Page 67 of When Death Whispers

I fumble with the blanket—just trying to adjust it—and it slips revealing the aftermath.

His gaze catches—and this time, it doesn’t slide away. He tugs the blanket, exposing me fully. I gasp and reach for it, but he doesn’t let it go.

He takes it all in. Every inch. Every mark.

His mouth opens like he wants to say something, then closes again. A muscle ticks in his cheek.

My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear the silence stretching between us.

Finally, he rasps, “Did he…?”

The question hangs unfinished, but I know what he means. And I don’t want to answer. I can’t.

I yank the blanket from him with trembling fingers, quickly covering back up, as if that might somehow undo what he’s already seen.

But it’s too late.

Hudson’s staring at me like I’m a stranger. His breath catches. Then he blinks, slow and disoriented, as if the world just tilted sideways beneath him.

He drags a hand over his face. Winces.

His fingers brush the bite on his neck again, and this time, the contact seems to jar something loose. His eyes widen and his posture stiffens.

“I…” He swallows hard, voice rough. “I went outside. For the groceries.”

My throat tightens and all I can do is nod.

“I stepped onto the porch, and the floor gave out. Then something—his shadows, I think—grabbed me from underneath.” His hand lowers to his thigh, as if he’s remembering how it felt. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Like… something was draining me. I remember you calling my name—then nothing.”

He looks at me, gaze flicking across my face, searching for something. “Next thing I know, I’m in a forest and you were in that beast’s arms…” His voice drops on the last word, raw and uncertain. Not angry. Not yet.

Justwrecked.

His eyes drop again—unintentionally, instinctively—and I see the moment it all connects. The bruises. The slick mess.

And just like that, his expression hardens.

Hudson sits up straighter. The haze vanishes from his gaze, replaced with something fiercer. Darker.

Protective.

Possessive.

Broken.

“He touched you,” he says hoarsely, more to himself than to me. “That fucking thing—he touched you, didn’t he?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I’m going tokillhim.”

I flinch.

That’s all it takes—those four words, spit like venom—and something inside me tightens.

“Really?” I bite out before I can stop myself. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

Hudson’s eyes narrow. “You think I’m not allowed to be furious? You think I’m not allowed to care?”

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