Under The Whispering Door Characters Novels & Stories

The floating candles drifted overhead and the enchanted ceiling showed a sky that was gray and heavy with clouds. I stood in the doorway and took a breath and then I walked in. The whispers started immediately. Not loud. Just soft and sharp and cutting. The kind of whispers that were meant to be overheard. There she is. The Alpha's pet. I heard she bewitched him. She's not even that pretty. I kept my eyes forward and my shoulders straight and my hand on Ember's back. The kitten meowed and I shushed her and the whispers continued. She almost died.

Harper mused, making Innessa blush as they both stepped out of the room leaving her alone. Barely a couple of minutes passed before the door opened again. She expected it to be her mom but to her surprise, her eyes met with the dark cognac eyes which were stunned at the sight of her and as his gaze lingered down her body, his gaze softened causing her heart to beat wildly. Issac closed the door behind him and locked it with ease as his eyes met hers.

He asked, "Remember this? At Harrowell Library, you were reading by the window. The sun was shining on you, and I thought there wouldn't be anyone in the world as beautiful as you." I snapped the box shut. "The past is the past." "I can't let it go. I just can't," he said, all serious. Rain poured down in Hudson City that night. I figured he would leave, but then security called me way past midnight. "Ms. Douglas, Mr. Carter's still downstairs." I peeked out the window, and there he was—standing in the rain, stubborn as ever. "Let him in." I sighed. He was soaked through when he stood at my door, looking like a total mess.

I step back, kneel, and peek at the crack under the door. Stuffed with dried plants bound in red thread. The scent stings my nose—sharp, bitter. Why seal a door like this? I press my ear against the wood. Silence. Heavy and complete. But my skin crawls, like something behind the door knows I’m there. In kitchen, Elsie is mixing charcoal powder in a wooden bowl. “What’s behind the black door?” I ask, trying to sound casual. She doesn’t look up. “Which one?” “You know which one.”

I whispered, fear thinning my voice. I forced myself toward the wall, pressing my palm flat against the cold surface. Two knocks would alert her. But knocking meant sound. And at this point, sound meant giving away my exact position. The shadow shifted again and paused, as though sensing my hesitation. I closed my eyes. A soft voice whispered my name from beneath the door. “Lyra…” It wasn’t a voice I recognised. My breath caught in my throat as icy fingers of fear clawed at my heart. “Open the door.”

The door connecting the lair to his bedroom swung open with a soft, deliberate creak that echoed through the dimly lit space like a promise. Cassie’s breath caught in her throat, her body already strung tight from the endless wait. She didn’t dare move from her position. The sheer white babydoll clung to her skin, damp with anticipation, every inch of her exposed and aching for him.

I moved toward it, the fog trailing behind me, seeping in like breath. There—behind the altar, something shimmered faintly. I moved the rubble aside and found it: A tiny trapdoor. Wooden, soaked and warped, but it held. I pushed it open, expecting dirt or stone. But all I saw beneath was blackness. Bottomless, soundless black. And a whisper. No—no, it was just the wind. Or was it? “Alika.” I spun. No one. The fog had drifted into the church now, curling along the floor, sliding across my ankles like a living thing.

My eyes snapped open only to find a door slamming on the ground as if it fell from the sky. The doors had vanished, I had seen it with my own eyes. They had dissolved into smoke. So how the hell…how the hell was one opening again? From the mist, pale, slender fingers forced a door apart, prying it wide against the rules of this cursed place. My breath caught, my heart staggering as a silhouette emerged, graceful steps, hair like wildfire spilling into the gloom. My heart skipped a bit. “Seraphina?”

But she whispered, fierce and trembling: “Then let me break.” The gate shuddered—and opened. Light consumed them. ---

Not one of our stupid fake-dating moments. A real, raw, terrified grip. He whispers only one thing. “Don’t say a word.” My breath trembles. “Sora,” I whisper before I can stop myself. Ethan tenses. The door handle turns again. And the door slowly begins to open.