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ππππππ‘π’πππ‘πππ¦ πππ π¦ππ’, πΌβπ£π πππππππ πΌβπ πππ‘ ππππ π€ππ‘β π¦ππ’.Β Β
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ππππ π‘ππΒ Β
πππ ππ π ππ£π πππ π ππππ ππ π‘βπ π πππππ ππππ ππ π‘βπ πΆπππ‘ππ£π ππππ‘ππππ π πππππ , π€βππβ ππ’π π‘ ππ ππππ ππ πππππ. πππ ππ π ππ£π πππ π ππππ ππ π ππππ¦ π π‘πππππ πππππππ π€ππ‘β ππππ‘πππ‘ π πππ πππππππ πππ¦ ππππ π‘πππππππππ. πππππππ π€πππππππ πππππ’ππ π π‘ππππππ, ππ’ππππ’π ππππ πππ‘, πππ-ππππ πππ π’ππ π ππ₯π’ππ πππππ’ππ‘πππ , ππ₯ππππππ‘ π ππ₯π’ππ ππππ‘πππ‘, πππππ π ππππππ, ππππππ’πππ‘πππ, πππππππππ π‘π π πππ£πππ¦, πππππππππ π‘π ππ’ππππ, π π€ππππππ, ππππ, πππ’π π, πππ πβπ¦π ππππ π£πππππππ.
LINK https://books2read.com/obsessivemessages
βHello?β I call out.
No answer. Which, why would they talk and make themselves known?
If someoneβs even here.
No, someone is definitely here. With their arrival, theyβve changed the air. Electrified it with their presence, and my house was warning me the entire time.
Since I despise morning wake-ups by the sun, I invested in blackout curtains, and now, having them shut means not even the moonlight shines in, giving me zero light. Iβm blind in the darkness, requiring me to switch on a light.
This could be to my benefit since he wonβt see me reaching for my lamp.
I inch to the right, stretching my arm out for the hanging string, hoping I donβt swing it to hit against the lamp post. When my fingers make purchase and tug on the chain, I huff in relief.Β
Nothing happens. No light basks the room.
What the fuck?
I tug again, this time rougher.
βLittle Bird, that was cute.β
Oh my God.
My body dies, freezes, stops workingβall of the above. Itβs the only explanation for the voice in my room. Iβm dead, and itβs all in my head. But then warm breath coasts along my bare neck, reminding me that Iβm in panties and a tank, no bra, and completely exposed to whoever this creep is.Β
None of this is in my head. Thereβs someone actually here. I straighten from my attempt to switch on the lamp, feeling the smooth chill of leather, I think, brushing my arms.
βThe lamp. I unplugged it.β
βWh-what do you want?β Iβm thankful heβsβthe voice is way too deep to be a femaleβsβbehind me and canβt see the blatant fear from my expression. The way my eyes shut tightly and re-open, praying heβll be gone by the time they open. Or the way my throat moves painfully over the large lump lodged in there. Or even how my hands curl at my sides.
βWhat do I want?β Amusement coats his words.
βThatβs what I asked.β I bite my tongue, hoping he doesnβt take my comment as rude. My appreciation for crime shows and documentaries suddenly becomes extremely useful.
Lesson one: Never piss off the bad guy. It doesnβt end well.
βIβm here for you, of course.β His breath ghosts over the back of my neck, followed by his touch. His finger strokes the skin there, lifting my hair out of its way, and coming around to my neck bone. I twist my head, aiming to look at him, but he steps behind me once again.
Heβs not wearing a face covering, or else heβd wouldnβt be scared to stand in front of me, knowing my eyes will eventually be able to see through the darkness, allowing me the ability to pick apart his features. I scroll through anyone I know, specifically recalling any male staff Iβve heard at Alexβs house, but no oneβs voice sounds like this one. It reminds me of that chocolate syrup for ice cream, the one that hardens nearly instantly. Rough and hard but velvety and smooth beneath the surface.
βAfter all, I never introduced myself.β
βYou wrote the message,β I deduce, the words coming out strained. Who else would happen to write me a creepy note and then also enter my room in the middle of the night? Iβd have to have really shitty luck for that to have been two different people.
βI did.β He chuckles, and itβs pleasant. Not like a serial killerβs laugh. I want to allow it to ease me, but logic has me continuing to play with the edges of my shirt as anxiety works its way through my body.
βAre you here to hurt me?β
βThat depends.β
Oh, God. No please. I roll my lips together, forcing air through my quivering body. βOn?β
βOn how well you behave, Little Bird.β
Read The First Chapter HERE!
M.L. Philpitt is Canadian-born and raised, and enjoys representing Canada within her novels. As a Ravenclaw, she loves education, having undergraduate degrees in English Literature and Sociology, a certificate in Autism and Behavioural Sciences, and a MA in Counselling Psychology.
She writes in various romance new adult genres including paranormal, fantasy, dark romance, and contemporary. She has lots of crazy trapped in her head for readers to enjoy.
When M.L. Philpitt isnβt making up stories, sheβs devouring those imagined by other authors. Her love of reading began when she was a young child and only grew with age. She enjoys many genres, as reflected in her writing preferences.
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