mind worked furiously, replaying their words and thoughts again and again
.
My father thought I was dead?
I had been buried for days. Days. I looked down at my clothes again. I’d worn this the day Father had me in one of the old grain silos. He’d hung me upside down from chains before searing my stomach and back with a serrated horse whip and then burning me with a cattle prod
. Gotta love farm life.
But I’d freed myself from the chains and walked back to the far wing of the main house
.
Or had I?
No, I’d never made it back to the house. I’d walked to the southern gardens when…what? I was shot. In the back. No voices, no movements, but a thought, a train of thoughts in the distance from the one with the gun
.
Markus
.
That little pissant had shot me! God, what a fucking coward!
I’d fallen, but not from the wound. The shot wasn’t a bullet, it was a dart filled with one of Father’s experimental drugs. In thenext moment, Markus and Malcolm had sneered down at me, their handsome features twisted in grins of deluded pleasure
.
I’d only registered the blade for a moment, recognized it as one of Father’s favorites, and then the pain had hit me. Cutting, burning, I’d reached for my throat but I couldn’t move past the drugs. I had tried to scream but no longer had a voice. They’d decapitated me
.
An icy breeze cut through the trees and I shivered. With shaking fingers I touched the fresh sleekness of new flesh just beneath my chin
.
I looked up to the dark and cold sky, blanketed in clouds waiting to snow. And there, forcing back the clouds, was the moon. Bright…and full
.
The next thing I knew, I was moving. Running. Within seconds I was back inside Uncle Mallroy’s shed
.
I wrapped the sheet that had covered me in a tight ball before throwing it back into my deep hole. With my powers, I quickly packed in the upturned dirt and debris until it looked as if it had never been disturbed
.
And then I ran
.
Faster than the cold, I ran. And I didn’t stop. Not for the wall surrounding the estate—doubt and hesitation had me pausing for only an instant—and not for the sounds of movement behind me. I ran until I was a good five miles or more from the estate, safe on the empty highway
.
In a heap, I collapsed on the pavement. Release poured out of me in sobs. That’s when the SUV struck me head-on
.
I woke in the backseat of a moving car. The expensive leather interior and spot-on detail were of true luxury. I panicked. They weren’t taking me back. I wouldn’t let them
.
Silently, I reached up behind the driver. In a blur, I wrapped the seat belt around his neck and pulled. The car swerved, knockedme off balance. The seat belt slipped from my grip. I fell to the floor as the car squealed to a stop. The driver scrambled out of his seat and wrenched open my side door. I attacked. A lifetime of being put down for even attempting to fight back had me clinging to this stranger and not letting go
.
His head banged against the pavement as I pounced. He was enormous—my hands couldn’t close around his thick throat. I ripped open his mind in a mindsweep, tearing into his most recent thoughts in the most painful way possible. His eyes closed tight and he shrieked in pain
.
His mind held nothing of the estate or my father. But there was another face I recognized. Carter. One of Uncle Max’s personal secretaries
.
But this big man hadn’t taken orders from Carter, he’d interrogated him. He’d held Carter for hours, launching question after question about a meeting Uncle Max had with some Egyptian diplomat. Then about the newest Kelch Inc. product launch. Then about my family’s supernatural abilities. Who the hell was this guy?
Every time Carter had balked in responding, this man had hurt him. Badly. But Carter worked for my family. He knew what would happen if he talked. The man had turned his back for a second when Carter pulled a knife from the guy’s back pocket and slit his own
.
My father thought I was dead?
I had been buried for days. Days. I looked down at my clothes again. I’d worn this the day Father had me in one of the old grain silos. He’d hung me upside down from chains before searing my stomach and back with a serrated horse whip and then burning me with a cattle prod
. Gotta love farm life.
But I’d freed myself from the chains and walked back to the far wing of the main house
.
Or had I?
No, I’d never made it back to the house. I’d walked to the southern gardens when…what? I was shot. In the back. No voices, no movements, but a thought, a train of thoughts in the distance from the one with the gun
.
Markus
.
That little pissant had shot me! God, what a fucking coward!
I’d fallen, but not from the wound. The shot wasn’t a bullet, it was a dart filled with one of Father’s experimental drugs. In thenext moment, Markus and Malcolm had sneered down at me, their handsome features twisted in grins of deluded pleasure
.
I’d only registered the blade for a moment, recognized it as one of Father’s favorites, and then the pain had hit me. Cutting, burning, I’d reached for my throat but I couldn’t move past the drugs. I had tried to scream but no longer had a voice. They’d decapitated me
.
An icy breeze cut through the trees and I shivered. With shaking fingers I touched the fresh sleekness of new flesh just beneath my chin
.
I looked up to the dark and cold sky, blanketed in clouds waiting to snow. And there, forcing back the clouds, was the moon. Bright…and full
.
The next thing I knew, I was moving. Running. Within seconds I was back inside Uncle Mallroy’s shed
.
I wrapped the sheet that had covered me in a tight ball before throwing it back into my deep hole. With my powers, I quickly packed in the upturned dirt and debris until it looked as if it had never been disturbed
.
And then I ran
.
Faster than the cold, I ran. And I didn’t stop. Not for the wall surrounding the estate—doubt and hesitation had me pausing for only an instant—and not for the sounds of movement behind me. I ran until I was a good five miles or more from the estate, safe on the empty highway
.
In a heap, I collapsed on the pavement. Release poured out of me in sobs. That’s when the SUV struck me head-on
.
I woke in the backseat of a moving car. The expensive leather interior and spot-on detail were of true luxury. I panicked. They weren’t taking me back. I wouldn’t let them
.
Silently, I reached up behind the driver. In a blur, I wrapped the seat belt around his neck and pulled. The car swerved, knockedme off balance. The seat belt slipped from my grip. I fell to the floor as the car squealed to a stop. The driver scrambled out of his seat and wrenched open my side door. I attacked. A lifetime of being put down for even attempting to fight back had me clinging to this stranger and not letting go
.
His head banged against the pavement as I pounced. He was enormous—my hands couldn’t close around his thick throat. I ripped open his mind in a mindsweep, tearing into his most recent thoughts in the most painful way possible. His eyes closed tight and he shrieked in pain
.
His mind held nothing of the estate or my father. But there was another face I recognized. Carter. One of Uncle Max’s personal secretaries
.
But this big man hadn’t taken orders from Carter, he’d interrogated him. He’d held Carter for hours, launching question after question about a meeting Uncle Max had with some Egyptian diplomat. Then about the newest Kelch Inc. product launch. Then about my family’s supernatural abilities. Who the hell was this guy?
Every time Carter had balked in responding, this man had hurt him. Badly. But Carter worked for my family. He knew what would happen if he talked. The man had turned his back for a second when Carter pulled a knife from the guy’s back pocket and slit his own
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