*** This is book two in a series. YOU MUST READ The Prophecy first***
Ariella's life had changed drastically in the last month. Each day seemed to bring a new devastating truth to light. After the events of the last month she's started to change. Th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Only a couple hours later, I jerk up in bed, my mind already fighting back the nightmare without any conscious thought from me. Obviously, my subconscious doesn't want to relive the memories any more than I do.
Absent-mindedly, I throw on my running shoes and climb out the window so as not to disturb the many other occupants of the house. I spend the next hour trying my best to outrun the images clawing at my mind. If only it were that easy.
My phone dinging with a text from my uncle is the only thing that lures me back home. Pushing the back door open, I enter the kitchen dripping in sweat and out of breath. I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and hop up onto the counter, glancing at Uncle Ben who is leaning against the island waiting for me.
"You wanted to talk to me before everyone gets up?" I say once I down half my drink, and my breath has returned to somewhere close to normal.
He shoots me a nervous look and runs a hand through his short blonde hair clueing me into just how worried he is. I brace for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.
"I'm not sure how you're going to react to this conversation," he says timidly, causing my unease to grow.
After a long pause, I wave my hand, gesturing for him to continue. No need to drag it out and build up the tension.
"I think maybe we should try to contact Dante ," he continues cautiously. My breathing falters at the mention of my biological father.
"I'm not ready for that yet," I say honestly. I don't know if I'll ever be ready.
"I get that. I do, but he and Lucien have been friends for a very long time. I think he has a right to know what's going on," he insists.
He has a point. Still, I don't want to talk to the guy. I haven't even worked up the nerve to read the letters from my parents about him yet. Contacting him feels like a betrayal to the man that raised me. I doubt my dad would see it as a betrayal after hearing their story, but I can't help how I feel about it.
Honestly, I don't know how to feel about the guy. Part of me feels sorry for him, for how things went between him and my mother. Part of me is curious about the man that half of my genes came from, but yet another part wants to bury my head in the sand and continue to ignore that he exists for as long as possible.
For someone who had spent the majority of my life begging for answers, I've come to love the comfort of denial. It had begun after the very first truth bomb destroyed my peaceful life. It's the reason I'd avoided asking questions about vampires and werewolves for so long after learning of their existence, and now it's the reason I want to avoid the topic of my biological father.
I will grasp onto the tiny bit of denial I'm able to for as long as I can. It will keep me sane as everything around me continues to change drastically. Already, nothing in my life is the same as it was two weeks ago.
