Page 7 of Shadowed Whispers

There are so many places on this island to hide, even though it’s only three miles long and two wide—not to mention the caves and secret tunnels. A sense of belonging settles over me as I drive over the bridge and onto the main road that weaves around the island to the only parking lot here.

You have to travel everywhere else by foot. I don’t even mind that. In fact, I love it. There are more places to hide, and it’s less likely someone will bother me—save for whatever roommate they stick me with this year. Nerves bubble in my gut as I pull into a spot in the middle of the lot, shaded by one of the spires. A chill rolls over me with a cool gust of ocean wind. Many people mill about, all fresh faces and excitement in their veins… and the parents. There are a ton walking around with their excited offspring, tears in their eyes. I’m only a little bit jealous.

“Screw this.” I pocket my keys and lock up, mostly just because I set the alarm on the Jeep to deafen the person who tries to open the door without unlocking it first, then I climb out, letting my Docs hit the pavement.

I’m halfway across the parking lot when I feel like someone just walked over my grave. Goosebumps ripple over my body, and I pause. Keeping my chin high, I crouch to the ground, pretending to tie my shoes. I look around under my lashes and spot that black Bentley parked in an administrative spot, the back window rolled down just enough for me to see the shadow of someone’s eyes as they watch me.

I see you too, Bentley.

Pushing off the ground, I saunter through the open doors. It’s just as sweltering inside as it is outside—maybe worse. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I head toward student affairs. Empty. The corridor is empty. Well, aren’t I lucky? Getting keys to the dorm is usually an easy process. I walk in, sign in, and get a key, but when I walk inside, there isn’t a single person here. There is air-conditioning. The sweat on my skin instantly chills, causing the beads to feel like shards of ice and goosebumps to pimple harder on my skin. The bell on the counter looks tempting, but the coffee pot with the little sign that says, “Help yourself,” is even more tempting. Making myself at home, I begin to make a cup of coffee just as the door creaks open.

“What?” a voice questions. It’s clear by his tone he doesn’t want to be here. That’s fine, neither do I.

“Here for my key.” I press down on the single-serve coffee maker and spin around to see the man at the tall counter.

Cruel, ocean-colored eyes glare at me—deep ice blue with what looks like waves of green. They are the most piercing and mesmerizing eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and they are attached to a man visibly sneering at me.

“Damn, do you want the cup of coffee I’m brewing? It looks like you could use it.” I blink at him and his absolutely beautiful appearance. His golden blond hair is cut to within an inch of perfection. I say within an inch, because there’s a rogue curl that messes up his appearance. Dressed as though he’s trying to impress the King of England, he’s wearing a designer suit—well, I’m guessing at the designer part. It has to be.

“Name,” he drawls, his tone laced with unearned superiority.

“Frankie Vale.” I almost wish I could see if he’s wearing dress pants, but alas, I don’t have laser vision. Also, why does he hate me so much? All I did was show up looking for my keys. “You’re new.” I cross my arms, taking him in.

“Name,” he sneers, ignoring my question.

Yikes. “Francesca Vale.” I give him my government name because I still have to pee, and I really want my keys. He grunts and turns around to walk just out of sight. I stretch to see if he’s wearing slacks, and I’m pleasantly rewarded by the shape of his ass which stretches the fabric of his fancy pants perfectly. I don’t care if he’s mean. A hate fuck is the best fuck, and I’ll die on that hill, blissed out with a sore vagina, no regrets in sight. With an ass like his, I’d bet he’s the type to hold me down and take his pleasure.

Why does that sound so fucking appealing? A shiver races across my body as the coffee pot sputters.

I try again. “You’re new here.” And so quick to judge people he doesn’t know. I keep my head down and make sure no one really sees me, so why does he hate me?

“Of course I’m new, you dishrag.” He doesn’t even bother to turn around. Dishrag? I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. That’s adorable. “You’re from out of state?” he asks in a normal tone.

“Yep.” I mean, technically, I’m from Arizona.

Two years ago.

He grunts again and turns around, that sneer still on his pouty lips. “I’m only giving this to you because you stink and need a shower, and I don’t want to smell you any longer than I have to.”

“Aww, gee, thanks, mister.” I grab my coffee with two sugars and step up to the counter. I go to reach for the keys, only for pretty boy to hold them just out of my reach. “What, are you a child?”

“Do you belong here, Ms. Vale?” he asks me, catching me off guard.

“I like to think so.” I casually sip my coffee. If he’s going to hand them over, then he is, but I’m not about to beg for them. Besides, I can read the room number from here. CT30. Celestial Tower. Excitement swims in my stomach that I get to stay in the year three dorms. Unlike other universities, SLU shifts their students around. I don’t get the same dorm, and I don’t get the same roommate. This year, it’s the towers. I’ve been looking forward to living there since the moment I stepped on campus.

Tilting his head to the side, he drops the keys in front of me. “You don’t.” He looks me up and down, and somehow, he finds me lacking. I don’t care. At least that’s what I tell myself.

“Well, that’s your opinion.” I sip the bitter coffee, making no move to get my keys, and instead keep my eyes on him. “And unfortunately, everyone has an opinion.” I drop my voice. “Doesn’t make your opinion the right one.” I grab my keys as his eyes focus on my lips. “Thanks for the chat, pretty boy.”

With the tension between us still crackling in the air, I pivot sharply, ready to put this uncomfortable exchange behind me, but fate, it seems, has a different plan. I collide with a solid mass that wasn’t there a moment ago, the shock of the impact sending waves of hot coffee cascading down my front.

Chapter 3

Frankie

All I wanted was a hot cup of coffee and a shower. Instead, I ended up with scalding coffee burning my skin—a sensation I could definitely have done without.

“Fucking hell!” The pain sears through me as the hot coffee drenches my shirt, the shock of the burn jolting me back to a harsh reality. My hands fly to my shirt, fumbling with the fabric, the urgency to remove the scalding layer overriding any concern for modesty or the company I’m in. With a hasty yank, the shirt comes off, hitting the floor with a damp slap, leaving me gasping from both the burn and the sudden exposure.

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