One
IZZY
When I was a kid, I used to have nightmares.
Horribly graphic nightmares that caused me to jerk upright in bed, my pulse hammering and my palms slick with sweat.
Of course, it didn’t help matters that I always found myself waking up in a different bed.
In a different house.
With a different family.
I don’t remember what I used to dream about. Evil clowns, maybe? Aliens taking over the world? Masked murderers slashing my neck? All I knew was this pronounced, all-encompassing terror that siphoned the breath from my lungs and made it difficult to think coherently.
All of this comes rushing back to me as I sit upright in bed. Pulse hammering. Palms slick with sweat.
What did I dream about this time? Something about…witches. And Grayson.
I blink, attempting to orient myself, desperate to clear the fog from my brain.
Where am I?
What foster home is this?
The room is small and impersonal, reminding me of a furnished college dorm. There’s a twin-sized bed, an armoire, and a desk, all of them carved from a light-brown wood. A fluffy white rug dominates the center of the room.
Aside from all of that, there’s nothing else I can see. No clothing spilling out of the armoire. No books balancing precariously on the desk. No stuffed animals on the bed.
Huh?
I glance down at myself in dismay, surprised to see I’m wearing jeans and a sweater instead of a pair of pajamas.
What the fuck?
I bring a hand to my forehead and rub at the skin there, hoping to alleviate the pulsating pain.
Then, all at once, memories come rushing back to me like a dam exploding.
Everything that happened wasn’t a horrific nightmare.
It was real.
Oh god.
It wasreal.
I throw myself out of bed and race towards the door, unsurprised to find it locked. Fuckers.
“Let. Me. Out!” I pound my fist against the wood, but only silence greets me on the other side.
This is not how I thought my first meeting with my Aunt Delaney would go.
I lower my forehead to the door and will breath back into my lungs.
Think, Izzy, think.
I was at a barbecue with Christian and the rest of my mates when gunmen appeared. The shifters eventually fought back and won, killing the attackers in the process. One of the men followed and tried to hurt me, but I managed to get the upper hand.
