Page 102 of Shadowed Whispers

“Bishop,” Mom repeats, her voice knitting through the chill that bites around the edges of the courtyard. “Tell me about your classes. Are your students keeping up this semester?”

“They are,” I reply, my words paced as I navigate the path, the rustling sound of dry leaves underfoot mirroring the restlessness in my voice. “Actually, I’m planning a new project for them, something that involves real-time data analysis. It should be engaging.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she says, though her tone suggests her mind is half on another topic—likely my personal life. “And how is Tori doing? It’s been a while since you brought her up in our conversations.”

I hesitate, the words catching like thorns in my throat. My hand tightens around the phone, the plastic cold and slick against my sweaty palm. “We, uh, we haven’t been seeing each other for a while now.”

There’s a pause. “Oh? And why is that?” Her voice is soft but insistent, pressing for an answer she knows I’m reluctant to give.

“It was mutual,” I start, knowing full well it wasn’t. “We realized we were heading in different directions. She’s focused on her career, and I have my responsibilities here.”

Or maybe because you are in love with another woman.

“Bishop.” She sighs, and I can almost see her sitting at her desk, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “It’s important to have someone by your side, someone who understands the complexities of our kind. You can’t keep shouldering your burdens alone.” Her voice carries the weight of a deep, resonating fear that shadows might fade into oblivion.

That’s one way of saying I need to form a pack and find a mate.

“I know, Mom. I know.” The admission is a weight off my shoulders, but it also reaffirms the isolation that has started to seep into my bones like the cold of the oncoming winter. The breeze that rustles through the courtyard seems to whisper secrets and warnings, as if the wind itself converses with the shadows.

She changes topics, her voice warmer now, threading comfort through the phone line. “Have you been taking care of yourself? Eating well?”

I chuckle, though the sound is tinged with bitterness. “Trying to. I miss your cooking though. Nothing here comes close to your gumbo.”

“You’re always welcome to come home for a good meal. Maybe this weekend?” Her offer is tempting—a brief respite from the scrutinizing glances and whispers shadowing me lately. As the dean, she should be in the faculty dorms, but she spends most of her time at her cottage in Morrow Bay. There’s no reason not to accept her offer, unless she decides to surprise me in my classroom instead.

“Maybe,” I murmur, the word nearly lost beneath the rustle of dry leaves. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,’ she says, a decisive softness in her tone. “And Bishop, we need to talk about Frankie?—”

She knows.

My heart skips a beat. “What about her?”

“There’s talk, son. Rumors are swirling that the shadow beast went right to her. People want to know why she’s garnered so much interest.” Her voice drops to a whisper, heavy with a dread that chills me more than the autumn air. “Be vigilant, Bishop. The full extent of what’s at stake remains shadowed in mystery.”

I nod despite her inability to see it. The air seems to thicken around me with her warning. “I understand. I’m piecing it together. They are elusive, but I’ll uncover why she’s central to their plans.”

“And when you do, report back to me immediately. You hear?”

I don’t know if I can do that.

“Loud and clear, Mom. Always.”

As we say our goodbyes, I pocket my phone with a lingering sense of unease. The mystery surrounding Frankie deepens with every passing day, pulling me in like an inevitable tide. I approach the tech building, taking a deep breath because I’m heading in to see Frankie.

My stomach does a summersault just thinking about her, thinking about spending time with her.

I know our time is running out when it comes to Frankie.

She will wake up soon and see everything around her—all the little inconsistencies and shadows—but I’m not willing to give up the facade, not yet.

I am a selfish bastard.

I also worry. Frankie hides her trauma well, but I can see what those years after I put her on that train did to her. It made her believe she’s alone, that she needs to navigate life on her own. I worry how she will react when she knows she isn’t alone anymore, that what she believes makes her special just makes her another shadow shifter, but she is special.

For years, none of us had enough power to shift in the human realm, let alone raise a shadow wolf, but Frankie can, and they know.

The game… They were hunting her. They came to her.

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