Page 39 of When Death Whispers

And that’s when I see him.

Parker’s monster. More shadow than man, tall and draped in death. He doesn’t just walk through the fog—he drags it with him..

His eyes burn with a fierce orange glow, each step lighting the gnarled shapes around him like a lantern in the night.

My chest tightens, breath catching as cold fear roots itself in my spine. The same fear I felt that night on the porch. The same fear I feel every time I close my eyes.

Am I dreaming? Or is this something worse? I honestly can’t tell.

A shiver of dread snakes up my spine, and my knees grow weak, as if every ounce of my energy is being drawn away in one deep, final breath.

It takes all my strength to stay upright, and for a moment, the overwhelming desire to simply... rest nearly consumes me.

Then I hear it.

A moan. Soft. Shaky. Frustrated and wanting in a way that shoots straight through my ribs.

Then another. Closer.

A gasp, high and breathless?—

Parker.

Her name claws out of my throat, but the fog swallows it whole.

I turn fast, stumbling through the dark toward the sound. “Parker!” I try again, louder this time, but it’s like yelling into a vacuum. Nothing bounces back, no echo.

A flash of silver cuts through the haze—her hair.

My chest lurches.

Fuck. She’s here too?

The panic hits hard and fast, drowning out everything else—even the fear of him.

All I can think about is her. Getting to her. Getting her out. Away from wherever we are.

I break into a run.

Whatever’s coming, it can go through me first.

I push through the fog, heart hammering, eyes locked on the flash of silver ahead. The air thickens, heavier with every step, like it’s trying to slow me down—warn me off. But then I see her.

She’s lying on the dirt, skin pale against the dark ground, shadows crawling over her like living silk. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, her body arching into the inky tendrils sliding between her legs and curling over her chest.

My mouth goes dry.

She’s not in pain. Not fighting. She doesn’t even look scared. Not this time.

She’s gasping like every inch of her skin is being worshipped.

“Parker,” I breathe, her name catching in my throat.

She’s a living, breathing fever dream, one my imagination has completely failed me on until now. There’s no way my mind could have conjured up the sight before me.

Her skin is more creamy and pale than I had imagined it to be countless times, her nipples a delicious light pink that breaks up all that snow white flesh, and currently being tweaked by the shadowy hands encompassing her body.

“Parker…” Her name tumbles out of me, low and needy, and not what I meant it to be.

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