Page 10 of When Death Whispers

“Fucking hell, what was that?” he mutters, flinging his door open and stepping into the wind. I barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. He circles the Jeep, cursing under his breath—until he stops cold.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, kicking at one of the tires. “Both flat. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

My stomach drops. My fingers curl into fists.

This isn’t a coincidence.

It never is—not when it involvesme.

This is my fault. All of it.

It’s always been like this. Every time someone gets too close—my monster finds them. And they die. Maybe not right away. Maybe not right in front of me. But they always end up gone.

My roommate. My neighbor. My dad.

And now Hudson.

The guilt is a weight I can’t shake, making it hard to breathe. I should’ve walked home alone. I should’ve lied. I should’ve done anything but pull him into my orbit.

I open my door, stepping out into the cold night, my voice tight. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll walk the rest of the way. Sorry about your tires,” I say, determined to distance myself from him.

“Wait, what? Two tires just shredded at once. Gerald’s shop doesn’t open for hours. I can’t even get a tow right now—” He checks his phone, frowning.

A shiver races down my spine, colder and sharper than before. My pulse quickens, panic clawing up my throat.

P A R K E R.

Fuck. He’s coming. We need to get out of here.

A loudcracksplits through the night, sharp as gunfire.

My gut twists.

I don’t need to look. I already know.

This time,I’m not the target.

He’s pissed. And he’s going after Hudson—to punish me.

He always targets someone else when he’s furious.

Instinct kicks in, honed from a lifetime of running, of clawing my way out of near-death again and again. I don’t think—Imove.

I throw myself into Hudson’s side, tackling him to the ground into a controlled roll, just as a massive branch tears free from the tree above and slams down exactly where he’d been standing. I barely have time to register our rather intimate position—me straddling him—before another wave of dread skitters down my spine.

“Holy shit! How did you?—”

“Move!” I shout, dragging him upright by the arm, already pulling him backward before the next branch crashes to the ground beside us.

Hudson doesn’t ask questions.

He runs.

We sprint through the dark, boots splashing through puddles, breath ragged and burning. I take the lead, feet pounding the pavement, heart slamming against my ribs as the storm howls louder behind us.

My house is so close, but it might as well be miles away. He’s gaining. Ifeelit—the thickening of the air, the pulsing weight of his rage chasing us.

Hudson is just behind me. Solid. Quick. Soveryalive.

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