Page 22 of When Death Whispers

For now.

But I know what Steo wants. I saw it in the way he twitched. Heard it in the way he said her name. He doesn’t want just a taste.

He wantsher.

And over my smoldering corpse will he ever get her. Not when she’s my new reason for existing.

Let him wait. Let him starve. My Parker belongs to me now.

And I don’t fucking share.

7

This isn’t the couch.

That’s the first thing I register as I blink against the dim light filtering through my bedroom curtains. I’m lying on my side, bundled beneath my comforter, head resting on the pillow I definitely didn’t fall asleep on.

I sit up slowly, disoriented. My body feels drained, like I’ve run a marathon without moving a muscle. I rub my eyes, trying to shake the lingering exhaustion from my bones, but it clings to me like smoke.

What the hell?

The last thing I remember is sitting on the couch beside Hudson. I was supposed to stay awake and make sure he was truly okay. But now I’m here… in bed… tucked in.

He carried me.

My stomach twists at the realization, unease and something dangerously close to warmth tangling in my chest.

The house is quiet. Still. The sunlight spilling in through the windows is bright, almost too bright after the night we had. I assume the generator shut off once the power came back on.

I don’t go to the kitchen, even though I know he’s probably there. Instead, I drift to the bathroom. I need water on my face, something cold, something grounding. I need to wash off the lingering weight of drowsiness, to feel clean and… clear headed again.

As I move past the window, I catch a glimpse of the world outside. Blue sky. No wind. A bird chirps from somewhere up in the tree. It looks so normal out there. Peaceful.

But it’s a lie. And I know better.

I strip off my clothes and toss them into the corner, then step into the shower. The water hits my skin warm and steady, loosening the tightness in my shoulders. I tilt my face up into the spray, letting it soak through my hair, letting the heat sink into my bones.

For a moment—just one—I let myself breathe.

The steam curls around me, thick and comforting, wrapping me in a quiet cocoon. I close my eyes and pretend, just for a second, that everything is fine. That I’m just tired. That there aren’t monsters waiting in the dark for me to let my guard down.

But then the light shifts.

It’s subtle at first, the brightness dimming enough to catch my attention. I glance toward the window. The sun is still shining, but the sky looks darker somehow. Like clouds are rolling in, casting a veil over the light. It’s the kind of gray that comes before a thunderstorm. The air even feels heavier, thicker, like pressure building before a downpour.

A storm. That’s what it is. Just a storm.

The air changes and the heat that was soothing a moment ago turns sticky, clinging to my skin. My breath hitches. The water’s steady rhythm is interrupted by a faint sound, almost like a whisper, too low to make out but impossible to ignore.

A chill skates down my spine. I turn, scanning the bathroom with a spike of adrenaline, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just the frosted glass and the steam-coated mirror.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the creeping unease. It’s only a storm rolling in. Just a normal storm.

God, I’m still so shaken up from last night.

I turn to grab some shampoo?—

And freeze.

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