Taken by Storm

We were getting ready to cross into another pack's territory, and my second-in-command was making spirit fingers.

Two psychics, two werewolves, and a psychic human alpha walk up to a crime scene...

For a few seconds, I thought I might actually cry. That was so unlike me, I wasn't sure how to respond. Bronwyn Alessia St. Vincent Clare didn't get sad. She got mad. Or better, she got even.

Caroline: 'You know Sora. I don't. It will hurt you. It won't hurt me. Nothing hurts me.' Lake: 'Liar. Just breathing hurts you so bad, you want to beat the snot out of something.

There was nothing left. Nothing of him, and nothing of me.

Rather than sleeping myself, I practiced. I practiced taking everything I'd seen in the last few days-every horror, every drop of blood-and locking it away, so deep in my mind that I could pretend that nothing had happened. And then I practiced letting it out. This time, I didn't start with a specific memory. I didn't walk myself step by step through a scene. Instead, I built a room inside my head-a tiny room with white walls and no windows and no doors. No way out. In that room, I put the sound of screams, tearing flesh, and heavy breathing, the smell of rancid blood. Everything I'd been holding back, everything threatening to devour me whole was there-in the ceiling of that room, the corners, the floor.

Sometimes, having friends who were like family was a good thing, and sometimes, it was like having an endless supply of very nosy, very irritating siblings.

Three questions,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers as I spoke. “One: do you have a car? Two: do you have plans tonight? And three: how fast can you drive?

Consider me an open book" dev said. "Mi casa es su casa." Dev crinkled his nose and smelled the air. "Err, mi nose es su nose.