Page 2 of Mourning Wings (Whitmore Legacy #1)

1

VALERIA

Present

M usic pulses through the walls. I’m wedged in a corner of the living room, clutching a glass and trying to disappear into the wallpaper. The place is packed with people laughing, talking, dancing. It’s overwhelming.

This is one of Ebonridge’s top Halloween parties, where all the socialites and the best of the best go to see and be seen.

I take a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of alcohol.

Everyone is dressed up for the holiday. I glimpse down at my own outfit: a sequined pink top and matching skirt. Then , I glance over my shoulders at the pink butterfly wings strapped to my back. At least I’m dressed the part .

My fingers keep tugging at my costume, trying to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles.

I look around, hoping to see a familiar face, someone I can latch onto for a semblance of comfort. Unfortunately , I don’t know anyone here except Isabel , who promptly vanished into the crowd, off to have her own fun, leaving me to navigate this chaos alone.

I convinced her to come to this party in the first place, so I shouldn’t be upset that she’s enjoying herself.

Despite how much I hate crowds, I love spooky season. There’s something magical about this time of year—the crisp air, the eerie decorations, the costumes, the thrill of ghost stories and horror movies.

Even the most mundane settings become enchanting and a bit sinister, allowing people to embrace the macabre.

There’s an honesty in the darkness that I find oddly reassuring.

While others might seek comfort in the familiar and bright, I find mine in the shadows and stillness.

My attention is drawn back to the party.

Everyone looks so comfortable, so at ease with each other. There’s a group of men in the center of the room, all wearing the same white mask with hollow eyes and eerie, expressionless faces. It’s hard to tell if they’re supposed to be famous horror characters or some kind of cult. They must be part of the Whitmores .

The mystery of their costumes intrigues me, and I can’t help but stare a little longer, hoping for a hint that might reveal their identities. The longer I look, though, the more unsettled I feel, but I can’t pull my eyes away.

One of the guys catches me staring and turns to look directly at me. My heart skips a beat, and a flush creeps up my neck to my cheeks. His gaze, hidden behind the mask, feels intense and unnerving. I swallow hard, trying to play it cool, but my body betrays me as I shift my weight from one foot to the other and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the moment stretches on, my pulse spiking faster. His head tilts slightly, as if he’s acknowledging my curiosity, and a chill runs down my spine. I dart away, my heart pounding in my chest.

I weave through the crowd, feeling like an outsider, a ghost haunting the edges of this lively, colorful world. My throat tightens, and I take a sip from my glass, the bitter taste of my drink unappealing.

The music shifts to a new song I don’t recognize but everyone else seems to love. I try to smile, to look like I’m having a good time, but it feels forced, unnatural. My cheeks ache from the effort.

Why did I think it was a good idea to come here? Remember the plan, Valeria , I remind myself.

A woman dressed as a cheerleader stands beside me, looking almost as uncomfortable as I feel. But her slightly glazed eyes and unsteady stance suggest she has had a bit too much to drink. She seems to be alone, nervously glancing around, as if searching for someone.

“ Hi ,” she says after a moment, her voice shaky. “ Nice costume.”

“ Thanks ,” I reply, smiling softly. “ Yours too.”

We make small talk for a few minutes, and she introduces herself as Lisa .

Eyes darting around the room, she leans in closer, her breath warm and smelling strongly of alcohol. “ Watch out,” she whispers, her words slurred.

My heart skips a beat. “ For what?”

Lisa’s face pales. “ I — I can’t say,” she stammers, shifting uncomfortably again.

“ What’s going on?” I press gently. She’s starting to freak me out.

Before she can respond, Lisa freezes. Following her gaze, I spot one of the masked men staring directly at us. His hollow eyes seem to bore into me, and my blood runs cold, my body unsettled down to my bones.

Without warning, Lisa sprints away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving me alone. What the hell was that?

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. The energy here feels different now, tinged with something darker.

I scan the room for Isabel . Where the fuck is she? My anxiety is growing. I need to find her and get out of here.

Then , I remember I can’t leave before doing what I came here to do.

At that same moment, I catch a glimpse of my best friend at the top of the stairs, giggling as she’s led away by a guy in a sharp suit, wearing the same mask as that group. I gasp under my breath . Fuck . I have a bad feeling about this. I want to follow her, to make sure she’s okay, but she doesn’t seem to be in danger—yet—and I don’t want to ruin her night.

A guy stumbles into my path, almost spilling his drink. His eyes are glassy, his smile lopsided. “ Hey ,” he slurs, leaning in closer than I’m comfortable with. “ You need a refill? Or maybe a dance?” He seems to be dressed up as Pennywise , but his face makeup is all smudged.

I take a step back, shaking my head. “ No , thanks.”

He frowns, clearly disappointed, but before he can say anything else, I slip past him.

The hallway is less crowded, and I make my way to the back door, my heart lifting slightly when I spy the night sky through the glass.

But just before I reach the patio, my eye catches on the slightly ajar basement door. Yes . This is exactly what I’ve been looking for. The perfect opportunity to snoop around.

Hesitating for a moment, I glance back at the party and make my decision.

I open the door wider and start descending the stairs. The steps creak under my weight, the air growing cooler as I descend. I gulp down the lump forming in my throat.

When I reach the bottom, it’s almost pitch-black and silent, save for a light beaming from the far corner and the distant hum of machinery.

A narrow corridor stretches out before me. My pulse quickens as I walk down, the walls seeming to close in around me.

As I approach the end, the light becomes brighter, almost blinding. I shield my eyes with my hand as I step into a large room. The walls are covered with monitors, each displaying different parts of the gathering above. There are dozens of them, and the sight stops me in my tracks.

I squint, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness.

“ Hello ?” I call out, my voice echoing in the emptiness.

No response. I step further inside, and a shudder ripples through me when I realize how isolated I am down here.

The images flicker on the screen, showing people partying, but there’s something unsettling about watching them from this hidden vantage point. Every few seconds, the snapshots switch, showing different rooms, some empty, but others displaying footage that makes my stomach churn: men and women, in various stages of undress, engaging in intimate acts.

I catch sight of a hallway through the monitor, doors lining both sides, some open, others completely shut. The walls are a deep crimson, covered with intricate, almost hypnotic patterns that twist and turn, adding to the disorienting effect.

My eyes narrow on a specific screen. The camera captures a bedroom where a woman is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking distressed, while a man stands over her, talking animatedly. A wave of nausea surges through me. It’s Lisa , the woman I met upstairs.

She dashes out of the room, her movements desperate as she tries to find an exit, but she’s moving too slowly, her steps uneven. The man behind her is gaining ground, his strides purposeful and unyielding.

The screen flickers for a second, and I swear under my breath, willing it to stabilize. When it does, my stomach drops. There’s a dark stain spreading across the back of her costume, trickling down from her neck. Blood .

My heart races as I watch her struggle with the doors, her fear palpable even from this distance. I want to shout out to her, to warn her, but my voice catches in my throat. The realization sinks in that something is seriously wrong here, something beyond the eerie atmosphere of Halloween night.

The masked man emerges from behind her. In one hand, he holds a length of rope, and in the other, a large knife. His body language is cold, seemingly devoid of any humanity. What . The . Fuck . Is . This . Place ?

The image switches.

The other rooms appear to be playrooms filled with an array of sex toys and fixtures, displayed almost like macabre exhibits in a twisted museum. Swings hang from the ceiling, restraints bolted to the walls, shelves lined with various tools, their purposes I can only guess at.

Suddenly , one of the screens catches my eye. It’s focused on the same masked men I’ve been seeing all night. They stand in a circle, their heads bowed slightly, as if they’re in silent communication. My stomach twists with unease.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing. The invasion of privacy, the hidden surveillance—it’s all so wrong. My mind races with questions and a rising sense of panic. I need to get out of here, to find Isabel and tell her what I’ve found.

As I move to walk away, my gaze lands on another monitor, and my breath catches in my throat. There , in the low light of a room, I see my best friend. She’s with the guy she went upstairs with, and they’re on a bed, but it doesn’t look like she’s having fun anymore. She looks scared, her eyes wide and pleading.

“ Oh my God !” I gasp. Panic surges through me, and I know I need to get to Isabel , to help her. I can’t leave her up there, not like this.

As I turn to leave the basement, something stops me in my tracks.

One of the monitors now shows an image of me standing in this very room. My breath falters as I see myself on the screen.

A door slams shut behind me, and I whirl around, a lump rising in my throat.

Go , Valeria . Run .

I charge forward, bumping into someone. Startled , I look up to see a tall figure standing in my path. I scream, the sound piercing the stillness.

Before my voice can carry far, a hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my cries. My body is turned, and panic surges through me as I struggle, my muffled screams vibrating against the stranger’s palm. I can feel their warmth on my back, hear their harsh whisper, but I can’t make out the words. My mind races, fear gripping me as I desperately try to pull away, but their hold is too strong.

Then , just as suddenly as they grabbed me, the stranger releases me.

I stumble forward, nearly losing my balance as I face them.

The person is wearing a neck scarf pulled up over their mouth and nose, adorned with the image of a skull. I take in the rest of their appearance—black eyes framed by thick lashes, curly black hair, an eyebrow piercing, and fingers full of rings.

It’s a woman . I glance closer and notice a delicate butterfly necklace resting against the hollow of her throat. The sight of it sends a jolt through me—a rush of recognition—but the memory remains just out of reach, teasing me with its familiarity.

I feel a wave of unease wash over me, pinned by her intense stare. It’s as if she can see right through me, her gaze stripping away all pretenses. I feel exposed, skinned, and it’s deeply uncomfortable. Yet , at the same time, there’s something almost electric about it, like being lit from the inside.

I feel both emboldened and unnerved by her silence.

Her presence alone is commanding, demanding attention and respect. My throat feels tight, and I struggle to find my voice. Try as I might, no words come out. The air between us is thick, and I can’t shake the feeling that she knows exactly what I’ve just seen.

Her gaze slowly shifts to the monitors behind me, eyes narrowing as they take in the disturbing images. I follow her stare, my own anxiety rising as the reality of the situation sinks in.

“ You shouldn’t have come here.”

A breath catches in my throat.

Her voice cuts through the tension with an unexpected calm. It’s soft, velvety, wrapping around me like a warm blanket, and I’m startled by the immediate effect it has on me. The sheer contrast between her earlier aggression and this gentle, almost melodic, cadence makes my heart skip a beat.

I manage to find my voice, though it comes out as little more than a whisper. “ I … I need to help my friend,” I stammer.

Her eyes flick back to mine, and she gives the slightest nod. It’s a gesture that feels both like permission and a command, urging me to go.

With a final, shaky breath, I step around her and make my way back up the stairs, the urgency in my steps renewed. The encounter with the mysterious woman lingers in my mind, her image seared into my thoughts.

As I push through the crowd, searching desperately for my friend, I can’t help but wonder who she is and what she knows.