Whispers In The Shadows

Whispers In The Shadows
Chapter 12

Whispers in the Shadows

Morning sunlight inched weakly through the tall, narrow windows of the west wing, but its warmth couldn't reach me. The walls here were always cold — too cold — as if meant to remind me I wasn't supposed to be here. The pack house held secrets in every corner, whispered and hidden, and lately I could feel those whispers turning against me.

I'd stayed away from the garden following the altercation between Kade and Ronan. The tension was so thick in the air that it felt like a tempest ready to burst. I tried to keep my head down, to be unseen — but it didn't matter. Nobody wanted me here.

I was resting against the hallway, waiting for the healer to bring me a new blanket when I heard the voices of two maids behind the pillar. They giggled and the sound was soft and sharp as broken glass.

"Did you see her this morning?" one of them derided. "She was so pale, as if she's been crying all night again."

The second one chuckled. "Crying over what? Maybe for some other man to save her. Or maybe she's casting her spells in the dark again." 

They both sneered. My chest tightened.

"Witch," the first one said. "That's what she is. No wonder Alpha Ronan has her locked up. Maybe she's cast a spell on him."

The second one gasped, pretending to shiver. “Don’t say that too loud! You’ll call her shadow. My grandmother used to say witches can hear their names from a mile away.”

My throat hurt, and my hands trembled as I kept them on the wall. I wanted to walk away, to pretend their words did not cut me, but I could not move. Each slur, each venomous word, was like a thorn being pushed deeper under my skin.

Honestly," continued another, her voice dripping with feigned sympathy, "I don't even know why she's not dead yet. Everyone who crosses Ronan ends up dead. And she's still alive. There must be something strange about her."

"She's useless," said the other bluntly. "All that fragile face and sad eyes — playing the victim. Maybe she's good at it. Maybe that's her talent.".

Their laughter echoed down the hall. My vision blurred, but I blinked fiercely, refusing to cry.

If I cried, they'd win.

If I broke, they'd know they were right.

But before I could inhale, a low, threatening growl sliced through the air.

"Enough."

Their laughter stopped. The color drained from their faces as Ronan's low voice took charge of the hall.

The two maids turned, slowly. He stood behind them, his face carved from stone, his eyes burning with something far more sinister than fury.

"Alpha—" one began, but her voice trembled.

Ronan's jaw locked. "I said enough."

Silence fell like a blade.

He stepped closer, his presence strangling the air between them. "Is this how you demonstrate devotion to this house? By spreading venom about someone under my care?"

One of the maids began stuttering. "We didn't intend—"

Ronan cut her off. "Get out."

"But Alpha—"

"I said out!" His voice echoed down the corridor, and they both flinched. The tray one of them was carrying dropped from her hands and landed with a clatter on the floor, scattering crumbs across the tiles.

They didn't wait to be told twice. They took off, nearly falling over themselves in their haste to get away.

The hallway was silent again, except for the pounding of my heart.

Ronan was paralyzed, his shoulders tense, his chest rising and falling. For a moment, he didn't stir — didn't even look at me. I had no idea if he was furious because of what they had said, or because they'd used my name in vain.

When he did turn to me, his eyes softened — but only slightly. "You don't have to listen to them," he said quietly.

I took a shaking breath. "How can I not? They scream louder than my mind."
He took a step closer, but I retreated instinctively. His brows furrowed. "Lyra…"

"Don't," I whispered. My voice cracked despite myself, trying to hold it together. "Don't tell me not to care. Don't tell me not to feel it. You think because you're sending them away, the whispers will stop? They'll only grow louder when you're not here."

His eyes glinted with something unreadable — guilt, maybe. Or regret.

"Let them talk," he said finally, his voice low but resolute. "Their words won't define you."

I laughed, small and broken. "But they do. When they look at me, they see a ghost, a curse, something that doesn't belong. You can't change that, Ronan."

His jaw clenched. "Maybe I can."

The intensity of his tone paralyzed me. For an instant, it felt like he intended more than silencing rumor — like he was fighting something primal, something internal.

But before I could ask, he turned around and started to walk away. At the other end of the hall, he halted. He did not turn around but said, "Stay in your room tonight. Nobody will ever bother you again."

And he vanished.

The silence that came back was deeper than it was before. His footsteps sounded and faded away into the vast emptiness of the house.

I stood alone there, gazing down at the crumbs that were scattered across the floor, and I couldn't help but wonder…

Was his anger for me — or because he cared what they said about me?

The thought frightened me more than their words ever could.