Page 2 of Shadowed Whispers

“Josie.” Lies, lies. They slip off my tongue like honey, and he has a sweet tooth.

Rounding the corner, he smiles down at me. “That’s a very pretty name, Josie.”

My body tingles in anticipation.

He doesn’t disappoint. Gripping my arms, he slams me against the alley, placing a hand over my lips and a thigh between my legs.

“Such a sweet little thing like you shouldn’t be out all by herself.” His rotten beer breath gusts over my face.

Why do they always smell like decay and beer?

I give an appropriate little whimper, pushing tears out of my eyes.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” He grips my hip hard, and this time, the whimper is real.

Seriously, do they all get the same playbook?

When his fingers dip under my skirt, it’s the sign I need to make my move.

I might not know who or what I am, but what I do know is that I’ve always had these abilities, which are as much of a part of me as the breath in my lungs. Every hero and villain has an origin story, and mine is born from trauma and abuse.

Perhaps that’s why whatever god gifted me the powers I have are dark and cold. They rise now, the shadows that have lingered at the periphery of my senses all evening, peeling off the sticky walls of the alley to wrap around his hands, which he won’t notice until it’s too late.

“Fuck, I want to savor you.” He groans, rolling his body against mine.

Please. No. Stop.

I roll my eyes and unleash the darkness within me. Shadows tighten around his wrists and tug until he falls to the broken concrete with an oomph.

“What the hell?”

I lash out with a shadow, wrapping it around his mouth. “Shhh.” I crouch down and crawl over him. “No talking.”

He whimpers just as I did moments ago.

My shadows grow until they form two giant black wolves on either side of me.

He begins to cry. It’s cute, really, especially when he shakes his head back and forth. If he could talk, I bet he’d be pleading for his life.

Good boys cry like the little bitches they are, and damn me to hell, but I love listening to their whimpers and tasting their tears.

“It’s okay. It won’t hurt,” I promise him, even though I don’t know if it hurts or not.

I push him down into the puddle of darkness my body casts—the shadow of myself—and he falls into it, the ground eating him alive.

It’s almost too easy.

Slowly, I get to my feet and brush my hands off on my pants before letting them drop to the wolves at my side. “Come on, let’s go home.” I urge them forward.

I feel nothing as we walk away, and not a single ounce of evidence of what just occurred exists. My shadow eats it all.

“You guys were hungry tonight,” I whisper as I run my hands through their dark fur. Even now, their softness surprises me.

I should name them.

One looks up, his red eyes full of excitement before he takes off toward my Jeep, only to hop around as he waits for me. I don’t let them out often. Hell, I don’t even know where they actually come from, but I do know they are mine, and I am theirs.

It’s been us against the world for five years now.

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