Page 132 of When Death Whispers

And it feels too fuckinggood.

“I said we play by my rules,” I murmur, trying to hold onto some piece of myself.

Steo stills. All of him—body, shadows, breath.

The dark around us hums, vibrating with something unspoken, something thick with restraint. His eyes flare, but his hands stay where they are.

He doesn’t challenge. Doesn’t push.

He waits. He really is achingly beautiful. I’m not sure what I’d expected, but this was not it.

My lips twitch.

Something shifted in the forest. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was the realization that neither of us are what we first believed.

He isn’t just death.

And I’m not just prey.

His grip tightens slightly at my hips—not with possession, not with hunger, but with something quieter. Grounding. Steady.

And for once… I match it.

I don’t pull away.

I don’t run.

Steo must sense the conflict swirling just under my skin, because his voice breaks through the silence. Low. Knowing.

“Don’t you feel it?”

I do. I feel everything. The way this realm hums when I speak. How every inch of air feels like it’s watching. The way his shadows respond to me now without him calling them. The way I feel like I belong here, even when I shouldn’t.

And maybe that’s the scariest part.

I look up at him.

He’s watching me.

Not like I’m a prize.

Not like I’m prey.

Like I’m a question he’s been aching to ask for centuries.

His hand drifts up, slow and deliberate, as if waiting for me to stop him. His shadows stay close, a gentle rhythm against my skin, matching the unsteady pace of my breath. I don’t stop him.

And suddenly, I’m aware of everything.

His hand. His body. His presence curling into the edges of mine.

And—

Something hard presses into my stomach.

I glance down—and freeze.

Oh.

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