Chapter 66 Whispers in the Storm

Chapter 66 Whispers in the Storm
Betsy never liked the silence of Dwade’s estate. It was too big, too old, too full of history that pressed on her like a weight she couldn’t shake. The ceilings were high enough to swallow her words, and the windows rattled in their frames like they resented being here.
But tonight, the silence was gone.
The storm had started before dusk, dark clouds boiling over the treetops, thunder rolling as though the swamp itself had a heartbeat. Betsy leaned against the parlor window, arms crossed, watching the rain lash the glass. She had grown up in Ohio, where storms were loud but normal. This? This felt wrong. Too alive.
Behind her, Dwade paced, his boots heavy against the wood floors. He’d been in a foul mood since morning, shouting at Gertrude, smashing a glass against the wall because the bourbon wasn’t cold enough. Betsy had grown used to his temper, but tonight…tonight was different.
The air was heavy with something more than anger.
“Sit,” Dwade barked suddenly, turning toward her.
Betsy flinched but didn’t move. “Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
She rolled her eyes, masking her unease with bravado. “You’re wound tighter than a damn spring. What’s your problem?”
His smile was sharp, humorless. “Watch.”
He strode into the center of the room, arms spread. The lamps flickered, dimmed, though no draft stirred. Betsy’s chest tightened.
“Storm’s mine now,” Dwade said, voice low, reverent. “It listens.”
As if on cue, thunder cracked directly above the house. The windows shook. Betsy stumbled back, heart pounding.
“That…that’s just coincidence,” she said, forcing a laugh.
But Dwade only tilted his head. “Is it?”
Lightning flared outside, so bright it painted his face bone-white. And then—then Betsy heard it.
The storm whispered.
Not words she could fully grasp, but tones that curled like fingers in her ears. A susurrus of voices, layered and overlapping, rising and falling with the rain. Her stomach flipped.
“What is that?” she whispered.
Dwade’s grin widened. “Orders.”
And then she saw it.
A shadow detached itself from the corner, where the lamplight should have held it steady. It slithered across the floor, stretching long and thin like spilled ink, then thickened until it rose, shape forming. A man-shaped shadow, but wrong—the arms too long, the head tilted unnaturally.
Betsy stumbled back so hard she hit the wall. “Dwade!”
He didn’t move to help her. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he stepped toward the thing. The shadow bowed, a grotesque mimicry of respect.
“You see?” Dwade said softly, his voice a shiver of pride. “It obeys me.”
Betsy shook her head. “That—that isn’t possible.”
“It’s power,” Dwade snapped. “More than Roman ever dreamed of. He has his witches, his tricks. I have the storm. I have the dark itself.”
The shadow slithered across the rug, halting inches from her boots. Betsy pressed herself back against the wall, her breath shallow.
“Call it off,” she hissed.
Dwade chuckled, snapping his fingers. The thing dissolved, sliding back into the corner until it melted into nothing.
“You’re scared,” he observed.
“No shit I’m scared!” she snapped, forcing bravado into her tone. “That wasn’t—whatever that was—it wasn’t normal, Dwade. It wasn’t you.”
“Oh, it’s me.” He stalked closer, lowering his voice until it was almost intimate. “It’s what I was promised. What I paid for.”
“Paid?” Betsy’s throat tightened. “What do you mean, paid?”
His smile was all teeth. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is, I’m stronger than Roman now. Stronger than any of them. And when the storm comes for their little coven, no salt circle will save them.”
Betsy’s stomach dropped. She remembered Lorraine’s frightened face, Rhyan’s quiet watchfulness. She had wanted to hurt them, yes. She had wanted Lorraine to feel small, unwanted. But this—this was bigger than insults.
“You’re crazy,” she whispered.
Dwade leaned in, his breath hot against her cheek. “No, darling. I’m chosen.”
Hours later, Betsy sat in her borrowed bedroom, knees pulled to her chest. The storm still raged outside, but the whispers had dulled, fading to a low hum she could almost ignore. Almost.
Her hands shook.
She had thought siding with Dwade would give her an edge. Roman had ignored her, brushed her off like a fly, while Lorraine soaked up his attention. Lorraine, with her chubby little smile and her wide, adoring eyes. Lorraine, who had gone from nothing to everything in a matter of weeks.
Betsy had wanted to win. To remind Lorraine that she wasn’t special.
So when Dwade promised power, when he promised a chance to break Roman and humiliate Lorraine, Betsy had leapt.
But tonight she realized the cost.
Dwade wasn’t just a bitter old man with too much money. He was something else now—something bigger, darker. The way the shadow bowed to him. The way the storm spoke his name. It was too much.
And what if Lorraine really was the key to stopping him? Betsy had seen enough hints, enough cracks in Dwade’s mask to know he wasn’t invincible. If she stayed with him, she might go down with him.
For the first time, she wondered if she’d made a mistake she couldn’t undo.
Later that night, Dwade summoned her back downstairs. He was drinking again, his temper loose, but the storm still obeyed him. He bragged, ranted, cursed Roman’s name.
Betsy nodded, smiled when he looked her way, but inside her mind churned.
She couldn’t run—not yet. He’d find her.
But she could plan.
She could betray him before he betrayed her.
Not to save Lorraine. Never for her. But for herself.
She thought of the way the shadow had reached toward her, hungry. The way the whispers had tugged at her bones. Dwade thought he controlled it, but she wasn’t so sure.
And if he lost control?
No. She wouldn’t be around to find out.When she slipped into bed that night, Betsy stared at the ceiling until her eyes burned.
Play both sides, she told herself. Smile for Dwade, smile for his shadows. But when the time comes—slip the knife in first.
The storm whispered faintly beyond the windows, its voices curling around the house. Betsy pulled the covers tighter, shivering despite the heat.
She wasn’t sure if Dwade owned the storm…or if the storm owned him.
Either way, she resolved one thing:
She’d make sure Lorraine went down with him. she was, after all, the reason why she was in this predicament. If she hadn't caught Roman's eye, they would all be back in Ohio.