Page 33 of Blood of Night (The Thorne Hill)

A clock alarm sounds, and with a sigh, Easton moves off me. “Neither of us can be late today.”

“Right,” I say, feeling like I’m a puppet and someone else is in control. “You’re meeting with Scott today and it should be interesting.”

“Interesting is one way to put it.” Easton gets back on his feet and plows a hand through his hair. It’s shorter than I remember—no, it’s been that way for a while. “It wasn’t that long ago I had an internship with your dad and now I’m campaigning for the opposite party.”

“Well, you know I’m proud of you for standing up for what you believe in. And now that Abby made her opinion known, the next family dinner will beinterestingas well.”

“We can be civil, I’m sure,” Easton goes on, crossing the room. “No political talk at the table.”

“We’ll be sitting in silence then.”

He gives me a look but then chuckles. “You better get up and get moving so we’re not late.”

Nodding, my feet move on their own accord, taking me through the bedroom. I open the door and step into a small living room. The decor is more contemporary than my liking, but it’s familiar and when I look at the black leather couch, I remember going to the store with Easton to pick it out. I pick up a remote off the coffee table and click a button, making the blinds go up.

I stand there, looking out at the city. Something feels so off. It’s like there’s an electric charge in the air or I’m stuck underwater. Maybe I’m coming down with something? A cat meows and I whirl around.

“Binx?” I ask out loud when a black cat comes trotting to me. The cat meows and I pick it up. It’s wearing a pink collar with a purple name tag. “Princess,” I read out loud. “Why did I think you were…you were…” I shake my head, unable to remember what I had just said.

I put Princess down and she follows me into the kitchen. The main area of the apartment is an open concept, with the kitchen and dining room opening to the living room. The ceilings have to be at least twelve feet tall, and the view from the living room alone lets me know this place isn’t cheap. We seem comfortable and happy here. There are two doors off a small hall by the kitchen. One leads to a half bath and the other to another bedroom, which is set up like an office.

Right. I’m an editor at Black Ink Press and Easton is working his way up from campaign manager to Ryan Arnold, my father’s political opponent. Easton has made a lot of headway lately, and Scott just last night tried to criticize him by saying he’s getting a majority of the female votes just because he’s good looking.

Easton and I had a good laugh about it last night over dinner. It’s what lead me to indulge in a second glass of merlot, and then I feel asleep going over the manuscript.

“I really shouldn’t drink past seven PM,” I tell Princess as I get a can of cat food from the pantry. I feed her and then go about the morning routine of starting the coffee pot and making smoothies for Easton and me to take to work.

“You coming?” Easton calls and I hear the shower turn on.

“Yeah, I’ll be right—” I drop a cucumber into the blender and stop. “What the hell is going on?” I ask out loud, looking around the apartment. Where the fuck am I? A sharp pain hits me right in the middle of my forehead, and suddenly it feels like my blood is on fire. I double over in pain, accidentally knocking a glass off the counter. It shatters to a hundred little pieces on the floor.

“Callie?” Easton comes running out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

I have one hand pressed against my forehead and the pain is slowly subsiding. “I don’t know. I got hit with a migraine out of nowhere.” I straighten up. “I think I’m okay now.”

Easton leads me away from the broken glass and then picks up Princess, moving her bowl into the living room. “Sit down,” he tells me, and I sink onto the couch. Something feels wrong, really wrong, but I can’t think of what it could be.

I’m safe in my apartment with my boyfriend. We both have good jobs, good friends, and love our life. Nothing is wrong.

“Maybe you should call your sister.”

“I don’t want to bother Abby. She’s probably busy with Penny or work.”

“Penny?” Easton looks around the counter. “Is that a girlfriend?”

“No, Penny is…” I trail off, unable to remember who Penny is myself. “I don’t know. Maybe a friend she mentioned.”

“I’m texting her,” he says over the sound of glass being swept up. “I’m getting worried.”

“No, I’m fine.” I get to my feet. “I, um, I don’t think I slept well.”

“You’re not yourself, Cal. Not at all. If you’re not feeling well, it is okay to take a sick day.”

“I can’t. Not today. It’ll be obvious I skipped because of the presentation.”

“You haven’t taken a sick day in a year. No one will think that.”

“Why the fuck haven’t I taken a sick day? I know I’ve been sick,” I mutter to myself.

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