Chapter 7: Whispers in the Walls

The manor never truly slept.

Even in the deepest hours of night, when the torches guttered low and the wind howled against the stone, there were sounds, soft, secret sounds, that belonged to no living thing Elara could name. A creak of floorboards where no one walked. A sigh of air through corridors that should have been sealed. A whisper too faint to catch words, but sharp enough to raise the fine hairs on her arms.

She lay curled against Kael’s chest, listening.

His arm was heavy across her waist, possessive even in sleep. His breathing was slow, steady, the rhythm of a predator at rest. The bond thrummed between them like a second pulse, warm, constant, reassuring. Yet it couldn’t drown out the unease crawling up her spine.

She slipped from beneath his arm carefully. He stirred but didn’t wake. She pulled on the green tunic from earlier, barefoot, and padded to the door.

The corridor outside was empty. Torchlight flickered, throwing long shadows that seemed to move when she wasn’t looking directly at them. She walked slowly, trailing her fingers along the cold stone wall, feeling for… something. Anything.

A draft brushed her cheek, too deliberate, too directed.

She froze.

At the end of the hall, where it turned toward the older wing of the manor, a door stood slightly ajar. She hadn’t noticed it before. Dark wood, iron hinges, no handle on this side. Just a thin slice of deeper black showing through the gap.

Her bare feet made no sound as she approached.

She pressed her palm to the wood. It was icy. Unnaturally so.

From inside came the faintest murmur, two voices, low and urgent. One male, one female. She couldn’t make out words, only tone: anger, fear, conspiracy.

Elara leaned closer.

“…the human weakens him. The bond is a chain. If we break it...”

A sharp hiss cut the speaker off.

“Not here. Not now. The Alpha hears everything.”

Footsteps. Approaching the door.

Elara backed away quickly, heart slamming against her ribs. She slipped into an alcove just as the door opened wider.

A tall figure emerged first, broad shoulders, silver-streaked hair. One of the elders who had spoken against her in the great hall. Behind him came a woman Elara didn’t recognize: pale skin, black hair pinned severely, eyes darting like a hunted animal’s.

They didn’t see her.

They moved quickly down the corridor in the opposite direction, voices dropping to nothing.

Elara waited until their footsteps faded completely.

Then she stepped to the door again.

It was locked now, sealed tight, no gap at all.

She pressed her ear to the wood anyway.

Silence.

But the cold lingered on her skin like a warning.

When she returned to the bedroom, Kael was sitting up in bed, silver eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

“Where were you?” His voice was calm. Too calm.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “Needed air.”

He studied her for a long moment.

“Come here.”

She crossed to him. He pulled her down onto the mattress, tucking her against his side again.

“Next time you wander,” he murmured against her hair, “tell me. There are parts of this house even I don’t trust.”

She swallowed. “Like the old wing?”

His arm tightened. “Especially the old wing.”

He didn’t ask how she knew. He just held her closer, as though he could shield her from whatever listened in the walls.

But Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls were already listening back.

And that whatever they heard tonight had just marked her for something far worse than a fight in the Pit.