Whispered Darkness by Jessica Sorensen Page 0,7

me as possible while we’re here so Harlynn doesn’t know we’re hanging out. If she does, she’s going to grow suspicious, because she knows I hate you.”

“Yeah, the feeling’s mutual, man,” Grey replies with annoyance.

The exchange is really bizarre. If they hate each other so much, then why are they hanging out?

I hear footsteps walk away; Foster leaving, I’m assuming. Grey lingers in the darkness for a moment. I’m not sure what he’s doing.

“Whatever,” he finally mutters under his breath. Then I hear him stomp off, griping, “He always gets like this whenever it comes to her.”

By her, I assume he means me.

If I had heard all this before the accident, I would’ve been flattered. Now, I feel nothing.

Nothing but disdain.

That disdain swiftly fizzles as I feel someone move up from behind me.

3

Harlynn

Fear lashes through me, and I rack my brain for every self-defense move I’ve ever learned as I start to reel around. Then I feel it.

Calmness.

Stillness.

Connection.

Kingsley.

“Har?” he whispers through the darkness.

I turn around and find him standing on the other side of the car, looking around. He has a black hoodie on, black jeans, and black boots. He nearly blends in with the darkness, except for his pale blond hair that nearly glows against the afterglow of the fire and the moonlight. I can’t see his face, but I can feel that it’s him, so I stand up, revealing where I am.

“Right here,” I whisper. And then I do something completely and utterly bizarre.

I step forward and kiss him. It’s just a soft kiss, a relieved kiss. Still, he groans the moment our lips come into contract, gripping my waist, digging his fingers into my skin. Then he sweeps his tongue into my mouth and, for a moment, there is no darkness, no lies, no death. There’s just warmth and peace and connection.

What is this thing with him? It’s so intense that I almost can’t breathe.

Then he’s pulling back, a shaky breath fumbling from his lips. “Sorry.”

“Why?” I ask, confused, placing my hands on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding through my palm.

Adrenaline is coursing through him. Life is coursing through him.

He sighs. “For kissing you.”

“I kissed you, actually,” I point out.

“I know, but …” He steps back, yanking his fingers through his hair. Then he just stares at me. “Why did you kiss me?” While I can’t see his face, I can sense his apprehension.

“Because I wanted to.” It’s the most truthful words that have passed across my lips lately. “We’ve kissed before,” I add, like it’s some sort of validating point as to why I just randomly kissed him in the dark.

He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him studying me through the darkness. “I heard someone say you were here, but I didn’t believe them.” He gives a short pause. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were … I thought you said you were going to stay away from Foster.”

“I’m not here because of Foster,” I assure him. “In fact, I’m out here hiding because he was just here and I didn’t want him to see me.”

“Oh.” He pauses again. “I don’t want to sound controlling—I don’t want to be like my brother—but you shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, I know that.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I didn’t come here on purpose.”

“What do you mean?” he asks confusedly.

At first, I don’t answer, unsure if I can trust him not to think I’m insane.

You can tell him.

You can trust him.

He saved you.

“I slept-walk,” I divulge, “out to the lake. And then I woke up, and I … I didn’t know what to do, so I found a path and started walking and ended up at this party.” Because I could feel that you were here. I don’t tell him that part.

“You slept-walked to the lake?” he asks, baffled. “What …? Huh?” Confusion flows off him, a reminder of just how linked we are. And a reminder that I am literally holding his life in my hands.

“Yeah … it’s a little crazy,” I admit.

He reaches out then, brushing his fingers across my bare arm. Goosebumps sprout across my flesh. Not because I feel cold, though. No, I feel the exact opposite.

Warmth.

Kingsley is warmth in this coldness that has glazed my insides ever since the icy chill of death seeped into my soul.

Then, if things can get any warmer, he trails his fingers down my side, across my hip, and to the edge of my pajamas shorts

“Fuck, are you wearing your pajamas?” His skin