Page 15 of Whispers of the Dead

She squints down at her hand. “Oh. Must be from the broken glass.” She brings her hand closer to her face with afrown. “I think there might be a piece stuck in there. Crap. We don’t have anything to pull it out with.”

“Yes, we do.” I pull her hand through the bars and wrap my lips around the small red spot on her palm. I can’t see it, being in the darkness and all, but I’ve gotten pretty good with touch.

I feel her sharp inhale and the way her muscles tense, so I place a kiss first to calm her. Then, using my tongue, I press against the edges of the wound and coaxing the tiny shard loose. I wince at the sharp sting on my tongue, then spit it out into my hand. It’s smaller than I thought.

“Got it.” I place a gentle kiss against the tiny wound on her palm.

Her breath catches, and she hesitates. Then she pulls her hand back through. “Thank you, Benjamin.”

I grin. “Benjamin, huh? What did I do wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Her voice is quiet and soft, and I even see a faint smile playing on her lips. “You did everything right.”

I drag my tongue across my bottom lip, tasting iron. “Say it again.”

“Benjamin.”

I lean forward to rest my head against the bars, wishing more than anything that she could see me. Wondering if her eyes would linger on me like mine do on her. If her gaze would be drawn to my every movement like mine is to hers.

For now, though, I’ll settle for watching her like a madman, and listening to the way my name sounds on her lips. “I like it.”

5

ZOEY

The sharp clang of boots against concrete shatters the heavy silence. Each step is slow and deliberate.

Dread settles over me, and I push myself upright. I try to steady my breathing, inhaling through my nose and forcing my pulse to slow.

Calm. Stay calm.

I’ve come to dread the sound of boots down the hallway. Nothing good ever happens when dregs are near.

Three figures emerge from the darkened corridor. They appear in the faint light that reaches the edge of my cell, their silhouettes stretching long across the floor in front of them like the monsters they are. The flickering overhead bulb casts an eerie glow over their faces, and my stomach churns when I recognize the first one. The bastard with the busted lip.

The same one who’s visited me twice before, who shoved me into the bars and got Damon’s fist for his lunch. His sneer deepens when he walks, and a deep purple bruise spreads across his jaw from where Damon hit him.

The second man is unfamiliar. He has a gaunt face,hollow eyes, and moves like he’s merely bored, dragging his feet like this is another errand ruining his day.

But it’s the third one that turns my blood to ice.

I don’t need to see his face, because I already know. The confident swagger. The way his gaze rakes over me like I’m already his. Like I never stopped being his. That look is burned into my memory.

A whimper lodges in my throat, but I swallow it down. I press myself against the back wall to try to make myself disappear into the shadows. The slivers of light filtering through the barred window betray me, illuminating my trembling hands. I can’t hide from them.

The first dreg steps forward, and he smiles. Probably thinks my body is reacting to him, but truth is, he can’t hurt me as much as the other one.

“Morning, sweetheart,” the first dreg drawls when he stops in front of my cell. His grin is smug and full of venom. “Miss me?”

I don’t answer. I can’t, even if I want to. My gaze is locked on him. The third dreg. He watches me in the same way a predator enjoys watching its prey freeze in fear, knowing there’s no escape. His smirk deepens, and my knees feel like they could give out at any second.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” the third one murmurs. His voice is smooth and mocking. The voice from my nightmares. “Thought you could run, little lamb? Thought you could hide?”

He grips the bars and leans forward close enough that I can smell the faint traces of blood on his clothes mixed with sweat and filth. The same as the last time I was this close.

“You know, I almost gave up looking for you.” His head tilts, and something dark gleams in his gaze. Something dark and possessive. Enjoyment. “But I don’t like loose ends. And you?” His fingers tighten against the metal. “You’re mine.”

The room tilts. My breath hitches. I curl inward and wrap my arms around my middle as if that might shield me from his words. From him. From the memories.

---