Whispers Of You Catherine Cowles Novels & Stories

Susan 's POV: Startled by the vivid dream, I'm abruptly jolted awake. The dampness between my legs serves as a tangible reminder of how my body responds to these forbidden fantasies. I can't shake his face from my mind—those captivating eyes, those lips that brought both pleasures and torment to my senses. "This is sheer madness," I whisper in despair, seeking solace in reciting the Lord's prayer. Waking up repeatedly due to these haunting dreams has become exhausting, and I long for a reprieve.

"It's difficult to choose just one. But there is a particular book of poetry that holds a special place in my heart. It speaks of the complexities of the human spirit." Catherine's interest deepened, and she approached him, her gaze fixed on the shelf. "Would you mind sharing it with me?" Shawn reached for the book, gently pulling it out from its place. The cover was worn and aged, a testament to the many times it must have been read in the past. “This is 'Whispers of the Soul' by renowned poet Alexander Sinclair," Shawn said, holding the book delicately in his hands. "His words have a way of touching the deepest parts of one's being, unraveling the mysteries of the human experience."

“ Meara!” The whispers started again, soft but notable. I tensed, my eyes snapping open. I scanned the field, but there was no one in sight. The sound seemed to come from the tree itself, from the rustling of its leaves. I pressed my palms against the rough bark and closed my eyes, focusing on the whispers. " Come... find... me..." The words were faint but distinct. My heart raced. Was I losing my mind, or was there something more to these whispers? I stood up, brushing the dirt off my jeans, and took a few steps back. The whispers grew louder, more insistent.

I say, voice sharp, “let. Me. Go.” He sighs, exasperated. "Fine." The pressure vanishes instantly. I roll out of bed before he changes his mind, casting a glance at Caspian. He’s still fast asleep, his breathing deep and steady. He looks so peaceful that I almost hesitate. Almost. I shake my head and slip out of the room. The moment I step into the hall, I hear them. The whispers. “She has a wolf.” “A silver wolf.” “That’s impossible. There hasn’t been one in—”

I whispered, running my fingers through my hair. The morning sun was streaming through the window, casting a warm glow on the room. I stood up, my legs feeling shaky, and started towards the bathroom. As I reached the door, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. My heart pounded in my chest, a sense of foreboding washing over me. "Tyra!" Tyler's voice echoed from outside my door, followed by the insistent clicking of the doorknob. Panic surged through me. I scrambled to push Laxus off the bed, his startled curse a muffled whisper as he landed on the floor.

“Whatever my grandfather knew, he didn’t make it easy for us to figure out. Must have been his idea of fun—cryptic clues and riddles doodled on the margins of the notebook. I wish he wasn’t a manic puzzle master.” “It wasn’t like him at all. He probably had a good reason for being overly cautious, " Christina said, her eyes were glued to the black window. Nothing was there to see except a faded moon and scattered, lonely looking stars that made the silhouettes of moving bushes look ominous. Wolfie suddenly stirred, ears perking as she lifted her head, nose twitching at the air. She also looked at the window and gave it a low growl that vibrated through the floorboards, then she turned her he

I wandered, fingers trailing along spines, until a thick, aged tome caught my eye: The Rift: The Blood Feud Between Shadowmoor and Nightfang. Curiosity burned. I sat, flipping through tales of broken treaties, stolen land, and one chilling entry about a Luna from Nightfang who was assassinated by a Shadowmoor spy. No wonder these packs hated each other. “I wouldn’t start with the war crimes,” a voice drawled behind me. “The poetry section’s less likely to give you nightmares.” I looked up sharply. A woman leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, expression wickedly amused. She wore combat boots, a half-buttoned uniform jacket, and a smirk that could slice steel. Her dark blonde curls were

Her limbs no longer obeyed her. And then, all she heard was the faint thud of her own body hitting the ground. If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow Why, oh why can't I? She fought to keep her eyes open, but her vision was already blurring. Through the haze, she caught sight of a little girl crying…a flash of white dress, a blur of red roses swirling before her eyes. The sounds of sobs and screams grew louder, echoing all around her, until everything faded into darkness.

That was until I heard the first whisper. At first, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. Isolation and the dark tend to stir the imagination, conjuring sounds out of nowhere. I stopped, holding my breath, listening intently to the dead air, waiting for any sign of life. "Elias..." The whisper was soft, intimate, like a lover’s breath against the back of my neck. I turned sharply, my heart hammering in my chest. My flashlight darted across the room, but there was nothing there.

My chest ached like someone had reached in and squeezed. Crystal? I whispered the name in my mind, reaching for the soft presence that had always lived inside me. A gentle warmth stirred, like moonlight pooling in my chest. "I’m here, Nova. Her voice was quiet, steady, the way it always was when everything else felt broken."