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“I can’t believe you did this to us, John. And I can’t believe I let you talk me into going along with it. That you exposed our children to their kind. You know who I am. Who our children are, and yet you still did this.”
“Gabby, please—”
“You can’t take Tessa,” Mom said, cutting off Dad. Her words were clipped with anger. “You don’t understand who my daughter is. Once La Alquelarre finds out, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
What did Alquelarre mean?
“She’s part of the Texas coven?”
“She’s supposed to take it over.”
What was she talking about? What was I supposed to be doing? It didn’t matter what they were talking about. I didn’t want to go with anyone. I wanted to go home.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears. They couldn’t make me go with Mr. Dawson. I didn’t care what they said. Pain rippled along my hands. I looked down at them, and saw my nails growing longer, poking through the tips of my gloves. The seams ripped.
What the hell?
I grabbed the thin mattress. This was so not happening. It was a vision. A druggie must have been on this table before me and had some weird hallucination. That had to be it. That was the only rational explanation.
Hands do not turn into claws. Especially not my hands.
Panic made it worse. My knuckles popped, and pain rolled up my arms.
“I know this has come as a shock. You have to understand that she is extremely dangerous—”
Dangerous? My panic turned to anger. Rage boiled my blood. It consumed me.
The pain grew. A growl escaped me as I squirmed in my bed. My growing nails shredded my gloves. My knees popped, sending shooting pain through me, and I screamed.
Mr. Dawson appeared by my side. “Shit,” he said under his breath. “We need a tranq in here. Now!”
I tried to sit up, but he dodged my swinging monster-arms and pinned me in place. I growled again, struggling to get free as he brought his nose to mine. All I could see were his eyes as they turned from hazel to bright olive.
Mr. Dawson made a low rumbling noise that rippled through me. The pain and heat lessened, clearing my head enough so that I could think about what had just happened.
This was a nightmare. My hands had transformed into beast claws.
And that anger. I’d never felt anything like it before. Not in any of my visions. Not ever.
I shivered. Was Mr. Dawson right? Please, God, don’t let Mr. Dawson be right.
The nurse, stinking of fear, rushed in, and stabbed my arm with a needle.
I couldn’t stop the tears as they rolled down my cheeks. Mom’s soft whimpering caught my attention. They were standing outside the curtain, staring at my deformed hands. Only a piece of the shredded white glove hung around my left wrist. Dad’s arms held Mom up as he stared openmouthed.
They looked how I felt.
If this is a dream, I want to wake up now.
“Oh my God. This is my fault.” Dad turned to Mr. Dawson. “Please. Help my daughter,” he whispered as the world faded from view.
Chapter Twelve
I threw the covers off, gasping for breath. Sweat covered my body, thanks to some half-remembered nightmare still fading from my thoughts.
Where was I?
Right, hospital, for my shoulder. Because Dastien had hurt me at the party. I moved it slowly, but it didn’t even twinge. That was a good sign.
