Page 40 of Whispers of the Dead

Shock courses through me. I barely have time to process this before they slam the door shut and she stumbles. She crumples, but she catches herself. The lock clicks into place, sealing us together in the darkness.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence while she stands there. Her shallow and uneven breathing is the only sound. The dim glow from the window in her cell barelyreaches us here, but I can still make out the faint outline of her small frame shrouded in shadows.

She doesn’t move. “Cole?”

I swallow, but it’s like shoving sandpaper down my throat. “It’s me.”

My body is stiff, and my voice is rougher than I mean for it to be. This is the first time someone has joined me in this darkness. Of all people, it had to be her. I’ve watched her since the moment they threw her into this place. I’ve memorized every movement, listened to every word, and watched every breath. She’s been kept at a distance, and I’ve envied Damon and Benji for getting to see her, to touch her. To taste her.

Now she’s here, within reach, and my hands are cuffed behind my fucking back.

“Hold up,” a voice calls out, surprising me. I’ve been so preoccupied with this woman that I didn’t notice a dreg come back. He holds his finger upside down in the air and makes a circular motion. “Turn around.”

I do as he says and then a moment later; the cuffs come off and my hands are free. He’s already walking away by the time I turn around, but then my attention is back on Zoey again.

She takes a tentative step forward. The faint shuffle of her bare feet against the concrete makes my pulse quicken. When her fingers brush my chest, I suck in a sharp inhale. My skin prickles beneath her touch. Every nerve in my body flares to life. Despite the darkness, her touch is light. Hesitant, even, but it sent a jolt through me all the same.

“Does it hurt?” Her voice is a whisper. Featherlight but filled with concern. Her movements are slow. Her fingertips trail toward my ribs, over the spot where Eugene’s knee landed earlier. She pulls back when I wince. “I’m sorry.”

I catch her wrist before she can retreat. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move. “It’s nothing,” I say, trying tosound dismissive, but the pain lingers. Still, I can’t let her turn away.

She hesitates. “Maybe I can help.”

My grip loosens around her wrist, and her fingers brush against my side again, softer this time. More careful. The tenderness of it makes my chest tighten for reasons that have nothing to do with my injuries. I’ll take a thousand more bruised ribs if they all led to this moment.

“You don’t need to do this,” I tell her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” she starts to pull away, but then she trips over my cot. I reach forward to catch her, and land on top of her with one arm around her waist and the other pressing against the taut material of the cot to hold myself up so I don’t crush her. Pain shoots through me, and I grunt.

“What is it?” Her hands trail down my chest in search of something wrong.

“I think he bruised a rib.”

She slides out from beneath me and uses her hands against my shoulders to push me into a seated position until I’m sitting at the edge of the cot with my legs hanging over the side. She pushes my knees apart and steps in between my thighs. My body tenses. This isn’t a position she should be in. Not with someone like me.

“You should rest as much as possible. I know that’s easy to do in this place,” she lets out a strained chuckle, “but don’t go being the hero again anytime soon. Hey, can we get some ice in here?”

The question is directed at the dregs who are cleaning up the rotter corpse from her cell, like Eugene ordered. They only grunt in response, so I’ll take that as a no.

“You don’t need to do this,” I try again. My hands fall to her hips on instinct.

“I want to.”

“Why?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she explores me the way she had with Damon. Her fingertips trace along the edge of my broad shoulders, skim over my wide chest, then map out the planes of my face like she’s memorizing me through touch. Learning me. “Because I care. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

I squeeze her hips and push her back. Not much, but enough to breathe. This is too much. Too close. I want this, but I can’t. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m attracted to you like no other.”

Her thumb pauses along my jawline. “You’re sorry for that?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“Cole, what is it?”

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