Stacey
Bright lights burst behind my eyelids, blindingly white and relentless, as I hear an earsplitting beeping noise. Wherever I’m laying, it feels like it’s moving, swaying slightly beneath me. The smell of antiseptic fills the air, sharp and medicinal, mingling with the faint, metallic scent of blood. I can hear muffled voices, tense and frantic, their tone heavy with urgency. None of them sound happy. Do they have to scream so loud?
I slip back inside my mind where it’s quiet and nothing hurts. Even with my shifter healing, my body aches as if I’ve been hit by a bus. Every muscle throbs, and there’s a deep, lingering pain in my leg. Then, images worse than my nightmares flash between my eyes—shards of horror that make my stomach churn. With a jolt, I sit upright, my heart racing as the images fade away, leaving me breathless and disoriented. Only they weren’t nightmares, they were real.
I blink, still bleary-eyed, as I scan the room around me. It isn’t my bedroom at home or at th
