Wicked Whisper Novels & Stories

“ 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 whisper into the darkness, knowing full well what's going to happen next and inviting that sweet disaster to take me. His lips taste like mint and whiskey. I drink him in as he presses me down into the bed, his hands roaming my body, over my breasts, between my legs. I'm whimpering into his mouth, his tongue lapping against mine, my back arching into his muscular chest. My top comes off as his lips find my nipples, sucking and licking them, biting down gently. They're so stiff it feels like they might crack. My heart's racing and heat's pooling between my legs like wildfire.

Only those attuned to the roots of magic could navigate it. The deeper we went, the more tangible the darkness became. It wasn’t just the absence of light; it was a feeling that clung to the soul. The trees whispered in forgotten tongues. Shadows moved without wind. The snow-covered ground gave way to frost-covered grass—tall, blade-like stalks that shimmered and swayed as though dancing to an invisible song. It was called Whispergrass, a rare kind that reacted to magic. Whenever dark energy surged nearby, the grass would ripple in warning, even without a breeze.

The days stretched on, and he lost count of how much money he had wasted on these deceitful calls. Tristan and Eleanor watched quietly and felt heartbroken for him, but neither of them dared to stop him. If spending a little money would help ease his suffering, then so be it. They never imagined that Samuel’s mental state would be this bad, teetering on the edge of despair. Soon, even the scammers grew tired of taking his money and stopped calling. All that was left were strange women, bold and direct in their intentions. "Mr. Grant," they would purr through the phone, "Your wife may have turned her back on you, but if you're lonely, we have women of all kinds. We can even find someone who l

Someday, I will be your undoing, you will beg for my touch, and every kiss will be as empty as your heart, leaving you desperate and unfulfilled, until every thought leads back to one person. Me. Yours Wickedly, Sierra. Unable to contain myself, I screamed into my pillow until my cheeks flushed bright pink. I can't believe I wrote that. It's a good thing, because he'll never read it. I picked up my cell phone and dialed a number. “You've reached the FBI's private hotline,” the automated voice spoke. “Who do you wish to speak with?” No matter what happens, I was going to be the reason Don Dante Spinelli's empire burned.

Loud laughs and hoots of encouragement rose from the crowd watching, as they found my humiliation very entertaining. She lowered her head close to mine and whispered. “I wish you would cease to exist.”

They were like shadows but not empty ones. They moved and twisted, Their shapes unnatural. Their presence was Oppressive and cold My smile faded. The white spirits stilled and the clearing went silent. And then— I heard whispers at first, I couldn’t make out the words. Just the tone growing louder every minute. The dark figures stepped closer. The white ones didn’t move or protect me again, they didn’t try to stop them. My chest tightened. “What’s happening…?” I whispered. No answer. The whispers grew louder and more clearer till I could make out the words And then I heard it.

I said with a wide smile on my face. “I like you, and I will love to be your friend.” I continued, still looking at her. “Are you kidding? So you are not intimidated by my looks?” she asked with a voice that said, ‘you may not like me.’ The truth is this, she really had a mean face that radiated the Fuck Off sign. She had piercings on her tongue and almost every part of her ears. Her looks could really make one piss on his or her pants and she looked very ghetto. She had black short hair which she dyed blonde. I knew her hair was black because the root of her hair had already grown out some portion of black. She continued writing on her book and when I tried to see what kept her busy, she cl