Page 2
“Dan, that’s enough!” Mr. Petrov, Ivan’s dad, hustles over from the adult side of camp. He points an accusing finger at Dad, looking furious and embarrassed. His gaze searches mine before he grabs my dad by the elbow. “Jesus Christ, Dan, you’re drunk. Look at them! You’re terrifying the kids. Get back to your tent and sleep it off.”
Dad sneers. He shoves Mr. Petrov’s hand off him with a jerky movement, but he doesn’t fight further. He just turns his bloodshot gaze down to me, glaring at me like I’m the reason the hound never comes for him. Without another word, he stumbles off into the darkness, his heavy footsteps fading the further he goes.
Silence settles over the campsite.
Camila is shivering, silently crying into her knees. Ivan is staring at the ground, his face pale, and Teddy won’t look at me at all. It isn’t just the story that scares them. I can see it in their eyes. It’s the unhinged way my father acts. The raw, ugly monster living inside a grown human man.
Mr. Petrov sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, kids. Time to head to your tents. Story time is over.”
Everyone scrambles up instantly, eager to get away from the fire.
Away from the darkness.
Away from me.
I sit there alone for a moment, the cold creeping back into my bones as the fire dies down to glowing embers. Several seconds crawl by, and I wonder why this is my life. I hate him. Hate my dad. I miss Mom.
I stand up slowly and step away from the dying flames, walking toward the tree line where our small tent is pitched. The forest around me is pitch black.
I stop at the edge of the shadows. My dad’s rambling words echo in my mind. He only comes for the ones who have a real soul to burn.
I look out into the dark woods, expecting to feel the suffocating terror that always comes when Dad is this drunk. Expecting to run.
Instead, deep within the blackness between two towering pine trees, the shadows shift.
Two glowing blue eyes ignite in the dark, hovering high above the ground. They aren’t crimson like Dad said. They’re a vivid, mesmerizing shade of blue fire, staring straight through the dark.
Straight at me.
I freeze. The creature is standing right at the edge of the camp, a terrifying black shadow.
An electric charge fills the air, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand straight up. The beast is quiet. Unmoving. It just watches me as if it already owns me.
I should run. I should scream.
A strange, delicious shudder rushes straight down my spine. It’s a dark, creepy thrill that lights up every nerve ending in my body. For the first time in my life, looking into those terrifying, beautiful eyes, I don’t feel small.
I don’t feel helpless.
I feel seen.
Chapter one
Bellamy
Every breath slices through my chest like a lungful of shattered glass. It tastes like sea salt, and the sharp, copper tang of my own blood. I crash against the hard tree, my shoulder slamming into the rough bark of a towering redwood. The impact knocks the last bit of air from my chest, but I don’t stop.
I can’t fucking stop.
Behind me, through the thick, suffocating wall of Northern California fog, three bright beams of light sweep across the forest floor. Flashlights cut through Wraith Harbor’s heavy fog.
“Check the path to the left!” Jake Davis’s harsh voice barks through the mist. Fuck. He’s close. Closer than he was two minutes ago. “He couldn’t have gone far on that ankle! Find him before the boss gets up the ridge!”
“Come out, come out, little pet!” Kyle Lackey sneers. The wet crunch of his heavy boots on pine needles is gaining on me. “You know how mad Gregory gets when you make him walk through the mud! Just make this easy on yourself, Bellamy! You’re only making the beating worse!”
I press my back flat against the tree trunk, my heart hammering against my ribs. I force my ragged breathing to quiet, pulling the wet air in through my nose until my chest aches. I’ve always been good at hiding. Today shouldn’t be any different.
My body is screaming. My left ankle is swollen so fat inside my boot that the damp leather is biting into the flesh. My jaw throbs with a nauseating pulse where Gregory backhanded me across the kitchen island two hours ago. My collarbone is purple. My shirt is torn at the shoulder, revealing the dark, hand-shaped bruises from where TJ Farrell threw me into the back of the SUV before I managed to escape at the stop sign on High Ridge Road.
