Page 13 of What the Shadows Hide
No answer.
His gloved hand wraps around my throat, not tight enough to hurt—just enough to impart a warning.
“This shouldn’t excite you,” he finally says, his voice low and distorted. “But I can feel your pulse banging beneath my fingers.”
My breath catches. Heat coils through the fear.
“I—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupts, leaning closer. “I won’t believe you anyway.”
His thumb traces the line of my jaw before sliding lower—over my collarbone, then to my chest—like he’s mapping every inch.
I should tell him to stop. To let me go.
But I don’t.
The sound of my heartbeat fills the space between us.
“What kind of spell do you have over me?” I whisper.
I wake with a gasp,drenched in sweat. My sheets cling to my skin. The TV’s still flickering blue light across the room, whispering static like it’s mocking me.
My pulse won’t slow.
I drag a hand through my hair, embarrassed by the heat still pulsing between my legs.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
The shower doesn’t help. The hot water only brings back the feeling of his hand—rough, certain, claiming.
By the time I make breakfast, I’ve convinced myself it’s just stress and exhaustion. Dreams don’t mean anything.
I grab my phone and scroll through local listings, searching for a contractor or inspector—someone to come out and look at the house, the generator, maybe the fence line. Anything that makes me feel like I’m being productive.
The first name I find is Owen Kettering,a local inspector. After doing some digging, I find that he’s related to Mr. Kettering, my uncle’s lawyer.
Perfect. Someone with a reason to be trustworthy.
I dial the number.
It rings twice before a calm voice answers. “Kettering Inspections.”
“Hi, this is Raine Voss. I live at the Voss Estate. I was hoping you could come take a look at the property today?”
“Of course, Miss Voss,” he says. “You’re on the ridge, right?”
“Yes.”
There’s a pause before he quietly says, “That’s Blackwell country.”
My throat tightens. “Should I be worried about that?”
He exhales slowly. “Not if you keep your doors locked.”
A chill rolls through me, even as I remain professional and discuss the details.
But when I hang up, I sit there, letting his words roll over me.
