Page 66 of When Death Whispers

I’m on the couch—a blanket twisted around my legs, chest bare, skin damp and overheated. The room is bright, the flickering glow of the Netflix menu is still frozen on the last movie we watched.

I blink slowly, brain struggling to boot up. My breath comes shallow and fast, my heart stuttering like I’ve been running. Like I’ve just?—

Been chased.

The memory slams into me like a truck.

Fog. Trees. The Evergloom. My feet pounding the forest floor. Rad’s voice in my ear. His claws on my hips. His teeth at my throat. The heat of him as he took me.

My stomach flips.

It was a dream.

But my body tells a different story.

I shift slightly—and a sharp, unmistakable ache throbs between my legs. Not just soreness. Not like a pulled muscle or a crick in the neck. It’s the deep, possessive kind of ache you get when someone’s been deep inside you for a long time.

My face burns.

The worst part isn’t the soreness. Or the heat still simmering in my veins. It’s the fact that I remember every second. Every sound I made. Every place he touched. Every time I begged for more.

And I fucking liked it.

God. What is wrong with me?

I glance down at myself, at my sweat-slick skin, the faint bruising blooming around my hips. There’s a sharp line of claw imprints, half-hidden beneath the blanket. And worse—something sticky against the curve of my ass. Cum. A whole fucking lot of it.

Rad’s cum.

I shift again, slower this time, dragging the blanket over my chest as I sit upright. My head is still swimming, but a low groan finally draws my attention to the figure beside me.

Hudson.

He’s lying half-twisted against the couch cushions, one arm flung over his forehead, the other hanging over the edge like he fell asleep mid-reach. His bare chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths. His jaw is tight, the muscles in his face twitching like he’s caught in a dream he can’t escape.

My chest constricts.

I turn slightly, careful not to jostle him, and that’s when I see it.

The bite.

A deep, raw imprint sinking into the thick muscle of his neck like a brand. The skin around it is dark and angry, raised like it was burned into him instead of bitten.

I lean closer, reaching out on instinct before I can stop myself. My fingers hover just above the mark. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Hudson…”

The image of Rad’s fangs flash behind my eyes. The way he bit down—hard enough to mark, not enough to kill. A warning. A message. Maybe both.

Hudson shifts, another low groan spilling from his lips. His brow twitches as if he senses my closeness and my fingers tremble. But I don’t pull away.

I should’ve protected him better. This is my fault.

He’s hurt because ofme.

Even if Rad helped me save his life, even if I didn’t ask for what came after, even if I’d been asleep when Hudson was attacked… the guilt still wraps tight around my throat.

Hudson stirs. His fingers twitch first, then his arm drops from his face, and slowly his eyes crack open. His gaze is hazy at first, unfocused, like he’s not entirely sure where he is. But then his eyes find mine and everything sharpens.

He blinks, sits up halfway, then winces and reaches instinctively for his neck. His fingers brush the bite mark, and his breath hitches. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares at me. At the way I won’t meet his eyes.

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