Page 27 of When Death Whispers

Her scent sharpens in response—orange blossoms laced with adrenaline—and my mouth waters. I sip the flavor from the air, savoring how delicate it is, how it nuances with something bolder, stronger coming from Hudson, and it instantly helps strengthen me.

The human realm demands more energy than any other. That’s why so many of my kind choose possession over patience—why they crawl into hosts and suck them dry until their shells collapse.

Tempting, I’ll admit. The boy’s body is pleasing enough. Strong. I imagine Parker might even like it if I wore his skin.

But no. That’s not my way.

I want her to see me. I want her to crave what I truly am.

We’ll get there eventually.

For now, I stay in the corner, shrouded and silent. But she senses me anyway. Clever, clever girl. Our bond goes both ways, and I never really expected to stay hidden for long.

She looks straight at me. And her fear... softens.

Interesting.

It’s not gone—but it’s different. No longer sharp and electrified. No longer sweet enough to feed on.

Well. That’s a problem.

I need her fear.

A demon’s gotta eat after all.

“Maybe we should just get ready and head to work,” golden boy says. “I don’t think I’m getting any more sleep—and no offense, but your house is giving me the creeps. Donovan called earlier. Power’s back.”

My Beholden doesn’t answer right away. She nods slowly, then murmurs, “Yeah. Probably for the best. We’re probably behind on prep.”

Her voice is quiet. Tired. But not in the brittle, broken way I’ve heard from others before they fall apart. No—this is something else. Steady. Resigned. A mortal girl pulling herself upright and moving forward like she hasn’t been hunted through her own life by things most humans can’t even see.

Resilient. That’s the word.

She leaves the room, and I follow her like breath behind her ear.

She heads toward the bedroom, and I slip in before the door even clicks shut. She glances over her shoulder, like she senses me near—such a clever little thing—but I press into the shadows hidden inside her closet, behind the door, content to watch.

She flicks on the overhead light. Then the corner lamp. Then another. Three pools of warm illumination now chase away the dark.

Ah. She’s warding him off.

That’s my Beholden.

The Death Devourer can’t breach the light. It holds him at bay, keeps his gnashing hunger out of reach—for now. But light doesn’t bother me. Fear demons thrive in darkness, yes, but we are not banished by the sun.

She begins to undress, and I freeze.

Every movement is slow. Unaware. Unintentional seduction. She isn’t performing for anyone—but that makes it worse. Better. I watch each article of clothing fall away, my gaze trailing over bare skin like it’s a map to some ancient power I’ve been dying to claim.

She’s pale. Soft. Spun from moonlight and mortal blood. Every freckle, every curve, every inch is something I want to memorize with claws and tongue. Her pert nipples tighten in the chilled air. She bites her lip as she slips off her jeans, and I glimpse the heat between her thighs—just enough to make my vision blur.

I thought she resembled an angel before. I was wrong.

She’s better.

Angels are cold. Untouchable. Marble statues wrapped in virtue.

But my Parker?

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