It's almost a whispering beckon, the velvety voice in my head that speaks to me. Its words are poisonous, yet I am too weak to resist them, as I suffer helplessly, rotting from the inside. In silent defeat, I hear the words I speak internally, unable to stop—each sentence is a strike, my voice not my own, designed to inflict pain on the ones I love. Powerlessly, I feel my body move and act out in ways I don’t intend. Amid the trees, the first tear is followed by many more. I weep as I lean against one of the trees, while an unraveling takes hold of me that is long overdue. I fall to my knees and come undone in the process.
A branch moves across my chest, and with tear-streaked eyes, I watch its motion. I look up and see the leaves on thetree shudder; then another branch from a different angle arches around me, and I realize the tree is hugging me. I give it a small smile, unsure how to respond. It seems the magical forest has forgiven my earlier, hostile antics. Immediately, the voice pounces, attacking me at my weakest moment.
Time to visit your sister, make use of this newfound privilege, before those damn trees catch on. All you have to do is kill her, and you’ll be rid of these horrendous thoughts. She’s the culprit of it all.
It has a point. If Harlot is no longer alive, the curse can run its natural course. It’s thanks to her that I am the way I am now—unpredictable and dangerous around the ones I care for. It’s because of her defiance and bonding with that abomination that I dream of murdering not just her, but also Jodelle and Caria, and I start to succumb to the demanding voices.
Slowly, I untangle myself from the branches that hold me in some kind of embrace. I wipe away my tears and take a step forward, but none of the trees obstruct me. I feel my thoughts becoming cloudy, with dark shrouds covering my sadness and fueling my anger instead. Before the forest changes its mind, I start to run. Unsure of which way to go, I follow my instincts, and gradually I notice the shift in the trees. It spreads over them, that change—like molasses sliding down cold glass. Shadows fall over me as branches and foliage obscure my light, their bright colors turning dark. It’s clear they’ve sensed my murderous thoughts, and I raise my arms defensively against the now swatting boughs that nearly hit my head. It no longer welcomes me here, but then I see it—part of the fortress. High, stone turrets and tall, pointed spires contrast against the blue sky. Tall silhouettes emerge against the horizon, but I am unable to witness the details.
Limbs of an oak sway in the wind, nearly knocking me over, and the punch to my stomach steals my breath for a moment. Ireach out with my hands to the painted image in the sky; I amsoclose. That is where she holds herself up. Tears well up in the corners of my eyes once more, this time it’s not from sorrow, but rather from anger. A bitterness takes root inside me again—the cause of my despair is just a few kilometers away, and once more it’s these damn trees, this forsaken forest that keeps me from my desire. I kick against the oak that almost killed me, and I swear I hear it grunt. Shocked, I glance up, its leaves rustling wrathfully, their colors darkening from dark green to nearly black, and I step back. The bushes and trees are closing in on me, and it’s clear I’ve overstayed my welcome. With a tense jaw, I retreat. I need to get out of this forest while I carefully avoid swinging twigs and branches that try to slam me to the ground.
I groan as a twig cuts my face, blood trickling onto my shirt. I dab my cheek with my sleeve, unintentionally smearing the blood further. Despite my rage flaring up, nothing changes; nature seems immune to my kind of magic, perhaps because of its neutrality. I try to ignite the threatening tree, but it remains unchanged. Frustrated, I punch it, hearing a sickening crack coming from my knuckles, and I yelp loudly. A branch attacks me furiously, prompting me to duck and roll while clutching my injured hand.
“Fucking forest,” I mutter bitterly.
With a bleeding face and a surely broken hand, I manage to escape the clutches of the triggered forest. It’s been a long time since I felt as vulnerable as I did in there. I can’t believe I was so close to Harlot; no wonder my thoughts were poisoned the moment the thing within me noticed it. In defeat, I return to the one person who will never judge me, as she understands me on a level no one ever could.
Disappointment washes over me when the pretty witch from earlier is still present, Caria nowhere to be found, and Irealize I never asked Faas about the death witch, seeing him with my mother too distracting.
I open the door, and Jodelle rushes toward me.
“My love! What happened?” she asks, as she examines me carefully.
“A hunting trip gone wrong.” I smirk, trying to act tough.
Her gaze meets mine, those ocean-blue eyes full of sorrow, and I despise that I can’t fight whatever consumes me, that I am unable to endure its relentless attacks against my feeble mind. Yet, somehow, Harlot managed to survive and overcome it. Fuck, she was even able to dismiss her forced soulmate and choose someone else, a darkling among all possibilities. As I look at Jodelle, with her golden hair and perfect figure, I can’t imagine that she isn't my rightful soulmate. As I drink her in, it hits me: the reason for our broken connection lies deep within our attraction… It’s mostly physical, unlike Caria, with whom I also feel attracted to her personality. A safety I never truly experienced with Jodelle. I hold her tightly, sniff her hair, and she giggles, the sound actual music to my ears, yet… the tune feels off, as if it’s not entirely there, slightly out of sync. The revelation allows me to see things through a new lens, one that’s darker and gloomier. I feel the chemistry pulling at me stronger, but a part of me, one that grows more prominent each day, faces it with disdain.
She gives me gentle kisses on my neck, and the hairs on my skin stand up from excitement, igniting my passion. I push away the destructive thoughts, ignore the chill of revulsion, and focus on the infatuation that tries to embed itself back in my mind. I allow it to caress me like a blanket, wrapping me tightly and drowning me in allure. The tug on my mind becomes a slight nuisance, but I am able to disregard it and return Jodelle’s affection. She doesn’t deserve any of this; it seems she is nothingmore than collateral damage from this curse that dwells within me.
I kiss her deeply, eliciting a moan from her, which is enough to stir my cock. Our bodies are certainly compatible; it’s our minds that I worry about. Perhaps I need to work harder to make our attachment work. I weave my hands through her blonde strands, pulling her in, deepening our kiss even further. I do my best to forget Caria, with her golden eyes and deep red hair—the one who had captured my attention first, freely, without a forced fate interfering.
Suppressed Whispers
Harlot
Chapter 12
“You and Adira, Dhampir, what’s that about?” My monster asks immediately, the moment we step out of the shadows.
Emrys and I appear out of nowhere, startling the darkling, the silver, blood-filled goblet in his hand almost falling to the floor. His reflexes are fast enough to prevent it from happening, yet some of the dark fluid spills onto the floorboards. Faas opens his mouth, his sharp teeth and canines prominent, then closes it, as if he’s contemplating what to tell us.
“Have you been voyeuristic, Umbra?” He smiles, trying to distract us and buy himself time to come up with a story.
“I have. Now, speak, my matehatesto wait,” Emrys says, exposing his sharp teeth as well.
Faas’s display wasn’t meant as a threat; his is, and a low growl emanates from Emrys’s throat. The dhampir turns even paler than before, if that was possible, his skin translucent. I glance at the tall dhampir expectantly, with a morbid curiosity to hear why he’s with my mother. Everything he has done so far has been in his own selfish interest, and the idea that he is using my mother for his personal gain is not something I will take lightly.
She was heartbroken by my father's death, and not once in all those years has she shown interest in another man, let alone a darkling like him. Never had she appeared to want her heart mended by someone else, as if she savored the shattered pieces of her lost love. Part of me wonders if the curse would even allow a broken heart like that to be healed by true love, because despite it all, my father was chosen by fate for my mother as well, neither of them able to withstand the forced attraction. When I was younger, she would tell me stories about my father, the kind soul that he was, until I pressed too much, and she stopped. The silent treatment was a form of punishment she would often administer to me whenever she felt I was getting too curious. It was her twisted way of keeping me safe, always telling me I am too curious for my own good.
In the blink of an eye, Emrys wraps his hand around Faas’s throat and lifts him into the air, cutting off his airway and causing the dhampir to wheeze. Though Emrys is slightly shorter than Faas, the dhampir’s strength is no match for his; he lifts him effortlessly, his eyes turning black as he fixates his stare on Faas's bright green eyes.
“I don’t care what your reasoning is to stay here, despite the loss of half your free men, nor do I have interest in interfering. However, the moment you touch or show interest in something orsomeonethat puts my beloved in distress, Iwillintervene and disturb the balance. I willneverallow anyone, darkling orhuman, to cause my mate sorrow. Is that clear?” Emrys growls once more, the sound low and dark, a deathly danger hidden underneath, and the creature at his mercy manages to nod.
He throws the dhampir on the floor with no effort, dust particles swirling around like snowflakes as he lands, and an ember flickers behind Emrys’s black eyes, hinting at his true nature. The violence that found a turmoiled home within his heart always lingers, ready to strike when provoked. Faas rubs his neck, red bruises forming on his otherwise white skin, creating a stark contrast that reminds me of the blood-red river flowing through The Wailing Forest. I roll back my shoulders as my monster observes the wooden floor, where the dhampir slowly gets up.
“No need for the violence, I’ll talk,” he says with a grunt, holding his hands up in defense.
It’s the first time I've seen a whisper of fear on Faas’s usually stoic face as Emrys lets out a low hum of unrest, his patience wearing thin. The dhampir gets up and steps back a few paces, creating distance between himself and Emrys, who stands still, simply watching him. But it’s the cold stare that sends silver chills down others’ spines. I observe the interaction, slightly amused, not that Faas even dares to look my way. He knows better than that.
