Page 33 of Behind the Shadows
Someone had violated me last night, but I wasn’t any closer to knowing who it was. The mere thought of Draco or Cooper having taken advantage of me filled my body with revulsion. I clamped a hand over my mouth, my stomach heaving violently as I struggled to comprehend the horror of it all. I stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it in time to fling open the toilet lid before my muscles convulsed, emptying its contents with a force that left me gasping. I gripped the toilet seat, my knuckles white, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. My legs shook beneath me, but I forced myself to stand. I brushed my teeth and splashed cold water on my face, desperately trying to piece myself back together, but the onslaught of the last few days battered me like a relentless storm. I had to confront the truth, though which truth had tracked me down, I didn’t know yet.
After several deep breaths, I dressed in jeans and a lilac top before I squared my shoulders and left the room.
I stepped into the kitchen, the chill from the tile biting at my bare feet. The sun had set without me noticing. The overhead light was off, but the moonlight filtered in through the windowabove the sink, pale and cold. The kind of light that made the world look haunted.
I grabbed a glass from the cabinet. My body moved, but my mind wasn’t fully there—not really. I hadn’t slept much lately. Not well, at least. Not since I’d woken up with a phantom touch burning into my skin.
As I turned to the sink and picked up the glass I’d left there that morning, something in the window made me go still.
My reflection stared back at me—pale, hollow-eyed, with hair tangled around my shoulders.
And behind me, a shadow.
Tall. Still.
My scream caught, strangled in my throat.
I whipped around, heart jackhammering.
Nothing.
The kitchen was empty. Quiet. Too quiet.
I waited, listening. Hoping for something—anything—that would prove I wasn’t losing my damn fucking sanity. A creak. A footstep. A breath.
But there was nothing.
Except the silence pressing in.
I turned back to the window. The shadow was gone. Only my reflection remained, but something was off. My expression didn’t match how I felt—my eyes were too wide, too aware, like they knew something I didn’t.
I backed away from the counter, glass still in hand, my knees wobbling and threatening not to support me.
“Get it together,” I whispered. “You’re tired. Too damn tired.”
That’s when I heard it.
A whisper, so faint it barely registered.
Right behind me.
“Found you.”
The words curled into the base of my spine like a cold knife. My knees buckled slightly, but I caught myself against the fridge, the glass clinking hard against its surface.
I spun around again.
Still nothing.
My lungs locked. My heart kicked into overdrive, racing so hard I thought it might explode.
I pressed my palm to my chest, forcing myself to breathe. One in. One out. One in.
Had I actually heard it?
The sound lingered in my mind, soft and male and dangerously familiar.
But there was no one here. I was alone. I’d locked every door. I always did.
