, a makeshift armor against the uncertainties of the night, and then I walk on, determined and resolute under the watchful gaze of the moon.

Chapter 21

Frankie

Avoiding someone is never just about being out of sight, out of mind. It’s about dodging a past that clings too tightly. Today, I’m dodging Dorian and our burdensome lunches—not out of choice, but necessity, as I’m bound for a class with Mr. Mercer that, coincidentally, saves me from our uncomfortable routine.

Nerves tickle my spine as I shove my head in my sweater and pull my damp hair out. The mirror on my closet door taunts me with reflections of a clouded morning sky visible through my small window, casting a gray light over my room. As I shut the mirror, I sit at my desk with my shoes. For some reason, today just feels heavy, like the air itself is saturated with a storm yet to break.

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