Changeling (Book 1) Rated R

Chapter 15

I left the restaurant and headed for the ladies room I'd seen out on the casino floor.

My heels clip-clopped against the marbled floors as I rushed into the bathroom which was empty except for a woman who jumped out of the way as I entered.

I flipped on the tap on one of the many faucets and splashed my face with water. The coolness of it ran down my face and it was a welcome reprieve to the heat spreading through my body.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, one palm gripping the counter.

How could I continue on this mission knowing every personal thought was being perused?

Being judged?

Creases formed on the corners of my violet eyes as I realized I didn't have much of a choice.

Christian and Brandon had been right about one thing: I knew nothing about this world and I needed their help to help me navigate it.

I went into one of the stalls and shut the door.

Crouching down, I placed my head between my hands and focused on breathing even.

For all my strength and big talk, I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack.

I hadn't stopped to think about everything that was happening, not really.

My family had gone missing and I'd enlisted the help of a vampire to find them.

A vampire.

How could I trust anything Christian said? If he'd lied about this, what else was he capable of lying about?

I dug my nails into my palms, the only thing that could really center me.

My nails pierced the skin and I looked down to my hands where small dots of blood bloomed up.

I thought about what I'd done at Brandon's urging, how I'd healed Christian, how his wounds had disappeared as if they'd never even happened.

Somehow, I'd done that.

I knew I'd always healed fast but I'd assumed it was because I had a good immune system.

I never in a million years dreamt I could do it for others.

Glancing down, I caught a faint, golden glow as it zoomed through the tiny lacerations my nails had caused.

When I blinked, the wounds had closed up.

Not even a scar to show they'd ever been there.

"Fuck," I whispered, still not used to seeing it.

Still not used to any of this.

I stood, opened the stall and left the bathroom in a rush, deciding I needed some real air.

I traced my steps back the way we'd come, toward the loading dock.

I passed the Uber station where the men from before had departed, leaving behind a few bear bottles and cigarette butts.

My heel stepped between a crack in the concrete and my ankle twisted. At the same time, the contents of my purse spilled out.

My phone landed face up and the screen came to life as I picked it up.

Ten missed calls.

Ten voicemails.

I shoved my lipstick and loose change back into the purse as I dialed into the voicemail, waiting for the messages to start.

Aimee. Where are you? I got up this morning and you weren't here. Did you go off to see Christian again?