Page 23 of When Death Whispers

Did that shadow just move?

Another one suddenly detaches from the corner of the room, thickening as it drags across the tile—pooling, twisting, stretching toward me like it has purpose.

My pulse kicks into overdrive as the last trace of sunlight vanishes from the window.

And the shadows move faster.

Fuck. Why did I not turn on the light?

The answer is simple—he has never attempted anything during the day. Not once.

Stupid, Parker. Stupid for thinking that things were still like before when it was clear the rules have now changed.

The shadows reach me at the same time as my hand shoots out for the door handle as I attempt to make a break for the switch or any of the push lights I have in every corner. It curls around my ankle, cool and insistent, creeping higher with every heartbeat.

My mind screams at me to move, to fight, but my body betrays me, rooted in place as the darkness climbs up my calves. It inches slowly up my thighs. The touch is both cold and burning, which shouldn’t be possible, but somehow is, and it spreads through me like wildfire.

The shadows reach the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh and a soft moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, surprising me. I jolt, slipping on what seems like nothing, and my hands fly to the wall to catch myself before I end up banging my head on the floor.

The shadows seem to respond, tightening their hold, the movements slow and deliberate.

“Snow Pea,”a deep and gravelly voice rasps, echoing in the confined space. The sound sends a shiver through me because I recognize it instantly.

My monster.

The shadows press closer, their touch lingering in places that make my skin flush and my thoughts scatter. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t feel this. But the pull is undeniable, and for a moment, I lean into it, letting the sensation wash over me.

I don’t think my monster even knows what this is doing to me.

But then the clouds shift, and sunlight breaks through the window.

The shadows recoil instantly, retreating like a tide pulled back into the ocean. The bathroom warms instantly, the oppressive atmosphere lifting as quickly as it came. And I’m left standing under the water, trembling, the remnants of the shadows’ touch still tingling on my skin.

I don’t move for a long time, my mind spinning as I try to process what the fuck just happened.

My monster has never come this close before, neverevertouched me like that. It’s the first time he’s even attempted anything inside my house since I moved to this small town, nevermind during the middle of the day.

Something changed last night. He’s made himself known to Hudson, spoke to him.

Fuck. I have no answers for any of this.

And the worst part? Part of me wantshimto do it again.

8

She should be afraid.

She should be sobbing. Writhing. Trembling with the feel of death pressing like frost along her spine. That’s how it always begins. Always.

But tonight—she moaned.

A low sound. Soft. Sinful. Not from terror.

Fromwant.

I watched her body arch as the shadows caressed her skin and instead of screaming—she shivered like shelikedit.

And the taste of that—raw, alive—sank deeper than any dying breath.

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