The Awakening Book Kelley Armstrong Novels & Stories

Chapter 1 Kaela I woke to the smell of blood. It hit me first, thick, warm, and metallic. As I pushed myself up from the sticky floor, my hand slipped. I was naked, skin covered in red, my heart slamming against my ribs. I turned slowly. My mother lay near the stairs, throat torn open, heart ripped out, eyes wide in shock. Selene, my younger sister, slumped by the table, chest ripped apart. Her pale dress was soaked through, clinging to her body. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle, hair stuck to her face.

United in the Awakening, we will always be kin. I sat back, wondering what it meant to be united in the Awakening. The person who wrote the book was a witch of the Hecate Coven centuries ago. I tapped my fingers on the opposite page, turning it over in my mind before the sound of Duke's phone chiming caught my attention. I looked up and blinked as I noticed the suitcase standing against the wall. Duke came out drying his hair. "What?" "A suitcase?" I cocked an eyebrow. "I guess I should expect them to furnish the guest room next time?"

“You want to know what you’ve done? You gave her to fire. She's going to be tortured. That's what it is. She'll feel pain. Lots of it.” Evelyn shook her head in disbelief. “No. That’s not… Arnold wouldn’t let that happen to her. Would you, honey?” She glanced at Dad and he gives her the same rehearsed soft, and calm look. “She’s fine, darling. You don’t need to worry.” I laughed again, bitter this time. “You’re lying to her. You always do that crap instead of telling it how it is.” Evelyn’s hands trembled. “Wait—what exactly happens in the Awakening?”

Dean also took a shower in a hurry, and immediately went to bed with the little girl in his fragrant and soft arms. * In the Armstrong family's living room full of demonic aura, the old lady Armstrong had a gloomy old face, that expression had the urge to pull out the knife in her mouth, "Helena, look what you've done. Because of your silly behavior, the Armstrong Family can no longer hold their heads up in public. What are you going to do now?"

No, the was only the soft breathing of deep sleep from upstairs and the shallow gasps of our housekeeper weeping silently-she must be getting soft in her old age-and the slow swing of something heavy through the air. Swish. Swish. Had someone left a window open, it was coming from our small library, my favourite room in the whole house. Or maybe father had finally managed to fix the grandfather clock that had been sitting in the room for as long as I can remember. I decided on see the library one last time before the slaughter continued. Perhaps I’d even keep my favourite book of poems, a reminder of where I’d come from and what had been done to me by the people I thought I could trust, by t