Whispers Beneath the Floor

Whispers Beneath the Floor
Ayla

The lake house has never felt so alive.
Maybe it’s the fire in the stone hearth, crackling bright against the snowfall outside. Maybe it’s the twenty guards positioned around the house, another thirty circling the lake perimeter like a living ring of steel. Twenty more stand at the tree line. I can feel them—steady, disciplined, keeping their distance as Thane commanded. And still, somehow, the air inside is warm and bright and a little chaotic, like the world forgot for a minute that danger exists.
There’s also a large number of strippers in my house.
Amani’s friends are… loud.
And sparkly.
There are sequins everywhere.
I’m not joking. Someone named Cherry brought an entire duffel bag filled with glitter and rhinestones that exploded all over my living room. The fireplace glows, casting the entire scene in a soft gold that makes everything look even more ridiculous.
But I’m smiling.
I can’t help it.
Amani sits beside me on the couch, long legs curled underneath her, explaining the survival uses of hair extensions while three of her old dancer friends nod seriously like she’s describing military tactics.
“So if you ever get grabbed,” Amani says, twirling a thick braid of synthetic blonde hair, “this is strong enough to wrap around someone’s wrist and use as leverage. You just gotta commit.”
One of the strippers—Tatiana, with a cherry blossom tattoo covering half her back—nods solemnly. “I used one to choke an alpha out with my ponytail in the bathroom. She’s right.”
I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh. “Is… is that normal?”
“Depends on the club,” Cherry says cheerfully. “And the alpha.”
Amani throws a pillow at her. Cherry dodges it without spilling any of her soda.
This, right here—this warmth, this laughter, this chaos—feels like a life I never imagined having. A quiet evening with women who are strong in different ways than I am. Women who know how to fight with their bodies and their wit. Women who survived their own worlds long before they stepped into mine.
Amani leans into me on the couch, her head resting lightly against my shoulder. “They’re not so bad, right?”
I smile, rubbing a hand slowly over my belly. “I like them.”
“Of course you do.” Amani nudges me. “They know you’re a Luna, and they still talk to you like you’re a regular she-wolf.”
“It’s refreshing,” I confess.
“It’s because they don’t know how to be scared of anyone,” Tatiana says from the carpet, reaching for a nail polish bottle. “You could shift into a flaming dragon, and Cherry would still ask how you got your eyeshadow to stay put.”
Cherry looks offended. “I would never ask that during a crisis.”
A beat.
“…unless it was really good eyeshadow.”
Amani laughs so hard she nearly drops her drink.
I touch the curve of my belly again as the pups shift—a slow, rolling movement that tightens the muscles along my ribs. Not painful. Just… strong. Stronger than they were a week ago. Stronger than I expected this early.
Cherry notices immediately. “They’re movin’ again, huh?”
“More than usual,” I murmur. “Tonight they’re busy.”
“Probably vibing with the glitter,” Tatiana says.
Amani gives her a look. “Tat. No.”
“What?” Tatiana shrugs. “They’re babies. Babies like shiny things.”
I laugh again—softer this time.
The pups move again, and I breathe through it. My lungs are tight these days. Everything feels a little compressed inside me, like my organs are politely arguing about personal space.
Amani watches me carefully, and I feel the shift in her expression even before she speaks. “You okay?”
“I’m always okay,” I say lightly.
But she doesn’t buy that.
She never does.
“You miss him,” she says.
There’s no point denying it.
My fingers curl gently into the hem of my sweater. “I do.”
Thane’s absence is a physical thing. Even through the bond—warm, steady, pulsing faintly with the echo of his dominance—it still feels like the world has leaned slightly to one side. Like the gravity in the room is different without him anchoring it.
He’s miles away now, probably dragging an unconscious Alpha across a courtyard like a ragdoll. Claiming a pack. Securing justice.
And I’m here.
Safe. Warm. Protected.
But not blind to the world outside.
Not deaf to the quiet warning inside my chest.
Before I can finish my tea, a rustling noise comes from the kitchen island.
Amani groans. “Oh my—please tell me you didn’t.”
But they did.
Cherry and Tatiana proudly hold up the opossum Cyrus dropped off this morning with zero instructions and the casual warning, “Don’t let him eat the electrical cords, he has a death wish.”
They’ve put a tiny rhinestone bowtie on him.
A pink one.
His beady little eyes shine with misplaced confidence as Cherry lifts him like a prize. “We’re giving him a makeover. He deserves joy.”
“He’s been acting like a feral swamp creature,” Amani mutters. “He deserves a bath.”
“He bites,” I add gently.
Tatiana waves a hand. “Same. We get along.”
The opossum hisses at her, which she interprets as affection. Cherry kisses the top of his head and says, “His aura is immaculate.”
I press a hand to my forehead, smiling despite the absurdity.
Cyrus and Raven are never getting this animal back the same way they left him.
A tightness grips my ribs again as the pups stretch, and I smooth my hand over the ripple. “They’re restless.”
Cherry leans forward, her makeup sparkling under the firelight. “Can I…?” She gestures toward my belly.
I nod.
She presses a warm hand gently on my side. Her eyes widen. “Oh damn, that one’s got opinions.”
I smile. “Both of them do.”
“Twins,” Cherry says dreamily. “Double the attitude.”
“Four times the opinions,” Amani mutters knowingly. “Trust me.”
The pups settle again under my palm, and I exhale slowly, letting the warmth of the moment wash over me.
For a breath.
Only a breath.
Because something shifts in the air.
Subtle at first.
A faint hum. Low. Barely there. Like the house exhaled under the floorboards.
I blink, glancing toward the hallway.
Amani feels me tense. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say at first. “I think—”
The hum comes again.
Deeper.
A soft vibration traveling up through the soles of my feet, threading into my calves like a whisper.
Not dangerous.
Not yet.
But familiar.
Old.
Amani sits up straighter. “Ayla. What is it?”
The answer forms in my chest before it forms in words.
I don’t speak it.
I don’t have to.
Because the front door bursts open.
Damon stands in the doorway, breathing hard, shirt torn and streaked with blood. His eyes lock on me instantly, scanning me for injuries before he even acknowledges the others.
“Ayla,” he says, voice low and urgent, “we have a situation.”
Cherry scrambles to her feet. “Whoa—are we dying?”
Tatiana elbows her. “Shut up.”
Amani moves like she’s ready for war, muscles tense, jaw tight. “What happened?”
Damon’s eyes are still on me. “Midnight’s been hit.”
My breath stops.
“How bad?” I whisper.
His throat works. “Bad.”
Cherry curses under her breath. “From who? That creepy old ring? Are they back?”
“No.” Damon pushes the door shut behind him. “Sonne’s remnants. Looks like one of his sons pulled together what was left of their pack. They’re moving like they planned this for weeks.”
Amani pales. “A retaliation.”
“Most likely,” Damon confirms. “And they came hard. West border, training grounds, patrol routes—coordinated strikes.”
The pups kick sharply, tension rippling across my stomach.
I press my hand to the movement. “Is everyone—”
“Fighting,” Damon says. “Holding the lines. But we need every capable warrior on the grounds.”
Amani steps forward. “We’re coming.”
“No,” Damon snaps.
She freezes.
“No one leaves this house,” he says. “Especially not you two.”
My pulse thuds painfully. “Damon—”
“I’m serious.” His eyes harden. “You are not stepping foot outside. Thane has fifty guards positioned here for a reason.”
“I am not helpless,” I say quietly.
“I know.” His voice softens. “Which is why you staying alive matters more.”
Amani opens her mouth to argue, but Damon cuts her off. “There are enough warriors. I need the guards who are here to stay here.”
“With Ayla,” Amani translates, glancing at me.
My chest tightens.
Thane’s absence is suddenly heavier.
Damon steps closer, lowering his voice. “Do I have your word you won’t leave this house?”
I try to answer.
Truly try.
But the floor hums again.
Stronger.
I glance down sharply.
This time, I feel the pups react—twisting, turning, angling inside me as if trying to orient themselves.
A faint, cold shiver runs up my spine.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Aramana stirs inside me, her voice brushing my mind like moonlight on water.
… listen….feel
My heart stumbles.
“Ayla?” Damon prompts.
I look up at him.
At Amani.
At these women I’m responsible for. At this home, Thane rebuilt for us. At the warmth of the fire and the glitter on the floor and the life we’re trying to build while danger claws at the borders.
I force the words out. “I’ll stay.”
Damon exhales. Relief loosens his shoulders. “Good.”
He and Amani share a desperate kiss, and then he backs toward the door. “Lock everything. No one comes in or out. I’ll send word when it’s safe.”
He disappears into the night.
The door clicks shut.
And then the real silence begins.
Because the hum doesn’t stop.
It deepens.
Spreads.
A slow, rhythmic pulse—like a heartbeat living beneath the house.
My breath catches.
Amani sees it instantly. “Ayla. What is going on?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Cherry looks around nervously. “Um. Should we be packing? Because the vibes in here just got real ghost-movie.”
Amani steps in front of me, protective stance immediate. “Ayla. Sit down.”
“No,” I say softly.
The floor hums again.
Stronger.
Silence falls over the group.
Cherry puts a hand over her chest. “Okay, nope. Absolutely not. No underground monsters tonight.”
“Cherry,” Amani snaps.
“What?” Cherry gestures wildly. “You don’t feel that? The floor is vibrating like bad club speakers!”
Amani looks back at me. “Ayla. What are you feeling?”
I swallow hard.
Aramana stirs again, her voice a breath against my thoughts—
not words, not images, just a feeling.
A warning.
A pull.
A direction.
There is a sickness nearby. A wounded thing. Twisted. One who clings to stolen strength.
A shiver crawls up my spine.
My blood cools, my pulse stumbling as the pups shift sharply beneath my ribs.
Eric.
Somehow, impossibly…
He isn’t gone.
He isn’t far.
I don’t know where he is—only that something in the earth, in the air, in the very pulse of the territory is calling my gift awake. Like my power is recognizing another presence brushing against its edges.
Not above.
Not below.
Just… close.
Too close.
My fingers tighten into fists at my side.
Aramana’s presence presses gently, insistently.
We must find him
I swallow hard.
I can’t explain it.
I can’t trace it.
I just know I can’t ignore it.