Page 47 of When Death Whispers

Something shifts. Not a sound. Not exactly. Just a change in the air. It grows dense. Warmer. Thicker. The scent of brimstone hits next—sharp, smoky, edged with something ancient. My breath stutters, chest tight. The hairs on my arms lift, and I look up?—

A voice, low and sharp and distinctly not human, cuts through the silence.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

19

He’s here.

Rad.

He’s standing in the middle of my room like he’s always belonged there—like he didn’t need to knock or open a door because the world itself simply made space for him. His horns nearly brush the ceiling, and his eyes—They’re the same shade as mine. Familiar. Like we share some piece of the same storm.

Those glowing, ice-blue eyes are locked on me now, unblinking. Possessive. Fur ripples down his arms, and his tail flicks behind him like a metronome ticking to the rhythm of my heartbeat. His horns gleam in the low light, curling out of his head like they were forged from obsidian and bone.

He looks every bit the beast IthoughtI had imagined.

I scramble to my feet too fast and nearly fall, catching myself on the edge of the bed. My knees are unsteady. My skin still tingles from what just happened—what almost happened—and now there’s a seven-foot predator watching me like I’m his next meal.

My back hits the wall without me realizing I’ve moved. My pulse thunders in my ears. My mind races.

Am I still dreaming?

I blink hard. Once. Twice. He doesn’t vanish.

“Am I…” I swallow, voice barely audible. “Am I dreaming?”

Rad’s head tilts, and something in his expression shifts—soft amusement, like I just asked if fire was warm.

“If you were dreaming,” he says, voice low and smooth like smoke over coals, “you wouldn’t still feel where he touched you.”

My breath catches as his eyes drag down my body, lingering at the curve of my collarbone—where the shadows had curled around my throat.

“You feel it,” he murmurs. “Don’t you? The residue of his hunger. The pull of mine. The way your blood sings now.”

“I…” I swallow. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

He closes the distance between us, one massive hand bracing against the wall beside my head. I freeze, staring up at him as he dips his head, giving me a better look at the horns nestled between his ears. He leans in until his muzzle brushes my cheek—not touching, but almost, and the heat of him is like standing too close to a bonfire.

“You opened a door,” he murmurs. “With blood. With fear. With want. You called for me, little Beholden, and I came.”

My chest tightens. “I didn’t mean to.”

Rad’s grin sharpens, slow and wicked. “Doesn’t matter. You summoned me. You tethered me. And now…” His voice lowers to a growl. “I’m yours.”

I can’t move. I can barely breathe. My body hums like a wire pulled too tight, vibrating with something I don’t have the words for. He lowers his head to my neck, breath ghosting across my skin, causing goosebumps to rise. I don’t pull away. I should. I know I should back away, reach for the door, call Hudson’s name.

But I don’t.

It would be so easy for him to sink those sharp fangs into my flesh and rip my neck out. But instead, I tilt my head, giving him better access.

His fingers graze my hip, slow and reverent. Large, clawed hands that could break me in half... but don’t. They curl around me gently, grounding me. Claiming me. His tail wraps around my calf and I let out a needy whimper. Shit.

The room shrinks.

My hands lift without thinking, sliding over his chest—and holy shit, his fur is soft. Dense, thick, and warm, with hard muscle beneath. My fingers glide lower, over the solid ridges of his stomach, until they reach?—

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