Whispers of the Devil by Bella Moondragon

Author:Bella Moondragon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rogue Wolf Publishing

17

Layla

Monday morning hits me like a ton of bricks. The sun is shining hot and heavy when I roll out of bed at nearly 10:00, blinking rapidly to adjust to the startling glare. I slept like the dead. No dreams fractured my mind last night but…

I sit on the edge of the bed, dressed in a men’s shirt that smells like Dalton.

My throat bobs as I swallow against the sudden tightening there. A dull ache spreads up my inner thighs, and a bite mark I know is on my left breast sings with awakening pain.

Memories of last night crawl back to the forefront of my mind while I sit in the hot sun. Last night, a storm of epic proportions rolled over the property, leaving destruction in its wake. I rise from bed and walk to the window, seeing Curtis on the back lawn cleaning up branches and debris.

Deep puddles glisten in the sunlight–and beyond the yard?

The marsh is lost beneath a thick layer of fog, long silver tendrils rolling back from the tree line as the sun cuts through the shadows. By midday, it’ll be stifling, and the lingering darkness will have nowhere to hide.

I close my eyes and lift my face to the sun, letting the warmth spread over my skin. It’s daytime. Every corner of the house will be lit. There will be no shadows. No ghosts.

I’m not sure if what happened to me last night was a dream. Being chased around the house by a ghost feels like something I made up, some revival of the deeply rooted fears I’ve kept buried since I came here and realized the house didn’t feel right.

But Dalton… that had been real. The bruises and bite marks on my body are real. The way I can still smell him on skin, taste him on my tongue, and feel his touch is the realest thing I’ve ever experienced. My fingertips absently trail down my neck as I continue to stare outside, pretending it’s still Dalton’s touch. I imagine his lips brushing over my cheek, his teeth grazing the top of my ear as he whispers my name and asks me who I belong to.

He made that clear last night. He made it clear with every stroke, every touch, and every whispered word of pure, unadulterated possession.

Something clatters to the ground in the hallway, and I turn toward my door, listening as Bailey curses under her breath and her footsteps quicken, then recede.

It’s Monday. A normal day. I have a shift tonight. I’ll be too busy to dive any deeper into the pool of madness that has been trying to pull me under lately.

I pull Dalton’s shirt over my head, laying it out on the bed, and shower.

Thirty minutes later I’m downstairs in the kitchen. Bailey leans against the counter, a smile beaming on her face as she recounts her glorious weekend in New Orleans. Sitting at the kitchen table, I sip a cup of coffee and listen to her sing-song voice,

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