Moon, Bitten

Chapter One

All Rights Reserved © 2012 Emmy Alexander

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the writer.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** This story is in dire need of editing. If you can overlook the errors (until editing) then happy reading.:)

She awakened to pain so severe that it robbed her of a shallow breath. She moaned, her head aching something terrible, feeling twofold its normal size, her mouth feeling as though she swallowed a fistful of desert sand.

She's vaguely aware of the stiff, rigid mattress beneath her and the crispness of linen draped delicately atop her. Cold, hissing air hastened from somewhere within the room, most feasibly a cracked vent that cast her in a chill that which her meager sheet could not prevent.

Her eyes flutter, feeling their heavy-lidded and swollen above all else. They peel open to an onslaught of florescent lighting hanging above and she's momentarily blinded. A mewling sound permeates the air-conditioned room and alarmingly she realizes the sound had escaped her.

The pain is excruciating. It resonates throughout her limbs; pangs of shooting spasms lacing her muscles, tingeing her bones all the while a throbbing ensuing fiercely at her temples.

She closes her eyes and blissfully succumbs to the darkness rushing up to embrace her.

When she awakens again it's to a haze of blurry faces. Her eyes waver heavily amongst a blurred circle of white coats.

Her head is swimming and she groans.

How did she come to be here?

Where was here?

"Miss Channing?" someone called softly, a man's voice, firm and reassuring. She clung to it briefly somewhat comforted by it as she treaded the edge of darkness.

She feels the coolness of a palm against her heated brow and it jars her back to awareness.

"She has a fever." Spoke another voice, softer, more of a soothing, gentle pull and noticeably feminine.

The sudden wisps of air against her flushed skin forewarned her of jostling movements and a fleeting panic erupted in her achy chest.

Who were these people?

Why was she so unbearably hot?

She could feel beads of perspiration dot her forehead, trickling a path at the nape of her neck.

She began pushing at the onset of hands.

"Leave me..." she groaned in a cracked, broken plea.

"Relax, Miss Channing." That gentle voice murmured gently.

There was a sound of shuffling followed swiftly by a sudden pricking along her sensitive skin. She gave a tiny gasp before slipping unto her blackened solace.

She awakens later to dulled lights, blinking until her vision clears and she's staring blankly upon tasteless, eggshell walls. Her eyes avert to a lone chair propped against one of those plain walls, noticing distinctly the absence of no one in particular.

It struck a chord within her. Shouldn't someone be there?

Her head felt unhinged with pain and intangible thoughts incapable of piecing together.