Page 78 of Shadowed Whispers

I should have been more cautious, but I’m only thirteen, so when a hand clamps over my mouth and pulls me back against a body, I’m completely caught off guard.

“Shh,” she whispers. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

I’ve heard the lie before, and I know, without a doubt, it is a lie.

As the world fades to black, the distant rumble of the train rolling away is the last thing I hear. Then, nothing.

“Firefly.” Bishop’s gentle voice is followed by a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, firefly.”

Blinking against the bright sun, I see Bishop towering above me. It takes several heartbeats to realize I’m on campus, not back in Sedona, Arizona. I’m okay here. I am safe here, and I wield the power now I didn’t possess at thirteen.

“Hey,” I reply, my voice raspy and dry.

“I was calling your name.” He drops his hand, his brow furrowing with concern. “Where’d you go just then?”

I shake my head, unable to voice the dark places my mind spiraled into, when the veil of childhood innocence was torn away. She was not my friend, just another abuser in a long line of them. Her betrayal hurt the most, though, because it was the first time I realized that danger wasn’t confined to men. It included the women who worked for them and sometimes the women in charge.

Suppressing a shudder, I force a smile I don’t feel, but I need to move past this moment. “I read the book,” I tell him, trying to redirect our discussion away from the darker corners of my past.

He clearly isn’t satisfied with the change in topic. “You’re avoiding the past again,” he observes with a sigh. I can tell he’s thinking back to the days when we were almost family before life pulled us in different directions.

He doesn’t need to know what happened after he put me on that train, after we lost touch when he was adopted, and I was left to fend for myself. He doesn’t need to know that our foster father, who seemed like a villain from a fairy tale, was nothing compared to the real monsters I encountered. Some days, the mere memory is enough to haunt me, replaying like a relentless nightmare.

“Perfect.” He beams at me. “Think you’re ready to attempt to use the cipher?”

“I am.” I release a thankful breath, only to realize I never put my shoes on. Stepping off the path, I sit in the grass to slip them on. “I spent the night looking through it. I feel pretty confident.”

“It might take us a few weeks to get through it,” he cautions, dropping to the grass beside me, stretching out his long legs as he leans back.

Snorting, I tug on my running shoes. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Bishop.”

“Well, shit, firefly, if that’s what you consider a good time…” He trails off, his voice tinged with amusement.

I ignore the innuendo. Besides, I’m still sore from Leo. “You know I love puzzles.”

“I know you do,” he replies softly, his tone shifting subtly. It’s a tone I recognize. It’s the one people use when they are responding not just to you but to something else in their heads. I cast a glance at Bishop, who is gazing out over the campus, his skin glistening in the hot summer sun.

Here, he looks so boyish, so young, and all I can see is the lover who hurt me years ago, the one doing everything in his power to draw me back into his life all over again, and I can’t help but wonder why.

Why push me away?

Why draw me back?

It’s a push and pull that I don’t understand. I understand sex, desire, and lust, but him wanting more from me than I can give confuses me. I know what he’s doing with the cipher, but I’m too damn curious to tell him to fuck off.

Students move about, in and out of the mess hall, the dorms, and classes, while Bishop just sits and watches, and I watch him like a creeper who just can’t help herself.

I can’t.

Bishop intrigues me in ways no one else does. Even though we only spent a handful of months together as siblings, he was the first person to show me what friendship looked like, the first to teach me that not everyone is full of darkness, and then he put me on a train and told me to go—only to break my heart years later.

Maybe it was my fault, maybe it was his, and maybe it was beyond our control, but if I’m going to be near him again without a choice, then I need to know who Bishop Mercer is now, which means asking questions I don’t want answers to.

“Why did you do it?” My words are soft, almost hesitant, carried to him on the gentle wind that swirls around us.

Bishop’s head jerks toward me, his brilliant blue eyes unnaturally vibrant in the sunlight—too piercing, too intense. They search mine, seeking understanding or perhaps forgiveness.

His chest rises and falls with a careful inhale then exhale, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He rolls his lips inward before licking them, a nervous habit that I’ve come to recognize. “Why did I…” He trails off, his voice a mixture of regret and hesitation.

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