Sacrifice of Love, (Book 7 The Grey Wolves) (The Grey Wolves Series) by Loftis, Quinn (29)

Please enjoy the following excerpt from Kiss of Fire by Rebecca Ethington

 

 

Rebecca Ethington

 

Prologue

 

Everything changed on my fifth birthday. My parents were in the backyard hanging the “Happy Birthday Joclyn” banner that was surrounded by yellow and blue streamers. The colors danced through the trees as the wind blew them around. My parents laughed and joked as they decorated; I danced in the doorway as I waited for my friends to arrive.

I stopped to watch a brilliant blue trail of glitter as something small flew around me. I only caught a glimpse of wings before a sharp stabbing pain shot into the right side of my head. It left me feeling like I had been slammed against a brick wall. The sensation burned like acid that spread quickly through me. I dropped to the ground as the pain spread throughout my body. The hot current flowed under my skin like boiling water in my veins. My vision faded to black as the sensations grew into a torrent that split my bones apart. A buzzing silence filled the world around me until the sounds of my own screaming filled my ears.

I remember my mother panicking alongside me, my father on the phone with 911. I remember the sound of the ambulance siren, my vision a never-ending black, my body filled with the stabbing agony that incapacitated me. Trapped in my prison of unrelenting tortures, I drifted in and out of consciousness. No matter what the doctors did, what medicines they pumped into me, the pain didn’t go away. I couldn't move past it; sometimes I couldn't stop screaming. Eventually, I slipped into a coma.

The first thing I saw when I woke up was my mother's face, filled with worry. My father looked sick with fear. Even at five, I knew something was wrong. I had been in the coma for months, and no one knew what had happened. The only signs of anything having changed were a change in my eye color, from green to a colorless silver, and a small mark that appeared right below my right ear. It was the size of a penny, the skin vivid red and raised like a brand; in the middle, a small unintelligible figure stood out in vivid black. I ran my finger over it for days. It didn't hurt, but it was ugly. The doctors assumed that I had been bitten by some sort of bug and had an allergic reaction, but deep down I knew that wasn't right. Besides, something like that wouldn’t have affected my eye color.

I wasn't the only one to doubt the doctors; my father doubted them, too.

I went home the next day; my mother covered me in blankets and provided enough ice cream and cartoons to last me a month. She got time off work and took care of me like she had never done before. I almost believed the mark didn’t really matter - until the fighting started. It was weird to hear them yell.  I had never known my parents to fight before; they had always loved each other so much. My father had become obsessed with the idea of the mark, convinced that the mark I now had on my neck was something different, that it meant something. He rambled and yelled about it. He spent hours at the library, days on the Internet. The grinding noise of the modem dialing-in wound on our nerves; some nights I couldn't sleep. The fearful face he had the day I woke up never left him. He wasn't the same man. But I still loved him. I would crawl up on his lap, my five-year-old self, and plead for everything to be okay, promise him that I didn't hurt. I thought he believed me - until the day he disappeared.

I heard them screaming, for the last time, from the security of my bed, my blankets pulled high over me. I cried as they screamed at each other, gasped at the crashing that rocked the doors in the house. That night I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up, my father had gone, all because of me.

My mother didn't talk about it for months. Her heart had broken; I think my heart broke, too. Even at five, something inside me had changed; I knew I was different. Part of me knew that my father was right and that the mark did mean something. But it was also the reason he left, the reason my mother and I were alone.

At five, I hid that part of me away.

 

One

 

My long board clicked rhythmically down the sidewalk as I moved, the warm wind of early summer tugging against my dark hoodie, pulling at the long strands of black hair that had fallen out of my hood. I didn't like traveling in front of the houses in this part of the neighborhood. I normally took the back alley, but today, some road crews were working on pot-holes and I had to make my trip in front of the giant mansions that littered the hills of the east side of the city.

The rich ladies, with their upturned noses, liked to look out their windows at me as if I were somehow infecting their perfect little world with a contagious disease. They looked at me like I was poor (which I was), a menace (which I wasn’t), and like there was something wrong with me (which I wasn’t even sure of). Normally I would laugh at their response to me, but I didn't like them taking so much notice. Chances were, they would complain to my mother's boss, and she would get in trouble, again. It wasn't my fault the road crews decided to work on the alley, but it's not like “His Grace” would care.

My mother had worked as Edmund LaRue’s cook for almost ten years now, having taken the job after my father took off. Mr. LaRue, or King Edmund, as I called him, was an arrogant, greedy, self-righteous man who kept to himself. He probably had more secrets than rooms in his house - if that were even possible. But, as much as I despised him, he paid my mother well and so I couldn’t complain.

I jumped off my long board as I approached his house. If he heard the clicking of it against the sidewalk, he might throw another fit; that is, of course, if Mrs. Nose-Against-The-Window hadn’t already put in a call. I looked up the long driveway as I stepped in front of the gate. Only the gray Rolls-Royce lay parked against the side of the house, causing my heart to fall - no bright yellow Lotus. Ryland wasn’t home yet. I hopped back on my long board to roll down the side of the house; my somewhat good mood dashed by the absence of my best friend. Who cared if King Edmund got mad at me for making a racket?

I crashed into the kitchen, the slam of the door disrupting the 70s music that my mother and Mette, the LaRue’s baker, were listening to. Plopping myself onto one of the many bar stools surrounding the long work surfaces, I placed my head on my arms and covered my face as much as I could with my hood.

“Happy Birthday, Joclyn!” my mom said. I only grunted as I attempted to cover my head with my hoodie. “How was school?”

“Fine,” I said into the countertop.

“Fancy that,” Mette said in her rich, Irish accent. “She can almost disappear into the table. Must be a trick learned when one turns sixteen.”

I grumbled nonsense at them again and covered my head with my arms, trying to ignore the laughter of the two women.

“Not funny,” I growled.

“Hello, in there! Joclyn, can you hear me?” my mother lifted the side of my hood as she called into it, I tried not to smile. “Well, I think she’s done it! She has melded into the sweatshirt and become one with it.”

“That will make it easier to wash her, that will.”

“Not funny,” I tried not to sound amused, but I don’t think it worked. My mother snorted so loudly it reverberated off the pristine marble countertops.

“I’ll just throw her in the washing machine, then a little bleach, lots of detergent, and the skateboard can go in the dumpster.”

“Hey! It’s a long board, and it’s the only way I get around! Unless you bought me a car. Did you buy me a car?” I shot up like a light, my face breaking out into an eager grin.

“There she is,” Mom laughed, throwing a present at me. “Happy Birthday, honey! Sorry, no car this year.”

“She lives. She lives. Praise the Lord! I thought for a second we would have to call a priest to exorcise her from the sweater,” Mette laughed, her red bun bobbing on top of her large round head. “Happy Birthday, dearie.”

My mom nudged the present at me again, prompting me to open it. Her eyes were sparkling with that eager anticipation she always got about gift-giving. The package was a good size, but lumpy and squishy. Clothes. Clothing had been an issue with my mother and me since that darned mark showed up on my face and chased my dad away. I preferred to hide the mark - and myself. She thought I should show the world how beautiful I was. I guess she might be right; I could be seen as the epitome of the fair-skinned, dark-haired beauty with some form of ethereal features. My mom fawned over my bone structure and perfectly-formed eyebrows that just grew that way. But, when I looked in the mirror, I only saw a skinny girl who wasn’t quite good enough. My mom obviously saw something different; she liked to give me blue shirts to highlight my black hair, or green belts to set off the silver of my eyes, or so she said. All I saw were vivid colors or an obvious lack of fabric that would make me stand out.

For years my mom kept trying to convince herself that my choice of baggy dark-colored clothes was a stage that I would outgrow. I always found a way to hide myself; I kept my black hair long and falling in a sheet around my face, my clothes always dark and at least a size too big. It was all done in a way to help me blend in so people wouldn’t notice me. I felt comfortable inside my safety shield, hoping that no one could see me or figure out what was wrong with me. When the Goth kids showed up at school, it worked to my advantage. My mom, for once, thought I was trying to be cool, but I wasn’t overly emotional or narcissistic like they appeared to be. I just wanted to disappear.

“Go on,” Mom prodded. “Open it.” I sighed before ripping off the paper. It was a deep red shirt, embroidered with some beads and fabric flowers. There was no denying it was pretty. It even looked like one of the things I wished I could wear – if only I felt comfortable doing so.

“Just try it on, Joclyn.” My mom danced around in her white kitchen shoes; how in the world could I say no to that? I dragged my feet all the way to the bathroom, the red shirt sticking out of the arm of the hoodie my hands were hiding in. I put on the shirt; cursing the fact that my mother could tell what size I was, even through my purposely too big clothes. It was snug, but not too tight. I stared at myself in the mirror for a second, looking through the tunnel of dark hair. I looked so different in the shirt, almost pretty. Without thinking, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, just to see what it would look like, but the mark stood out so vividly; its ugly shape stuck out right behind and below my right ear. I twisted my hair and pulled it around the side, down the side of my neck. The low twist covered it easily, but I still didn’t trust it. Part of me wished I could dress like this, but I could never tell my mother that.

I sighed just a little bit before leaving the bathroom, knowing that Mette and my Mom would fawn over me. I looked in the mirror a second too long, trying to figure out a way to get out of this. Even if I said it was too small, my mom would insist I show her anyway. Best to get it over with. I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to see my mom dance around with excitement again. The door clicked open, and I stood there, eyes closed, waiting for it to come.

“Oh, Joclyn,” my mom said, “it’s beautiful.” I didn’t need to have my eyes closed, I could hear the soles of her non-slip shoes squeak against the floor as she danced in joy.

“Mom, don’t...” I pleaded, but I knew it was useless.

“That color... with your hair... Oh please wear it to dinner tonight - without that darn sweatshirt,” she added. I could feel her tug on the hoodie, but I hung on for dear life.

“Mom. No.” My eyes snapped open in my attempt to retort, and I froze. Ryland stood right in front of me, a huge grin on his face. My jaw dropped as my heart went into overdrive.

Ryland LaRue was the son of my mother’s boss. Ry was two years older than me and stood a good head taller. We had been friends since my mother first started this job when I was five, playing together in the kitchen and hiding on the grounds of the estate. Ryland would always be my very best friend, but lately it was hard to see past his dark curly hair, crystalline blue eyes and “private school Rugby muscles” without feeling like my heart was getting restarted. This heart slamming was for a different reason though: he hadn’t seen me wear anything other than a hoodie since I hit puberty. I felt uncomfortable, and Ryland’s appreciative grin wasn’t helping matters much.

Mette and my mother broke out into huge bouts of laughter at their little joke. The look of surprise on my face must have been hysterical. Rather than join along, as part of me wished to, I squeaked and moved to put my hoodie back on. I slid into it as quickly as I could without revealing my scar. I had kept it hidden from Ryland for this long, thanks to Band-Aids and carefully placed hoods or hair. I didn’t need him seeing it now. It would only give him a reason to run away.

“Ah, come on, Jos... It’s pretty,” Ryland pleaded.

“No.” I spoke as sternly as I could, turning to repeat the word to my mother who was in stitches with Mette against the confection mixer. My mother’s laughter stopped.

“Joclyn, you have to wear it tonight,” she pleaded. “Your grandmother bought you a matching skirt.”

“Skirt?” I gasped. There was no way they were getting me into a skirt. But I could tell by the look on my mom’s face that I was trapped. My birthday dinner was the only time of the year I saw my father’s parents; it would break their heart if I said no.

“Ugh. Fine. Fine!” I snapped, ignoring my mother’s look of triumph before rounding on Ryland, one finger pointed in his face. “One word of this to anyone, even mentioning it to me, Ry, and I will kill you.”

“Uh huh,” he laughed, his blue eyes rolling. “What are you going to do, Jos? Hide from me? It does look very pretty on you, you know.”

“Ryland LaRue, so help me...”

“Yeah, yeah, I got ya,” he smiled, grabbing my hand that pointed in his face. “Come on. I’ll have her back in an hour, Mrs. Despain.”

“Better make it two, Ryland. I don’t need her moping around while I try to get the chicken broiled.” My mother smiled so brightly that I could have almost guessed what was on her mind. More gifts.

“No problem, Mrs. D.”

“Oh, and Joclyn,” my mom’s voice called after us. I turned back to her, halting Ryland’s departure. “Please try to avoid Edmund and Timothy. I think my job has been threatened enough for one week.” She smiled, but it was half-hearted. She was always the first to get in trouble over my friendship with Ryland. I nodded in understanding before Ry pulled me out of the kitchen and into the servants’ quarters. We gained the usual snickers and side-glances as we scampered past the many rooms occupied by the live-in staff, heading to the back corridors that the servants used to move around the massive house.

At first our friendship had been tolerated by Edmund, but a few years ago that had started to change. For a year or so, it had been labeled unacceptable, and then last year, we were told we were not supposed to be friends at all. Ryland had been warned and threatened by his father to stay away from me, while my mother had been under constant “warning” of losing her job. I wasn’t surprised. To King Edmund, I was nothing more than a dirty peasant. We probably should have taken it seriously, but Ryland insisted everything was okay, so my mother and I followed his lead.

We entered an upper hall where Ryland’s bedroom sat, the door just ahead of us on the left. I kept my eyes looking straight ahead, smiling until an unusually short man in a three-piece suit with a thick, neatly trimmed beard turned the corner to face us. I jumped behind Ryland, not needing his arm to move me there. I knew that man, and I hated him.

Timothy Vincent was the Vice President of Ryland’s family’s company, Imdalind Forging. He was responsible for the metal-forging method that had made them their trillions. Timothy was also the man who reprimanded my mother on a weekly basis about my continued relationship with Ryland. He caught sight of us and moved toward us quickly, an even angrier scowl than usual carved into his face. Timothy always made me uncomfortable – even on his best days.

“Ryland, we have been looking for you.” My heart sank. We. That could only mean one thing. A heavier gait entered the hall and I moved further behind Ry. I didn’t have to see Edmund LaRue to know what he looked like. In many ways Ryland could be described as his father’s clone, but instead of the mop of loose curls Ryland had, Edmund kept his hair short and slicked back in a gentle wave. Where Ryland’s eyes were the warm and welcoming color of the depths of the ocean, Edmund’s were as cold and distant as the polar icecaps. They always cut into me with a frigid poisonous edge that made my insides repulse.

I sank into Ryland’s back, my face pressing against his polo shirt in an attempt to hide. His muscles were tensed and strained. Ryland’s hand reached back and found the tips of my fingers that stuck out from the cuff of my hoodie. He squeezed my fingers between his in an attempt to reassure me. As always, his touch warmed my body, the tingling warmth shooting right to my stomach.

“Ryland! I am so glad we found you. I would like to move our lesson to an hour after dinner.” Edmund’s voice was laced with a false endearment that shook my bones. His statement was not a question but a command. Ryland had been taking lessons with his father since he was twelve. Ry had always insisted it was some fencing thing, but the way they talked about it always made it seem so sinister - like they were going to take over the world. Who knows? Maybe they were. Corporate drama is a little out of my league.

“Yes, Father, that’s fine. I will meet you in the court.” Ryland’s voice was distant and diplomatic. When he talked like this, he reminded me of the heir to the multi-million dollar company he was, not my energetic, fun-loving best friend.

“Ryland,” Timothy spoke slowly, dragging out his syllables, and I knew he was going to address our friendship. I shifted my weight, cursing the dark hoodie that stuck out from behind my hiding place. “I am so glad to see you have taken our advice about your choice of friends.”

Timothy’s voice seemed hopeful, odd, seeing as how I stood right here. I cursed my oversized hoodie and attempted to draw the fabric closer to my body. Being so close to both of them made me almost, dare I say it, scared.

“I have expressed my opinion on this multiple times, Timothy. Please do not make me repeat it.” Ryland stood a little straighter as he attempted to end the conversation.

“Now, now, Ryland. We don’t need any of that.” Edmund’s voice lacked any warmth. “After all I would hate for your attitude to be the cause of a downfall.”

I cringed; was he talking about me or about my mother? Edmund had never before said anything so bold when I was within earshot; it was almost like he couldn’t see me. That, in itself, was a ridiculous thought; Ryland wasn’t enough to hide behind, even with all his muscle.

“You know my terms in regards to that, Father.” I could see Edmund’s expensive penny loafers slide against the white carpet; I shifted my weight, scared he was moving to get a better look at me.

“So it would seem. Well, at least now, I won’t have to dismiss her mother, or worse. We just can’t have anything spoiling my perfect son, now, can we?” I saw his body shift as if he were moving closer; Ryland’s fingers pressed harder against my own.

“No, Father.” There was a pause and then Edmund’s shiny leather shoes stepped away from us down the hall. Timothy’s shoes followed Edmund’s hesitantly, like they were waiting for something else to happen before he turned the corner.

We moved the last few steps quickly, darting into Ryland’s spacious room before either of them had a chance to return.

Ryland’s bedroom was roughly the size of my entire apartment. The giant rectangular space was separated down the middle, on the left side, by a long wall that housed a kitchenette on one side and Ryland’s massive entertainment system on the other. The right side of the room contained his oversized bed that still sported the colored blankets we had used to make forts when we were little kids; the entrance to his bathroom lay beyond the bed. Behind it all was a closet the size of a small motor home, containing far too many clothes for someone who went to a school that required uniforms.

I went to the high cabinet next to the entertainment center where he kept the chocolate before plopping down on his bed to enjoy a Mounds Bar. Ryland locked the door behind him, just in case his father or the servants decided to get nosey, and turned on some brainless TV show as he went.

“I hate them, you know. Hate,” I spat sourly, ripping the wrapper off the candy.

“That’s a strong word, Jos.”

“I know, but don’t you think they deserve it? Saying all that about how I am going to ruin you, talking about me like I was not even there. It’s like they couldn’t even see me.”

“Maybe they couldn’t,” Ryland said almost inaudibly.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny, Ry.” I paused at the curious glance Ryland gave me. “They wouldn’t hurt anyone because of me, would they?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Ry grumbled as he leaned against the wall his TV was mounted to.

My head jerked up. “They would?” Not cool.

“Don’t worry so much, Jos. I wouldn’t let them, even if they tried. If I could get them to be nice to you, I would, but I can’t. Either way, I won’t let them hurt you,” he said. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about it. You only have to deal with them for the rest of the year. I get him for my entire life.”

I could only roll my eyes, the candy bar falling untouched to my lap. I didn’t like the daily reminders that Ryland was leaving overseas for college in just a few month’s time. Oxford, a huge giant ocean away. I tried to push the information to the back of my mind.  I would be lucky if I ever saw him again.

“So, did you get the role?” Ryland asked eagerly, plopping down beside me. His obvious change in subject managed as smoothly as possible.

“No, of course not. The role went to Cynthia McFadden, not that anyone was really surprised.”

“What? You read the role perfectly!”

“Well, I did here in your bedroom; in the school gymnasium I’m not sure the drama teacher could hear my monologue over the catcalls about my lack of hygiene...” I hoped that didn’t sound too bitter. Cynthia had brought half the football team with her and they had quite a fun time jeering at anyone who auditioned for the same role as the cheerleader. I thought I had done a good job, even with the jocks yelling at me to bathe or brush my hair, but Ms. Flowers didn’t think so.

“What role did you get then?” Ry asked, his silky voice calm and eager.

“None.”

“None? You would have been cast as Ophelia without question if you had auditioned at my school.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course I would have. You go to an all boys school!”

“I guess you’re right. But Michael Aliente has been eyeing that role for years now; you might have had your work cut out for you.”

“Well, I don’t think I could beat Michael; he’s way too good at those monologues.” We laughed, the thought of tiny Michael in a long Shakespearean gown bringing tears to my eyes.

“Do you want me to do something? I could make a phone call...”

“No!” I snapped. He had said it with only good intentions, but his face moved from concern to shock. My fast-beating heart plummeted; I didn’t mean to offend him. “I mean, no, thank you. Cynthia will be great in the role, though she may come off as more of a floozy than a crazy girl, but - whatever.”

“That’s not what I meant, Jos. I meant about the guys teasing you. I could always pick you up from school in the Lotus; that would stop them in their tracks.”

“They would only say I paid you,” I smiled at him, but he didn’t return the smile; I loved Ryland when he got like this; he was an incredibly caring guy. Instead he looked at me as if I had just sold his precious car, to buy a long board made of solid gold.

“Joclyn, I don’t like them making fun of you, especially when they say things that are not true. I mean, really! You, not bathe. I can smell your shampoo from a mile away.”

“How do you know that’s not just the perfume I use to cover up the almighty stench?”

“Joclyn.”

“Ryland.” My glare was no match for the blue eyes that cut into me. “It’s alright, really. It’s not like there’s anything you can do.”

“I have a full Rugby team who would gladly fight for your honor.”

“What, do we live in 1740 now?” I laughed. He didn’t. Strangely enough, he was serious. “You would fight the Eagles’ Landing football team for my ‘honor’?”

He nodded. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“Why? I mean, no one cares about me. I disappear in that school. They only said those things because they couldn’t even remember who I was.”

“I care about you, Jos, and I don’t want people talking about you like that.” My heart sputtered for a moment before I turned to him, making sure the mark below my ear remained covered.

“That’s why you’re my best friend, Ry, because you care. You are the only one who knows me.” I smiled at him in a desperate attempt to convey that I was okay, that the name-calling didn’t hurt, even if it did. I could tell he wasn’t buying it. He could always see through my looks. “I’m fine, Ryland. Honest.” I waited but he didn’t say anything. I could just see him barging into my school with a dozen other guys in dark blue blazers. Ugh.

“Ry, I am asking you as nicely as I can manage, to not do anything. I can handle it. You don’t always have to protect me.” I tried to put as much energy into my voice as I could. I am not sure it worked.

“Alright, I won’t do anything. It’s just a crappy way to spend your birthday.”

“That’s okay. I got a great shirt, soon to be skirt-combo out of it, which I will never wear. So, no harm done.”

“You know, you really should wear...”

“Don’t start, Ryland,” I said, falling back on his bed.

“You just need the right accessories, is all.” He spoke quite calmly as he placed a small wrapped box on my chest. I sat up letting the box fall into my lap.

“What? Are you asking me to marry you?” I scoffed the words, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off the box.

“Hell, no! I have been engaged to Cynthia McFadden for years. Didn’t you know?” He pushed into my shoulder, almost knocking me over. “Just open it.”

I moved back to a sitting position like a weeble. I couldn’t say anything; the richest guy in the state had just given me a jewelry box. Part of me didn’t want it, but the girl inside of me forced my fingers to rip the paper off.

The box was back velvet, soft to the touch. I caressed it, like the box itself was the gift, before opening it to reveal an inside of soft black silk. Nestled into the shiny silk was a teardrop-shaped ruby the size of my thumbnail; the beautiful jewel was suspended from a fine silver chain. A beautiful silver wire wrapped around the Ruby in swirls and spirals that joined it to the chain. I could only stare at it. I knew without asking that the ruby was real. The necklace was worth more than my mother made in a year.

“Do you like it?” Ryland’s voice was soft, entertained as he chuckled at my solitary head-bob of a response. He grabbed the necklace out of the box, and moved to place it around my neck.

“Sorry it’s not a car,” he laughed, “but your mom wanted to give you a full new outfit for your birthday and forced... eh, recruited me to help. I thought this would set off the diamonds in your eyes. I think she will do anything to get you out of those hoodies and jeans.”

I looked down at the necklace that now hung around my neck, my voice coming back. I moved my hair out from under the chain careful not to show that dreaded mark.

“Besides,” Ryland continued, “You can always wear your new outfit under a hoodie and then your mom can still feel like she won.” I couldn’t help but laugh. But, I also felt like crying. I had never received anything so beautiful, something that I instantly loved. Darn my girl emotions! One tear had leaked out.

“Thank you, Ryland. It’s beautiful. I love it.” My voice did not get above a whisper.

“You know, Jos, you’re more of a girl than you let on. I’m just glad I am the one who gets to see it.” And then Ryland kissed my forehead; I thought my heart might explode.

I hadn’t had a birthday this good, ever.

 

 

Please enjoy the following excerpt of Forever Fae by L.P. Dover

 

Book One in the Forever Fae Series

By: L.P. Dover

 

Chapter One- Calista

 

The Prophecy

 

Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring

Two Courts to Four is what it will bring.

Without the Four the evil will spread,

The Land of the Fae will fall into dread.

The next generation will provide the Four,

The maiden souls and nothing more.

The Power of Four will start with the first,

If he gets the power, only then will you be cursed.

The Power of Four will be drawn to the others,

Their power is strong, the power of lovers.

The moment they become one,

Only then will the change have begun.

Two Courts to Four is what needs to be,

To save the Land, so shall we see.

 

Taking a deep breath, I sat on my bed and thought of everything that was about to change. Being the daughter of the legendary King Oberon and Queen Tatiana had come with many responsibilities, and ones that I’d come to accept with great honor and duty. However, I had been known to go against the council from time to time, much to my parent’s dislike. I didn’t get the reputation for being hard-headed and stubborn for nothing. First and foremost, one of my honor bound duties was to accept a guardian on my twenty-first birthday, and today happened to be that day. In just a couple of hours, dignitaries from all over the Land of the Fae were going to be here to celebrate this occasion. 

The Guardian Ceremony was a centuries old tradition that was going to be held at sunset to determine who would be my warrior guardian. The warriors chosen will fight one another for the right to be given the honor. I enjoyed watching them practice, and secretly, against my parent’s knowledge, I did train with my friend, Merrick. They’d be shocked to learn that I was just as skilled in battle as their warriors. 

A knock on my door broke me away from my thoughts. My nurse maid, Elvena, entered the room.

“My lady, are you ready for the ceremony?” Her voice was soft and angelic, always soothing, but now she looked at me wide-eyed and gasped.

“Child, you don’t even have your dress on. Your father will skin my hide if I don’t get you ready in time,” she scolded, flapping her hands in the air while frantically running around the room. 

I watched her scramble around and grinned. Elvena was half brownie and half elf, and even though she had elf blood in her, she was still a short woman whereas elves were usually tall. Her curly brown hair hit her shoulders and her eyes were the color of amber. When my parents would travel across the lands on business, Elvena was the one who took care of me and my younger siblings. She also happened to be the one who proclaimed the prophecy that had been widely known throughout the land. Apparently, I happened to be a part of that prophecy, but no one—not even myself—knew how I was supposed to change the Land of the Fae.

“Oh, Elvena, Father wouldn’t dare do that to you. You’re one of the most important people in this kingdom, and the most sought out prophetess. Your prophecies have helped save our kingdoms for hundreds of years. I would never let him do anything to you.”

“That may be so, child, but I still have duties and you’re one of them.” She sighed. “Now, let’s hurry. So many of our guests have already started arriving.”

“Who is here?” I asked.

Elvena halted mid-step and narrowed her eyes in contemplation. “Hmm … well, of course you know Aelfric and Rhoswen would be here early, and since Durin couldn’t make it, I did see several of his dwarves coming through the front gate before I came to fetch you. All that’s left now is the Winter Court fae.” 

Aelfric and Rhoswen were the leaders of the Elvish Kingdom, and Durin was the leader of the dwarves. Both the elves and the dwarves were powerful allies to the fae, and are our most trusted friends. I’d spent many moons with Aelfric and Rhoswen in their beautiful kingdom, and I looked forward to my next visit with them, which was going to be soon.

“Well, hell, I guess I better hurry then.” I laughed. “I’ve heard Queen Mab doesn’t like to be kept waiting when she arrives for something.” 

Rolling her eyes, Elvena shook her head. She’d never approved of my vocabulary, and of course the quip at Queen Mab definitely had her laughing.

“The words you choose to grace your tongue astounds me, child; although, I do have to say that you’ll serve this kingdom well when your time comes. There is no other fae in the land that has the ability to control all of the four elements such as you. Your powers are above anyone’s imagination and you will do great things. Only time will tell what those great things will be.”

Pausing to stare at me, her hazel gaze showed nothing except pure love for me, but then it turned mischievous. What is she up to?

Giggling, she said, “Now let us get you ready for the ceremony. What dress have you picked out for tonight? It needs to be something special so those boys will have something to fight over.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I gave her a playful scowl. She knew I wasn’t happy about the warriors fighting over me, but I also knew there was nothing I could do about it. After seeing my facial expression, Elvena laughed so hard she snorted and couldn’t stop. I always loved her laugh, and could count on it to bring a smile to my face even in the worst of times.

“Xylia and I travelled to the mortal realm to pick out our dresses for the evening,” I told her. Her laughing abruptly stopped, but before she could interrupt I held up my hands and said, “Merrick was with us if that makes you feel any better. We were well protected, and you know very well that I’m trained in battle. Merrick has been training me for years and I’m an excellent dagger thrower. I’m even better than most of the warriors.”

By her slow growing smile I knew what Elvena was thinking. The only thing she heard of what I just said was that Merrick was with me. Merrick had been my life-long friend and we’d grown very close to one another. Being around him all the time had definitely made my people speculate the seriousness of our relationship. Only Elvena and my best friend, Xylia, knew about my trainings with Merrick.

“I know what you’re thinking, Elvena, and that’s not going to happen. Merrick is my friend, end of story,” I remarked.

Her smirk told me she thought otherwise. “I believe you, child, but I don’t think Merrick will hold up that end of the bargain. Say what you want, but that boy has feelings for you. He watches you when you’re not looking, and his eyes show the longing he has for you.” 

Sighing, I muttered, “I care for him as a dear friend, nothing more. Besides, he hasn’t even let on about his feelings toward me. Until he does, I won’t address it.”

Changing the subject, I pointed over at my closet and said, “If you look in my closet over there, Elvena, you’ll see the exquisite emerald dress I picked out for tonight. I fell in love with it and I knew I had to get it.” 

Elvena huffed and pursed her lips. She knew what I was doing, but she went over to my closet anyway. With a sly smile on her face, she looked at my dress and chuckled. “Oh yes, Princess, you will cause a mighty stir tonight. You won’t be able to keep any of the young men away from you once they lay their eyes on you.”

She brought the dress over and laid it on my bed. She also pulled a little silver box out of her pocket and handed it to me.

“What do you have there, Elvena?” I asked curiously.

“Open it,” she softly ordered. Opening the beautiful silver box, I saw the most amazing gold encrusted ring with a swirling purple stone set in the center. The stone was a deep amethyst color with an iridescent look to it. I’d never seen a stone like it before. The band had words of the Old Fae language engraved in it, but I couldn’t seem to make out the words.

“Elvena, what do the words say? I’m having trouble translating,” I questioned.

“It says, my child, Mind, heart, body, and soul … I protect thee. It’s beautiful, is it not?  This was my ring as a child, and I decided that since I no longer needed it I’d pass it along to you.  It happens to be your birthday and tonight is a special night. I thought you deserved a special gift, and it’ll also help protect you when your guardian can’t.”

“It’s beautiful, Elvena. I’ll never take it off.”

Smiling, she took me in her arms and squeezed me tight. “We need to stop dawdling and finish getting you ready.” Elvena quickly pulled back and motioned for me to sit. Her hands moved swiftly through my hair, and in a matter of minutes she arranged it in a beautiful cascade of blonde curls and braids along with a sprinkle of delicate flowers in all shades of color.

“Thank you … for everything,” I whispered.

“Anything for you, child.”

 

Other Books by L.P. Dover

Betrayals of Spring- Book two, Forever Fae series

Summer of Frost- Book three, Forever Fae series

NA Contemporary Romance

Love’s Second Chance- Book one, Second Chances series

Trusting You- Book two, Second Chances series

NA Romantic Suspense

Love, Lies, and Deception- stand alone

 

 

Please enjoy the following excerpt from Jordyn and the Caverns of Gloom by Tiffany King

 

And the Caverns of Gloom

 

"In darkness there is light and with light there is darkness. Maintaining vision in both is your challenge. Your strength will be tested and your loyalties will falter. How you choose to live will be defined by each decision you make. Your faith in others will be shattered, but forgiveness will be your greatest asset when given without pretenses. The power is yours alone. You fail to recognize your significance, but a day will come when your humanity will match that of your gifts. The Light is in you. You are Jordyn."

 

~Haniel

Chapter 1

Jordyn

I couldn't tell you what day of the week it was, and quite frankly, I didn't care. The days no longer held meaning for me anyway. My time lately consisted of traveling, wandering and pondering the reasons for my existence on Earth. I pout too. I'm well aware of that fact, but I feel it's justified. How would you feel if you found out your life was a lie? That you had no control over your own destiny, but instead you were created for one purpose: to be a weapon. You'd probably be pissed too. I feel like I've gone through every stage of grief with each one passing in its own way. Anger had fueled my fire the longest and kept me from going home. Anger and resentment toward the people I thought I could trust.

After a month of hiding and bouncing around from one place to the next, I was feeling lonely. I decided to visit Anthony in Shanghai, someone who knew me, but didn't know the real me. Honestly, I was surprised that neither Emrys nor Haniel had made an appearance. Emrys, I figured had been fired or whatever the powers that be would do to him for not accomplishing his task, but Haniel's absence confused me. It had never been like him to go longer than a day without one of his pop-ins. It made me wonder what his plans were.

I couldn't remember where Anthony lived, so it took some searching before I was able to locate the building I needed in the busy Shanghai neighborhood. It was a risk to come here considering how close he was with Emrys, but for whatever reason, I didn't care. I rang the bell tentatively, worried about my impulsive decision to drop in, and almost bolted at the last second until Anthony threw open the heavy door to his building.

"Jordyn?" he roared in his booming voice, hauling me in for a crushing hug. "Where you been, chick? My boy E has been on major freak-out mode. He keeps popping in to see if you've come by."

"Really?" I asked, confused. What kind of game Emrys was playing?

"Seriously. Something to do with you pulling a disappearing act or something. I'm surprised he even came here since, you know, you aren't exactly from around these parts," he said. Anthony seemed like the type who was careful enough to never ask any questions he didn't think he was privileged to know, especially with a mysterious friend like Emrys. "When I asked him why he didn't just call you, he said you were out of his range. Whatever the hell that shit is supposed to mean," Anthony continued.

"I've been around," I answered nervously. I tried not to look obvious as I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Emrys wasn't waiting to intercept me. "Has he been here lately?" I asked cautiously as Anthony closed the door behind us. He led us down the pitch-black hallway that had once freaked me out.

"You just missed him. He was here earlier today," he said, pushing the door open to his pristine living space. "Too bad, huh?"

I let out a quiet but relieved breath. "Right," I answered.

"Maybe not too bad after all?" he stated, sinking his hulking framed own onto the couch. "You two have a spat?"

I shrugged. What had happened between Emrys and I had been so much more. Lies, betrayal and a broken heart deserved a stronger word than "spat."

"You here for more ink?" he asked, obviously puzzled at what other reason I would have for a visit.

"Uh, I really didn't give it that much thought. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd swing by," I said. Of course, what he didn't know is that I arrived in the neighborhood only two minutes after lying on a sandy beach on a small island not too far from Tahiti.

"That's cool. So—maybe you're here to talk about my boy E?" he asked, sitting back against the couch with his hands folded across his wide stomach.

I nodded. Anthony wasn't stupid enough to believe I had just casually stopped by.

"Can't do that, chick. I like you and all, but I owe E. He's had my back for more than half my life," he said, looking at me with wise eyes.

"Do you know what he is?" I asked, figuring we were past pretenses.

"Not exactly, but I've never asked. If Emrys wanted me to know his business, he'd tell me."

"He has secrets," I said bitterly, pacing in front of Anthony. I knew I had made a mistake in coming here. I wasn't going to learn anything new. Anthony's loyalties lay with the soul-sucking trader who had tricked me into believing I meant something.

"Any secrets Emrys has don't concern me."

"And you've never bothered to question why he never ages?" I inquired skeptically.

"I tried once, but he's a man of few words when he wants to be. I figured if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me. If that's why you're here, I can't help you out.

"It's not that. I know what he is," I sighed, perching in a hard white plastic chair. It was actually more comfortable than it looked since it was contoured to the planes of my body.

"Okay, then. Why are you here?"

"I know you feel he deserves your loyalty and you're probably right, but he's done stuff that will no doubt have repercussions," I answered. Emrys had failed to deliver me. Only he knew what kind of trouble that would bring.

"What does that have to do with me?" Anthony asked, studying me with interest.

"I need to know if Emrys has ever come to see you with anyone else. If he's ever mentioned the 'work' he does."

"You're the only person he's ever brought around in the twenty-some-odd years we've been friends. As for his work, the only thing he's ever said is he's a collector."

I laughed harshly at his description. "Collector" was one way to put it. I could think of a few other choice ways to describe it, like "backstabbing asshat leech."

"Is that wrong?" Anthony inquired, looking amused.

"I guess it depends who you're asking."

"What if I'm asking you?" he said.

"I'd say he needs to watch his step," I answered, standing up. "I think I've changed my mind. I do want a tattoo," I said. I felt suddenly inspired.

"Really?" He looked confused by the sudden halt in our conversation.

"Yeah. I want one here," I said, running my hand down my right side.

"I'm guessing by your expression you already have a design in mine?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. I could see the tattoo I wanted clearly in my mind.

"Let's do it then," Anthony said, leading me to his tattoo room.

This time I would get a tattoo where I could see it. One that would remind me of who I was and who I could trust. I climbed up on a padded table that sat against the longest wall of the room.

"You know, you're going to have to take off your shirt and bra for this one," Anthony said.

"Yeah, I uh, figured that, I guess," I answered, looking more embarrassed than he did.

"Chill out, chick," he laughed. "I'm kidding. You do have to lose the shirt, but you can keep the bra. Here, you can cover up with this," he said, throwing me a towel.

"Bastard." I smirked. After explaining what I wanted, Anthony got to work. Two hours later we were both admiring his skills. "It's excellent, Anthony. Thank you."

"No problem. It's interesting, I'll give you that, but hey, our ink says who we are. The butterfly still looks hot too. Damn, I'm good," he said, admiring his previous masterpiece on my shoulder.

"No arguments from me," I answered. "How much do I owe you?"

"You know what, chick? It's on me this time."

"You don't have to do that," I said.

"I want to. I don't know when your birthday is, but consider this an early or late present, whatever. Just remember how I told you to take care of it," he said, smiling.

Anthony led me down the hallway to the alley outside his building. I thanked him one last time, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he closed the heavy door behind me. The visit wasn't a total loss for information. The fact that Emrys didn't know where I was explained a lot. Up until my visit with Anthony, I assumed it was only a matter of time before Haniel or Emrys came to collect me. Judging by what Anthony said, it would seem my powers had evolved to a new level. Obviously, I must be somehow shielding my whereabouts. This opened up a new world of possibilities. I could continue to travel and avoid detection as long as I wanted. I could start a new life. Problem is, it would be a life filled with loneliness. I didn't like to think about the look on Krista's face when I left her behind. I had been so angry and hurt. Now that I had some time to think things over, I was still upset, but I also knew I would have to see them again eventually.

 

***

The warm blue-green water at Manuel Antonio beach in Costa Rica could be bottled and sold for medicinal purposes. That's how wonderful your body feels after lying in the perfectly soft sand while the waves gently massage your muscles. Stepping from the ocean in a skimpy swimsuit I purchased from a local street vendor a few days back, I glanced down at the fresh tattoo that ran up my side. Unlike the butterfly on my left shoulder that I couldn't see, this one was hard to miss. I had to hand it to Anthony. Only he could make the words I had chosen to brand myself with this beautiful.

"Nice tattoo," a guy old enough to be my father (well, if I was human, that is) flirted with me as I sank down on the towel I had also snagged.

"Thanks," I said, not glancing his way. Hopefully, he'd take the hint and move on to someone more his type. I sighed when I saw him slowly strutting my way like he was God's gift to women. This is what I get for coming to a public beach. Being alone so long had begun to wear on me. I craved human contact. Not this dickbag's contact, but something that would ease my fear that I would be all alone for the rest of my life. However long that would be.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, indicating the beach bar behind us.

"Can't, I'm not twenty-one," I answered, trying to scare him away with my age.

"That's fine, honey. This ain't like the states. They don't care how old you are."

"So, me being eighteen wouldn't bother them at all?" I asked.

"Not at all sugar," he countered, sitting on the end of my towel without asking.

"I'm not sure if my boyfriend would like it that I accepted a drink," I said, giving the jerk one last opportunity to leave somewhat graciously.

"Honey, if my girlfriend looked like you, I wouldn't leave her on the beach all by her lonesome."

"So, you have a girlfriend?" I asked. Not that I cared, but what a worm.

"Wife, but I'm always looking," he said, reaching out to capture a drop of water that was rolling down my arm. I reached out with lightning-quick reflexes that were as instinctive as breathing and grasped his hand. For a moment, his eyes lit up with triumph until I started to squeeze. I grinned at him as his face slowly lost its color.

"A word to the wise, Romeo. When a girl gives you an excuse to avoid buying her a drink, or asking her out or wherever else your perv mind was taking this whole thing, you take the hint. If we say no, we mean no. Got me?" I said, squeezing his fingers a little harder. I watched with satisfaction as his complexion took on a grayish hue. "Got me?" I repeated.

He nodded mutely and sighed in relief when I released his hand.

"Good boy," I said, standing to my feet as he grimaced in pain while trying to flex his fingers. To add insult to injury, I reached down and grasped the corner of my towel. With the flick of my wrist, I sent him sprawling face down into the sand.

"And by the way—ew," I said, wrinkling my nose as he lay in a heap in the sand, clearly confused on what had just transpired. Turning on heel, I paused when I heard several women cheering. I flushed slightly that they had seen more than they should have, but I couldn't help grinning as they all applauded. Leaving them behind, I looked for an inconspicuous spot where I could "pop away," as I liked to call it, without detection. Slipping between the bushes that lined the sidewalk, I disappeared the moment I was clear from view.

I appeared in the hotel room in New York City I had inhabited for the last few days. It wasn't the Plaza by any means, but it was clean. To remain hidden, I had to stay in places that would accept cash without a credit card deposit. I had a checking account from a trust fund I was originally told was left to me by my dead parents. I now know that was a lie. Since Krista and Mark were the trustees of the account, they would see when I made any charges using my debit card. To get around that, I would make ATM withdrawals from all over the country when I needed money, that way they could never pinpoint where I was. When I popped into New York on Wednesday, I only planned to stay for the day. I was lonely and figured the crowded streets would help fill the void inside me. After walking aimlessly around Manhattan for hours, I decided to pop up to the roof of one of the buildings to check out Central Park. The view was so breathtaking it had convinced me to stay longer. It wasn't the Empire State Building, where my heart yearned to go, but still gorgeous scenery nonetheless. The sun had set for the evening, but the sky was alive with the millions of lights that made New York the city it was. I really shouldn't be here. It reminded me too much of Emrys. Still, I couldn't deny how special it felt the moment I arrived. This was our place.

 

Chapter 2

Emrys

"You must ask him, Emrys. We are out of time."

"Look, Haniel, if this is so important, why don't you go ask your precious Light?" I prodded, even though I knew what his answer would be. I just enjoyed yanking his chain. I knew what I needed to do. Besides, the endless waiting was killing me. I had been ready to go after Jordyn from the moment she left. The fact that neither Haniel nor I could locate her after she severed her ties with us sat heavily on me. I wasn't used to asking for help to find someone. It was an unwelcome feeling.

"Approaching the Light now will only harm the chances of your request being granted. The Light must only be approached when we have something to offer," Haniel reminded me in his typical unyielding fashion. He was as much fun to talk to as a mute daemon that had been sentenced to a thousand lifetimes of silence.

"I was kidding, you stiff. I got it, okay? I know what my part is. I just have to make sure I am ready to face Gaab. You know he'll see my thoughts, and there will be some kind of test of my loyalty too," I said, grimacing over the last part. I could only imagine what the daemon who ruled the majority of the Caverns of Gloom would do if he read my true intentions, but this seemed to be our only option at the moment. He was one of the few who could see Jordyn through the shield that was keeping her hidden.

"You must accomplish your mission." Haniel stated firmly like he was telling me something I didn't already know.

"Relax, all right? I got this. You work on your end of the bargain," I said, not allowing myself to focus on what the bargain entailed. I had been schooling myself to empty my mind from everything but my desire to locate Jordyn. If that was the only thing Gaab pulled from my thoughts, and he believed my intention to turn Jordyn over to them once I found her, maybe he would be willing to give me the information we needed. That was the plan anyway.

"The time then for hesitation is done. Every second that passes becomes more critical."

"Critical for you, not me," I muttered under my breath, even though I knew he heard me. Before he could answer, I disappeared from his side.

 

YA Titles by Tiffany King

The Saving Angels Series

Meant to Be (Book 1)

Forgotten Souls (Book 2)

The Ascended (Book 3)

Wishing For Someday Soon

Forever Changed

Unlikely Allies

Miss Me Not

Jordyn: A Daemon Hunter Novel Book 1

 

NA Titles by Tiffany King

The Woodfalls Girls Series

No Attachments (book 1)

 

Where to find Tiffany King

 

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Please enjoy the following excerpt of Blood Rule by Heather Hildenbrand

 

Book 4 in the Dirty Blood series

By Heather Hildenbrand

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

 

Listening to headphones at maximum volume with your back turned to the doorway is a fantastic way to get the crap scared out of you. Cambria had said those exact words this morning when she’d come up behind me and I’d dropped an entire gallon of milk on my kitchen floor. I’d scowled at her before putting the earbuds back in while I mopped the spill. I hadn’t removed them again since.

In my tent reflecting on that incident, a hand closed over my shoulder. I screamed. In one violent move, I scrambled to my feet, ripped the headphones free and chucked them aside, and swung out with my fist.

Wes jerked back in time to avoid getting punched.

“Geez. It’s only me,” he said, throwing up his hands.

I relaxed. “Sorry. You scared me.”

“Obviously.” He was fighting a grin—and losing. I stuck my tongue out.

He stood in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of jersey shorts, the drawstring untied. They were a little long but they fit around his hips. In a really yummy sort of way. My heart tripped over itself in my attempt to breathe evenly. “Where’d you find those?”

“George’s, I think. I’ll put them back when I leave.”

I backed up so Wes could fit into the small square of canvas that was mine in this chaotic communal space of woods the hybrids shared. He reached back and closed the flap. The moment we were hidden from view, he pulled me into his arms and sank onto the pile of blankets so that I fell into his lap.

His mouth found mine in the middle of my laughter. “What is this for?”

“I haven’t seen you since yesterday. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” I returned his kisses and wrapped my arms around his neck, enjoying his bare arms pressing against me.

We rarely shared moments like this anymore. Privacy was nonexistent. Nowhere, no matter how secluded, was without interruption. As proof, my cheeks flamed with the growing awareness in my mind. I jumped when the mental voice became audible.

“Gross, you guys. Get a room.”

Wes pulled free and glared at George in the doorway. “This one was working fine until you showed up.”

“You act like I wasn’t here the whole time.” George pointed at his temple. From outside the tent, I heard someone snicker.

“Shut up, Derek,” Wes said, but that made him laugh harder.

“George, you need a life,” I said.

Sweat from his run dripping down his temple, George mopped his brow with a towel. “Don’t hate me because I choose a different method of calorie-burning.”

“We’re not the haters,” Wes muttered. I pretended not to hear.

George and Derek had taken up running on two legs right around the time they’d realized neither was faster than the other on four paws. They’d invited me along but I declined every time. No way was I getting in the midst of all that testosterone.

“You’re mad I’m better at this than you are,” I shot back.

“Oooh.” Derek elbowed George in the ribs. “She would know, right?”

“Whatever.” George abruptly retreated only to reappear once more. “Dude,” he said, staring at Wes. “Are you wearing my shorts?”

“Maybe.”

George grinned like he’d figured out the punch line of a really good joke. “Guess you’ve got all my hand-me-downs now.”

Wes picked up a bottle of water and sent it hurtling through the air, but George was already gone. The sound of his and Derek’s laughter faded as they went.

The sound of my own laughter startled me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that. I sobered quickly, my amusement fading as I remembered all the reasons I had not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Wes asked, oblivious to my mood shift.

“The look on your face,” I said. “If looks could kill …”

“You shouldn’t be laughing. Your ex-boyfriend called you a hand-me-down. It was an insult.”

I shrugged. “He wanted to outwit you. He doesn’t really think that.”

“How do you—? Never mind.”

I pointed to my own temple. “Exactly. So, lighten up.”

“Forgive me if I get a little touchy that I spend most days with the other guys you’ve kissed.”

Guys. He’d said guys. Plural. Were we finally going to have this talk?

I sat back. “Where is this coming from? It’s George. You know there’s nothing between us.”

“This bond is not nothing. I can’t even kiss you without him knowing. I might as well be kissing him.”

It was an old argument with no solution. While I knew it was a point of contention with us, I was determined to not fight about it. Not today. “Um, that would be awkward. Then he’d have my hand-me-downs.”

Wes pursed his lips. “You’re hilarious.”

I poked him in the ribs and his glare dissolved into an unwilling smile.

“I do what I can,” I said, relieved he’d chosen to let it go.

I trailed kisses down the side of his face and his smile widened. When I got to his jaw, he turned his head so our lips met. I drew him closer and held on, letting the heat creep in. I still sensed frustration under the surface but I knew I couldn’t extinguish it completely. The bond bothered him as much as it bothered me—maybe more. Unless it was broken, there was no getting rid of his frustration, not entirely.

I ran my hands up the back of his neck and let my fingers tangle in his hair. The kiss deepened, his chest relaxing against me.

He broke it off before we could get carried away. I knew he was thinking of what George must be sensing right now, but I didn’t want to get into that again. On top of that, the noise in my head was getting a little distracting for the sort of activity we were engaged in.

Forty-six.

That’s how many hybrids had survived the Hunter attack in the woods after I revived them with an injection of my blood. That’s how many followed me home to Frederick Falls. And that’s how many were now linked to me through a blood bond. At its base form, the bond was an emotional connection—or at least it had been when I’d only been bonded with my friend, (and ex-boyfriend. Long story.) George. But with forty-six more of them bonded to me through a mostly-magical-but-also-somehow-scientifically-explainable blood connection, it’d become strong enough that I’d begun hearing actual voices on occasion.

The first two days were the worst. It had taken me three valium and fourteen hours of sleep before I’d convinced myself the voices were real and not some sort of psychotic break after all I’d been through. My mother still wasn’t entirely convinced.

Fee had pointed out the bright side: though it’d taken twice as long as if I’d shifted into a Werewolf, all that rest had healed my dislocated shoulder and any other injuries left over from my time with Olivia.

When the bond happened with George a couple of months ago, I’d wondered how I’d ever get used to constantly having access to someone else’s emotions. It was a live feed with no “off” button. And for a while, it was overwhelming, making it impossible to know which reactions were mine and which were his. Not to mention the awkwardness of him feeling what I did. Especially when things got a little heavy with a certain Werewolf boyfriend of mine. Wes found it amusing—until he realized a shared, constant stream of emotion meant he didn’t get past first base. Then he was as frustrated as me.

I’d just begun to get it under control, finding ways to turn the volume down a few notches, when I’d woken the bond between myself and the dozens of hybrids Miles DeLuca created before he’d been killed. After his death, his mother, Olivia, had forced me to inject them all with my blood as a means to save them from the change of becoming what could only be described as a rabid, conscious-less Werewolf with yellow eyes and an appetite for human guts. Their survival rate—and likelihood of turning out a little more humane—was better with a little Tara Godfrey blood in them.

Most had been Hunters before their change—a superhuman created with the ability to kill a Werewolf in order to protect humans—so their bodies were strong enough to accept the change and hang on. But a lot of the humans had died before I got there, which is why there’d been only forty-six.

The memory of a room full of the dead and dying was an ongoing nightmare for me. Valium helped. And sometimes Wes came through my window and held me tight enough there was no room for the memory. Those were the nights I slept best.

And now, whether I wanted them or not, the pack of hybrids was mine. Not just because I could hear and feel everything in their heads. It was more than that. When the bond formed, it was like my body or my heart itself melded to theirs and I cared. That was the weirdest part. These people—or animals—were strangers to me. I didn’t know their names or recognize their faces like so many Hunters that’d grown up in the same community. None of them had meant anything to me before that day. But now … the thought of parting with them disturbed me. Imagining them hurt stirred a protectiveness in me that awakened my Werewolf side. The alpha. And maybe because I cared, the constant hum being poured into my head was driving me crazy.

The only thing I’d found that quieted the noise was music. Really, really loud music. 

At least the rest of the pack couldn’t read me as well as George could. With practice, I’d gotten better at filtering what slipped through into their awareness. I’d tried to do the same with George but I couldn’t seem to keep him out. It’s like he tried extra hard to stay inside my head. The rest of them were weaker, more agreeable to my pushing them out. Vera said it was an alpha thing, which didn’t comfort me much since I couldn’t manage to do the reverse. I heard every single one of them, whether I wanted to or not.

I needed a break. A deep breath. Not that it helped in clearing my head. Nothing did.

I looked around for my headphones.

My thoughts clouded and jumbled as the volume increased. Someone yelped out loud and it echoed through my skull.

“What’s that?” Wes asked, drawing away and raising his face to the ceiling.

I sniffed. The smell of burnt hair permeated the air. I didn’t waste time trying to cover my face against the odor. Instead, I jumped to my feet and shoved the flap aside, searching camp for the source.

My tent had been constructed in the center of the clearing. All around me, makeshift tarps and tents and everything in between that could possibly be used to escape the elements had been thrown together in haphazard rows. There was no system, only open space and taken space. The boundaries of each shifted daily.

For once, I was glad to be in the center of the chaos the hybrids called home. It gave me a great view for searching out drama and mischief—of which there was plenty.

“Where is it coming from?” Wes asked, joining me.

“There.”

In the far left corner, beside a wounded-looking tent, an aging Werewolf-hybrid cowered underneath the menace of Nick. He was a hybrid as well, turned from Hunter to Werewolf in his prime. He was stronger and faster than a lot of the others. But not me. Not the alpha.

“Be right back,” I said.

“I’m going with you.”

Wes and I picked our way around tents and other obstacles. Torn shoes. Clothes—some shredded, some coated in mud from being left outside during last night’s rainstorm. Any other personal effects were out of sight. Possessions were limited and therefore closely guarded.

I approached Nick warily. More and more lately, he attempted to exert authority over the others. That wasn’t going to fly. I had the authority here.

“Nick,” I called. My voice was at normal volume but the severity of it was enough to get the attention of everyone in sight. “What the hell is going on?”

“Rafe decided to sneak into my tent and go through my stuff,” Nick said.

I looked at the older hybrid. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him as a human. His yellow eyes, normally gentle and clear, were wide in contained pain. He was missing fur in several places on his shoulders and face. What was left smoked faintly. The smell was worse standing this close.

“Is this true?” I asked.

Rafe stared up at me where he lay flat on the dirt before Nick. Behind the pain in his eyes was defiance. “He took my watch. It’s the one thing I have from before. I want it back.”

“You went into his tent because he went into yours?” I asked. Rafe nodded. “Nick?”

He scowled and averted his eyes. I followed their track to the ground and found a pile of shredded fabric underneath Nick’s paws. And half buried in a pile of pine needles, a lighter.

I bent down and picked up the lighter, making sure Nick watched me pocket it. Then I marched over and got in his face. “Apologize to him.”

He blew a short breath out of his nostrils. It hit my face and I almost gagged. Werewolf Nick was in desperate need of some mouthwash. “For what?” he spat. “I didn’t do anyth—”

“Give him back the watch and apologize,” I said, cutting him off.

“Is everything …?” Cambria walked up behind me but stopped short when she saw Rafe. “Holy cow. Are you all right? What happened?” Before anyone could answer, she clapped a hand over her nose. “You really stink.”

I shot her a look. She shrugged. “Well, he does.”

“Should’ve stayed out of my tent,” Nick muttered.

My hands tightened into fists at Nick’s nasty attitude. I had to will my shape to stay solidly human. I badly wanted to shift, but I’d already ruined two outfits this week.

Rafe made some noise of protest and Nick growled.

“Nick, calm your ass,” Cambria snapped.

“He went through my tent,” Nick said.

“Stop stealing from people and they’ll stay out of your tent,” I said, my voice rising as my patience thinned.

“This is bullshit. He had it coming.” The way Nick spat out the words, his lips pulled back from his teeth, made it hard not to bite him—without even shifting first.

My wolf rose to the surface. Nick was pushing me. My wolf wanted to push back. “Bullshit, huh?” I said. “He came for his property and you burned him.”

“Punishment.”

“Who are you to give punishment? Or pass judgment?”

He didn’t answer.

“Come here,” I said. I held up the lighter.

“No way. You’re not using that thing on me,” Nick said, backing away.

He didn’t get more than two steps before he bumped into something and lurched forward. He turned to see what he’d hit and came face to face with another wolf.

This one didn’t have the yellow eyes of the hybrids but brown orbs that shimmered with caramel flecks in the light. He had russet fur and broad shoulders. Even on four paws, he stood almost a foot taller than Nick, and he glared at Nick with a ferocity I hadn’t seen in weeks. “Do what she says,” Wes growled.

Nick hesitated, which surprised me more than anything. Did he really think he could beat Wes? But then he seemed to come to his senses and hung his head as he shuffled forward.

“Do it,” Nick said, obviously assuming I was going to hurt him somehow, which was ridiculous. I wasn’t a masochist.

I waited, drawing out the suspense as long as possible while Wes moved in behind Nick. Cambria scooted left and nodded at me. Ready, she mouthed.

I bent down so Nick and I were eye to eye and wiggled the lighter in my hand. “See this?” I dropped it on the ground in front of me and brought my heel down on it, drawing on my wolf for strength until it finally cracked and broke.

Nick winced.

“This is over,” I said, straightening. “I am alpha. Not you. Stop trying to force your own authority or you’ll regret it.”

Nick raised his head. The fiery temper was gone but there was something else. A thirst for something I couldn’t understand. Revenge?

“And give back his watch,” I added.

Nick went to his tent, stuck his nose inside, and came away with something silver in his mouth. He dropped it in front of Rafe and looked back at me. “Are we done here?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m taking a walk. Watch my tent.”

“We’ll do that,” Wes said before I could respond. Probably a good thing. I’d only come back with something sarcastic and I knew Nick wasn’t far from wanting to stay and make this into something bigger. Something he shouldn’t.

I let him go.

When he was gone, I knelt beside Rafe. “May I?” I asked, gesturing to the singed spots on his fur.

“Go ahead.”

The burnt hair was coarse underneath my fingertips, interrupted by the strangely smooth patches of exposed flesh. “Cambria, can you take him to the house so Fee can look at these?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

“I don’t need all that,” Rafe protested. “I’ll heal fine in my own time.”

“I know that, but Fee’s special tea will help the process along.”

Rafe made a face, his snout lifting until his front teeth showed. “That tea of hers is an atrocity. I’m sure I’ll heal without it.”

I caught the laughter before it escaped. “It is an … acquired taste,” I agreed. “But I need you feeling better. I need us feeling better,” I added with a pointed look.

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll drink the tea.”

“Thank you.” I patted his head before I could help myself but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’ll check on you later,” I called as he followed Cambria back through the maze of camp.

“Check on me too,” Cambria called.

I cast a long look into the trees in the direction Nick had gone. If I expanded my senses, I could hear his footsteps as he moved farther away from camp. His voice in my head wasn’t as pronounced as I was used to. It felt muted. I strained to listen.

His mood was … gray. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but it wasn’t the first time I’d sensed it from him.

“You all right?” Wes asked.

“Hmm?” I turned my attention away and found Wes studying me. “I’m fine.”

I began making my way back toward my tent before he could argue. I didn’t want to have this conversation here. Or anywhere, really.

“I’ll meet you there in five,” Wes said, bounding into the trees. Probably in search of shorts so he could reappear on two legs.

“Hey, Tara, is Rafe going to be okay?” Emma, a blond hybrid around my age who preferred her human form when her body would cooperate, stood before me with watery eyes and a trembling lip.

“He’s going to be fine,” I assured her. “He went up to the house to have some of Fee’s tea so he’ll get better even faster.” Emma grimaced.

I began walking again but she stopped me. “Is there anything I can do for you—or George, or anybody?” she asked. “I want to help.”

“Um, well. You could try to make some of these tents more stable,” I suggested. “Some look ready to keel over in the next big wind.” I suspected those were the ones whose owners couldn’t shift to their human form. Something that happened more and more often as the animal in them took over. No fingers and thumbs made bolting a tent down pretty hard.

“No problem. Janie and I will get right on it.”

“Thanks,” I said as she hurried off in search of her sister.

I picked my way back through camp, fielding questions and containing squabbles. Nothing like what’d happened with Nick. More like what came from living in close quarters with the same people day in and day out.

Wes was waiting for me when I finally made it back. He pulled me in for a hug and I pretended not to have a pounding headache as I listened telepathically to the rest of the pack try to figure out what’d happened. Or whether Nick had lost his mind.

Please don’t ask me to explain any of that because I have no idea.

“He’s getting worse,” Wes said when I pulled away.

“Yeah.”

“What’s his problem? Can you read him?”

I shook my head. “Not with this. It’s … I don’t know what it is. But it’s not him.”

Wes frowned but said nothing. I needed to change the subject. To move on—back to normal …ish.

“So what are your plans for the day?” I asked, making a special effort to lighten my tone. “Are you and Jack still heading out?”

“That’s the plan. Jack’s in the weapons room doing a reorganize. Figured I had some time.”

“He must be stressed if he’s doing that.”

Wes nodded. “The packs are getting nervous about this thing with CHAS. It’s rubbing off on him.”

“You know we won’t be able to find anything in there for days once he’s done.”

“I know. Fee started baking when she saw what he was up to.”

“Great. So I’ll stay away until at least tomorrow.”

“Probably best. What are you going to do this afternoon?” he asked.

I rubbed absently at my temples. “Get cleaned up and head over to the hospital.”

He didn’t answer right away. His arms tightened around me. “Well … be careful,” he said finally.

Obviously, we still weren’t going to talk about it.

“I will,” I promised. I kissed his nose before stepping away. “You too. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“I’ll call you tonight.”

The strain between us, though unspoken, tugged at me. At my tent’s entrance, I turned back. “Wes, the bond …” I paused, searching for the right words.

“What about it?”

“It wasn’t something I chose. You are.” 

 

 

Coming August 6th 2013

Please enjoy the following excerpt of INESCAPABLE, by Amy Bartol

 

THE PREMONITION SERIES BY AMY A. BARTOL

 

CHAPTER 1

MOVING DAY

As I drive past the placid façade of Crestwood College’s stately clock tower, I realize that this is the building they refer to as Central Hall. It’s the trademark of the school, and they stamp its image on everything they use to represent them. My acceptance letter had been embossed with its seal. The scent of autumn drifts through my open window along with the deep, echoing bell from the clock as it tolls out the hour. The loud, desolate sound sends a chill over my skin. It is funny to me how something as harmless as a clock tower can be winsome and sinister at the same time.

In the car behind me, my Uncle Jim gives me a couple of short honks of his horn. As I gaze at him in my rearview mirror, I see him gesturing for me to turn left at the next stop sign. His paranoia that I will miss the street to my dorm makes me smile, so I turn on my signal to relieve his anxiety. Crestwood’s campus has only a few streets; if I miss the turn, it won’t be fatal. If I manage to get lost here, then I don’t deserve the academic scholarship they gave me, I think to myself, using my mirror to refresh my lip-gloss.

I ride slowly under the tunneling oak trees that line the pavement. I had always thought that I would go to a larger school—one in a major city, like New York or Chicago, but when Crestwood offered me a full ride with no strings attached, I couldn’t pass up such an amazing opportunity. I mean, who needs a sprawling city if you’re totally broke all the time? And Crestwood is consistently ranked as one of the top private schools in the country for academics. Plus, this way I get to stay in Michigan so I can visit Uncle Jim more often. He’ll only be a few hours away—and he needs me. I’m his only family, just as he is mine.

Unease creeps over me as my dormitory comes into view. I don’t know a single person at Yeats Hall, or even Crestwood for that matter. I had met a few coeds on my brief tour of the school last year, but I had been just a prospective student then, so none of us really bothered to make friends. A fresh wave of panic hits me, or maybe it’s remorse for all the familiar things I’m leaving behind. Don’t stress, I tell myself while taking a deep breath. This place will be the making of you. Everything will be fine.

I park in a spot under a shady elm tree and cut the engine, waiting for my uncle to slip into the spot next to mine. Pulling up next to me, he parks his truck and leaves it idling. With his stereo blaring Baba O’Reily, he is head-banging and playing air guitar to the raging bass.

Normally, something like this would horrify me, especially since he is drawing frowns from the other parents hauling boxes and desk lamps out of their cars, but not today. Today, I’m trying to take a mental snapshot of this moment because it’s so quintessential Uncle Jim.

We had basically raised each other, he and I. When my mom died soon after I was born, he stepped up and assumed guardianship of me. It couldn’t have been easy; he’d been a kid himself at the time, only twenty years old.

As my eyes rove over him, lip-syncing with his mouth curling in a rocker-like scowl, I smile, knowing he is doing it for me. He is trying to make me laugh so that I won’t be nervous.

As I climb out of my old Jeep, I pretend not to notice when small pieces of the rusted door flake off as I close it. “You rock a mean air guitar,” I say after he cuts his engine and grins at me through the truck’s open window.

“I know—missed my calling. I was born to rock,” he replies with hubris, climbing out and joining me.

“Undoubtedly,” I agree. He slips his arm around my shoulder, trapping my long, auburn hair beneath it as he gives me a quick squeeze before letting it drop.

“You ready to check in?” he asks me as he runs his hands through his dark-brown hair, which immediately falls back over his forehead again.

“Yeah,” I nod, handing him a comb from my purse.

He smiles, taking the comb from me. “You know what I like most about you, Evie?” he asks me.

My eyebrow arches. “Umm, I’m not sweaty?” I ask.

His grin deepens, reaching his gray eyes as he shakes his head. “Well, that, and the fact that you think of everything. It makes me worry less about you because I know that you’ll cover every angle before you attack a problem,” he answers.

I give him a furtive glance as I retort, “You know what I like most about you?”

“My musicality?” he asks with a straight face.

I grin because we both know he is completely tone-deaf. “Well, that,” I agree, “and the fact that you always manage to say just the right thing.”

“You liked that?” he asks me while we walk up the sloping sidewalk to the entrance of my new residence. “Good, because I practiced it in the car all the way here.”

“It sounded very parental,” I compliment him as he holds the door for me to enter.

“That’s what I was going for,” he acknowledges, approaching the wide mahogany table in the lobby.

“Evie Claremont,” I say to the perky brunette seated in a wing-backed chair behind the table.

She scans the roster before looking up and asking, “Genevieve Claremont?”

“That’s me,” I breathe nervously, “but everyone just calls me Evie.”

She glances from me to my uncle, and her smile becomes toothy. My Uncle Jim and I both pretend not to notice when she begins flirting with him: me because I'm uncomfortable and him because he's not into females my age. Anyway, I’m used to it—it happens often; I think that every one of my female friends was in love with my uncle at one point or another.

As she begins outlining all of the upcoming dorm activities for him, I take the time to gaze around at the old building. I know that it was once a home to a wealthy Crestwood family, but they had donated it to the school around the turn of the previous century. The interior is elegant, with ice blue, silken wall-coverings, crown molding, rich deep-brown wainscoting, and leaded-glass windows.

Uncle Jim nudges me before handing me my new keys and motioning with his chin toward the stairs.

“She was friendly,” I tease him as we climb up to the second floor.

He nods his head and feigns ignorance, muttering, “Very nice.”

Locating my room, we open it, and I set my purse down on the low table by the door as I enter. The room comes fully furnished with a single bed, a desk, a dresser, a bedside table, and a small lamp. A bathroom-style sink and a closet are the only other appointments to it.

“Home,” Uncle Jim says with a sanguine glance at me. He must be reading the dark excursion my mind is taking because he adds hurriedly, “Don’t worry; when we get your stuff in here, it won’t feel as strange.”

“I’m not worried,” I say, flashing him a faux grin.

“C’mon,” he says, putting his arm around me and tugging me to the door. “Let’s go get your stuff.”

We get to work unloading my swag from his truck. After bringing a few boxes up several flights of stairs, I stay in my room and begin unpacking them. “Where do you want me to put this box?” my Uncle Jim asks me, breathing heavily and staggering through the doorway.

Narrowing my eyes, I murmur, “Umm, let me think,” while looking for available space on the floor. “What’s in it?” I ask, sifting through the box in front of me.

He grunts before saying, “Judging by the weight, I’d say it has to be either your ex-boyfriend’s dead remains or…books.” Pressing the front of the box against the wall, he tries to keep from dropping it.

“Ah, it must be books—all of my exes are buried in the backyard at home, so pleasant dreams when you get there tonight,” I reply with a smirk, putting my alarm clock on the nightstand near my bed. “You can just set it down by the desk, thanks.” Shuffling across the room, he heaves the box down with a loud thump.

“I was wondering what happened to the last one. The one that took you to the movies…” he replies. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his Ramones t-shirt. Poor Dee Dee Ramone on the front of it looks a little soaked.

Giving him an ironic smile I shrug, “His name was Greg, and like I said…backyard.”

“Good, I never liked him,” he says with the same kind of smile. “Do you want help unpacking these?” he asks, indicating the boxes strewn around the room.

“I’m not sure where I’m going to put everything yet. Maybe I should just do it myself,” I say almost as a question.

“I’ll set up the Internet connection so you can send email and surf,” Uncle Jim says as he finds my laptop and places it on my desk.

“Thanks. I register for classes tomorrow, so I’ll email you—let you know how that goes,” I promise.

He bypasses the dormitory’s LAN and gives me my own Internet access and firewall so that I can maintain my privacy. I can probably do it myself because he taught me how, but I’m grateful that he is taking care of it.

Finishing the set-up, he turns his grayish-blue eyes to me, smiling in triumph. I think my mother also had the same color eyes as her brother and I do, but I have to rely on old, grainy photos of her in order to see them. As for the rest of my physical characteristics, like my auburn hair and my tall, slender frame, they could’ve come from my father’s side of the family, but since neither of us knows who he is, it makes proving that theory slightly difficult.

Uncle Jim loses some of his smile as he looks around and sees there isn’t much left for him to do now. “So, you have your cell phone,” he states as if going over a parental checklist in his head. “If you need anything, you can call me. Do you need any money?”

“You already gave me money,” I say, seeing him reach into his pocket for his wallet. I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I have more than enough money for all of the beer and drugs I plan on experimenting with,” I tease him gently. “When I blow it all on Internet gambling, I’ll call you.”

He smiles back at me, and I watch the way his eyes crinkle in the corners. I love that. I like to think that I’m responsible for most of the laugh lines around his eyes. “Did I tell you how proud I am of you, Evie?” he asks, his voice soft with affection.

I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. “Oh, once or twice,” I reply. “Anyway, with me out of the house, you can focus on all of those things you’ve been putting off—maybe check out the Internet dating scene. But…don’t do any background checks on your dates, it takes all the mystery out of it,” I tease him.

It’s sad that I can’t even remember his last girlfriend’s name. Uncle Jim hasn’t had a date in a while. I believe I know the reason for this and it has to do with his line of work. He’s sort of a computer nerd. Working primarily for private investigators, Uncle Jim handles mostly divorce cases, specifically, cheating spouses.

He gains access to the alleged cheating spouse’s computer and clones the hard drive, always with the express permission of the suspicious spouse, since it’s usually considered joint property. Then he delves through emails and bank accounts at his leisure. So, one can make the argument that infidelity keeps our little family afloat, if one is so inclined. I like to think that it’s the reason why he doesn’t really date and not that he took himself out of the game to raise me.

Taking my comment in stride, he replies, “Just for that obnoxious crack, I’m turning your room into a home gym. You’ll have to sleep on the weight bench when you come home to visit.”

“How dare you!” I reply with mock outrage, but I’m trying not to let him see my anxiety. He will be leaving soon and I will be staying here. It has always been just the two of us; I’ve always had him to count on. Tears immediately spring to my eyes at the realization that things will be different.

“I miss you already,” Uncle Jim says, seeing my tears.

I begin to panic at his words, so I run down my own parental checklist. “I did the grocery shopping yesterday, so you should have enough food to last you at least a week. I bought you new razors, and I put them in the drawer in the bathroom. Oh, and I took your suit to the dry cleaners. You have to remember to pick it up on Wednesday because you have to be in court for the Henderson’s divorce case on Friday.”

“I’ll remember,” he says with an indulgent smile.

Inhaling deeply so that I can hold in my tears, I whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replies. Seeing the hint of anxiety in his eyes, he adds, “I want you to call me, you know, if you start having those nightmares again.”

Looking down at the floor, I mumble, “I think now that I’m here they’ll go away.”

“If they don’t, I want you to call me,” he replies, touching my cheek.

“Okay,” I reply in a small voice, and he drops his hand.

“I should get on the road now—I want to avoid the rush hour traffic near Ann Arbor,” he says with forced cheer in his voice. “Everything’s going to be great here. You’re going to love it at Crestwood, Evie,” he says with a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be stellar,” I reply with forced enthusiasm. “Anyway, you should go—beat the traffic. I’ll walk you out,” I say, pretending that I’m not about to bawl my eyes out.

Holding his hand, I walk with him out to his truck. He gives me a huge bear hug before getting into it. “I’ll come for Homecoming, okay?” he asks through the window.

“Can’t wait,” I say with a ghost of a smile.

As he starts the engine, I bite my lower lip so it won’t tremble. Seeing him smile at me through the glass, my heart accelerates in fear. Uncle Jim gives me a small wave, and I mirror the action, although my hand shakes just a little. When his car drives out of sight, I walk slowly back upstairs.

Turning the key in the lock to my single room, I push the door open. About to step through the doorway, I freeze when I see a shadow move quickly across the wall. It startles me. “Hello?” I inquire, but no one answers me.

Rubbing my eyes, I blink a couple of times before I close my door. I hurry to the windows on the far wall, looking for someone outside my window on the fire escape. It’s empty; the heavy iron grate of the landing is rusty in spots from disuse, appearing as if no one has been out there in a while.

Sighing, I turn from the window and scan the room, taking in the bare walls and empty shelves—it can belong to anyone. It’s like looking at a blank canvas; as if the person that I was prior to this moment with all of the vibrant colors, intricate shapes, and textures that were painted on that canvas throughout my life has no voice here—no future. I just need to unpack my stuff, so I can feel normal, I think to myself.

I choose a box near the sink and begin unpacking it. As I set a picture of Uncle Jim and me on the bedside table, the clock tower of Central Hall scares me by loudly tolling out the hour. Bong…bong…bong…three o’clock. The deep timbre of the bell churns the air ominously. I hope it doesn’t do that all night because that could get really annoying, I think before trying to synchronize my clock to reflect the clock tower’s pronouncement.

Unpacking some of my clothes next, I finish putting them in the drawers. I have more time to kill before I have to walk to the Sage Center. Freshman orientation starts at four o’clock. My plan is to get there just in time to slip in the back of the auditorium and find a seat because the thought of milling around alone in the lobby before the orientation seems very awkward and unappealing.

After making my bed, I feel a little bit better as I lie on the soft coverlet, smelling the scent of home that clings to the blanket. Yawning tiredly, my eyes droop because I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I avoid sleep. When I sleep, I dream, and my dreams make me feel like I’m drowning. Yawning again, I push myself up, looking for another box to unpack so I won’t crash yet. I want to be utterly exhausted when I sleep so that there will be less of a chance that I’ll remember my nightmare.

Finding a small box by the sink, I pick it up and wrestle with the sticky packing tape, trying to rip it off. The tape sticks to my hand as I carry it to my desk, setting it down near the lamp. Pulling the box cutter from the pocket of my denim skirt, I expose the blade.

A shadow darts in front of the window, blotting out the sunlight for a moment. It distracts me so that I look up. In the next second, searing pain registers in my mind as blood runs onto the box. I hiss in pain, dropping the stupid box cutter with a clatter on the desk. As I inspect my finger, blood wells up from a deep cut. Walking to the sink, I run it under the cold water.

It’s not too deep. Maybe I can get away with just putting a bandage on it when I get it to stop bleeding, I think to myself. Finding a small towel to wrap around it, I open the medicine cabinet over the sink that I had stocked earlier. As I fumble with a box of bandages, I apply pressure to my cut. It’s throbbing like I had opened an artery while splotches of red soak through the bone-colored terrycloth.

Ignoring its pulsing ache, I go over to the windows again to see if someone is out there. I examine the fire escape again; I am on the second floor, and the grating is at least twenty feet off the ground. The ladder has to be pushed off of it, so no one can just jump onto it. Sticking my head out the window, I look up, but there is no way to enter it from above either. Feeling shady about it, I close the windows and lock them.

I’m so tired that I’m seeing things, I think, rubbing my eyes with my good hand. I cross back to my bed, flopping onto it to stare at the freshly painted white ceiling. Yawning, I turn my head, reading the clock. My eyes close for a second, and I feel for a moment like I am floating. I jerk my eyes open before pulling one of my pillows to me and hugging it for comfort. Watching the clock in front of me again, I try to stay awake.

Why is my room so cold? I wonder as I turn over on my side. It’s freezing… Opening my eyes, I stare hazily at the vinyl tiles beneath my damp cheek; they stretch out in a checkerboard pattern of muted beige and taupe into a desolate infinity. Touching my fingertips to my aching jaw, I lift my face from a sticky pool on the floor. Thick, red lines of blood slip down my neck to rain like tears onto my elegant top.

Beautiful music of the sweetest resonance sways around me, but it is punctuated by a grating, buzzing sound that is making my head dizzy. Disoriented and nauseous, I look toward the sound of the music.

My eyes fall upon the most beautiful face I have ever seen, but his perfect features are covered in gore. Large streaks of blood mottle the sides of his mouth, running in trails of horror from his face. A slow, sensual smile curls the corners of his lips as he sees me watching him.

Fear, like a choking noose, steals the air from my lungs, forbidding me to turn away from him. Gently, he lifts my hand while softly prying my fingers open. Small silver pendants dangle from a worn brown leather strap in my palm. They catch the light as the beautiful monster takes them from me.

A voice that sounds like my own whispers, “Unravel the life force and lose a soldier, a lover, a friend. Always been there…always there…” Bong… “Can’t stop it from coming…” Bong… “Can’t stop…”