Sick Like Me (A Miss Hyde Novella Book 4) by Kindra Sowder

Author:Kindra Sowder [Sowder, Kindra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Burning Willow Press, LLC
Published: 2017-11-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

It was late. Or early. I was never certain exactly how it worked when you were up in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. The book sitting in my lap had given me a renewed energy at the prospect of learning more about what I was and my family lineage. The old book was large and bound in weathered dark leather.

Beautiful.

There were no embellishments, but it was still one of the most beautiful things I had ever held in my hands -- as if the allure of the creatures within my family emanated from the thome itself. It attracted me and pulled at me with a lot of the same energy Hyde lured men with but in a different way. Not seductive, but something else entirely.

As if triggered by the mere presence of it, Hyde rolled inside my belly with the same irresistible heat as always, blazing up my center and through my chest.

“Simmer down, Missy,” I sighed.

Gripping the front cover, I opened the book and noticed that the paper was old papyrus type paper. Thick and rough, nearly ready to fall apart but still sturdy enough to be read and hold the ink. Something else caught my eye. The beautiful swirl of weaving lines and curves created the portrait of a young woman, gorgeous with the familiar lines of the McAlister genetics. She had the same sleek jawline as well as the elegant nose and finely arched eyebrows that sat atop the ridge of big, almond shaped eyes. There was one striking difference.

One green eye. One brown eye. The only splash of color on the page.

A trait that had been passed down through the ages along with the talent in the arts. A relationship had been bonded with this woman not because of our shared surname, but because of that similarity between the two of us.

A name was scrawled underneath. One that I didn’t remember my parents ever mentioning up until the moments I killed them, ripped their hearts out, and ate them to feed the symbiotic parasite that lived within me. She squirmed inside of me as I read the name as if she recognized it herself, but I knew that couldn’t be the case.

The text read, ‘Scarlett McAlister, 1670 – 1692.’

The year. I knew that year. I stared at her gorgeous face as my mind swam with every single year I had ever learned in history classes growing up. This was something I knew.

The Salem Witch Trials.

Was my ancestor a witch? Well, a perceived witch? Seeing her in that book and knowing we were related, I was one hundred percent certain that this woman that stared out at me through the page was not a witch. She was like me. She was a succubus. And she had been killed for it, which made me even more cautious about having Lauren asleep in my living room while I sat in my bedroom – which I was still changing as of that moment – reading about those of my family’s past being prosecuted for being different.

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