SarahThe atrium is on the smaller side, built onto the far back side of Sydney’s manor. Snow glides off the domed glass ceiling, falling in giant piles along the exterior glass walls.Beyond the glass, the world is cast in silver as the clouds choke the sun and cloak Shadowcrest in darkness.Cosette was right about a storm coming. Wind rattles the walls of the atrium as I walk through the maze of plants planted directly into the ground, where a stone path gives way to patches of raw dirt and soil. Blake is fast asleep in a sling against my chest, my shirt clutched in his tiny fist.“Does Sydney take care of these plants?” I ask, running my fingers over massive leaves belonging to tropical plants that definitely wouldn’t survive, even in this humid, deliciously hot atrium, without delicate care.“Oh, Goddess no,” Cosette snorts, shaking her head. We meet up again, having take
SydneyIt’s 4:00 AM when I finally roll off my bed, wondering where the hell I am and how I lost an entire day. My body feels light as air as I walk downstairs in the dark in search of a drink of water, maybe even a cup of coffee, and find that I’m not alone.Cosette sits at the kitchen table–an informal setting with four chairs–and looks up at me as I shield my eyes from the sudden onslaught of light.“You survived,” she smirks, straightening up and shifting her weight to face me.“You should have woken me up yesterday afternoon,” I grumble, leaning against the kitchen island. I run my hand over my face, pinching the bridge of my nose as my body slowly comes back to reality.“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, clicking her tongue. “There’s a bag of potato chips and some fresh coffee waiting for you.”“Salt and caff
SarahI feel alive again for the first time in… well, I don’t know how long. My fingers are stained with juices from the stems and petals of the hundreds, if not thousands, of blooms I’ve been working with all morning, and the air is heavily scented; reminiscent of a fine, hot, summer day. I’m nearly done with the centerpieces. I doubt I’ll be allowed to actually go to the event to set up, so I’ve been arranging them in large glass vases myself while Cosette takes stock of every finished piece so far. Blake lays in the middle of the madness on a blanket, squirming, and lifting his little fists in the air. We’ve been taking turns all day with him, and it’s probably a good thing he doesn’t do much but eat, sleep, and need his diaper changed right now. I’ve never been this busy before, but the deadline is tomorrow morning. I can’t stop for a break even if I wanted to.Tomorrow night, the queen of freaking Crescent Falls will be holding her fancy party surrounded by my art. My stomach
SarahI wake up in my bed to bright, unforgiving winter sunlight shooting directly into my retinas. I wince, covering my eyes with my forearm.I have very vague memories of getting back to my bedroom in Sydney’s house. I remember being lifted and carried but thought maybe I was dreaming. I’m sure I dreamt it, actually, because it was the man of the house himself who lovingly carried me to bed after I’d fallen asleep face down in the center of the atrium, surrounded by potting soil and discarded flower stems.I can still smell him, though. That rich, forest scent laced with musk and sandalwood.It wasn’t a dream.I blink rapidly to adjust my eyes to the blinding sunlight and squint at the clock on the bedside table.My scream echoes through the room as I leap out of bed and fall onto the ground, my ankle caught in the bedsheet.I’m still in my clothes from
SarahSydney holds open the garage door for me, silently, and I step inside. He turns on a light switch. Light spills over the large space. Stupid, menial things I shouldn’t be paying attention to come into focus.I’m counting each breath I take and each movement he makes in the short amount of time we’ve been together tonight. I make note of the way his freshly polished, fancy shoes sound on the concrete floor, the way his watch catches the fluorescent light overhead as he reaches for a large garment bag laying over the washer and dryer, and how his eyes light up again as he glances at me before opening it.That roaring in my ears has to be my heartbeat; otherwise, Sydney has some serious issues with the furnace on the far side of the room.He turns toward me, discarding the garment bag back onto the washing machine, and holds open the most luxurious fur coat I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
SydneyI don’t miss the fact I just told Sarah something no one knows. Not even Kenna. Not even Ryan or Evander.It doesn’t matter. At least, I tell myself that. I’m not going to ruin her night by dragging her down into the depths of my own despair over my choices, which I’ve practically written in blood and all but pledged to the Goddess.I can’t deny how good it feels to have Sarah in my arms, though. She holds my hand as I softly spin us around the garden with the other couples. We’re probably the youngest pair on the dance floor. I spot my dad talking with a group of other Alphas. I don’t think he’s even noticed I’m here, but that’s probably for the best.All we’ve had to talk about lately is business. Ever since Uncle Ryatt had to close the borders between the two kingdoms, there’s been nothing but stress weighing down my dad’s shoulders.&nbs
Sarah“Get out!”Sydney shakes his head, taking another step, which means I’m either going to hit the door, or move out of his way, forced further into the sterile, brightly lit hotel bathroom.“You look ridiculous,” I spit, snarling the words. In my defense, he does. He’s wearing a white, fluffy robe that hits him mid-thigh and not much else from what I can tell.I’m wearing the same kind of robe.One would think that would diffuse things a bit, but no.I’m in pain, and the look he’s giving me right now is dizzying. Sydney looks like an Alpha, not the kind, slightly nerdy man I’ve grown to know and like.His canine teeth are slightly pointed and his eyes… fuck. They glow.“Are you about to fucking shift?” I dart away, my back hitting the glass exterior wall of the shower.He grabs
SarahWorn, weathered hands cup mine in the warmth of a room covered in faded wallpaper. Toys are scattered across a woven carpet of muted greens and yellows, and small voices lift in glee and mischief, blurred and faceless. The hands around mine are so large compared to my small, child-sized hands. Warm and rough, tender and caring, they curl around my fingers in a mother’s touch. “I know you're young,” the woman says, her face a fuzzy, fractured memory, “but you’ve lived through more than anyone should have to experience in one lifetime.”I’m eleven. Rain slams against the windows beside us. The landscape is a tangle of fog and storm clouds with nothing but a turbulent sea beyond. I’m just a child. I should be able to enjoy my childhood and not have to deal with all of this.“Look at me,” she whispers softly, gently, her voice so full of love but also pain. Her hands shake as she strokes my fingers. “You know what must be done. I will help you, but you can never go back. Everyone