The Blood Witch (The Osseous Chronicles Book 2) by Ivy Asher

Author:Ivy Asher [Asher, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

10

I trace the veins of texture on the ceiling with my eyes. I conjure shapes and images from the random lines and peaks, the shadows in my room adding depth and darkness to my jumbled thoughts. I reach for the phone again, waking the device to check the time. It’s 1:22 in the morning. Four minutes since the last time I checked it.

I groan in frustration and turn on my side, fluffing the pillow underneath my head punishingly. I close my eyes and try to convince my body to succumb to sleep, but I can’t turn my brain off. I can’t stop seeing Rogan’s angry eyes or, worse, remembering what it felt like to kiss him instead of Saxon. I keep replaying what happened tonight, picking things apart and attempting to rearrange them into a structure that makes sense. One where everything isn’t so confusing and I haven’t gotten in too deep with someone who I know won’t choose me in the end.

But try as I might to change the picture I’m looking at, as soon as I stop messing with it, everything snaps back to where it was, and I’m left overthinking and trying not to stare truth in the face. I flop onto my back again with a sigh and accept that it’s going to be a long night. I’m tempted to call Tad, but he’s bitchy when he’s tired, and I already know what he’ll say. That’s part of the problem. I know what I need to do, but I’m stalling.

I sit up and decide it’s time for a pep-talk. It’s time to stop kidding myself and just woman up. I shouldn’t be hiding away, acting like some timid weakling who can’t face the truth. I’m the motherfucking Bone Witch. I was made for this shit. With clenched fists, I hype myself up and get myself ready. Rogan and I need to sort some things out, and now is as good a time as any, well, for me anyway. He’s probably sleeping, but not for much longer. It’s time to pay the piper.

I push out of bed and pull in a massive fortifying breath as I stride to my bedroom door. I open it, intent on maintaining this kickass momentum all the way to Rogan’s room, but what I don’t expect is for someone to be standing right there. I let out a surprised squeal and aim a fist at whoever it is. A large hand catches mine, and a deep familiar voice tells me, “Not this time,” as he wraps a palm around my fist and backs me into my bedroom until I’m pressed firmly against a wall.

“Moon shits, you scared the crap out of me,” I whisper yell, one hand caught in Rogan’s grip while I press the other to my chest and try to talk my adrenaline down.

“Moon shits?” he repeats haughtily, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Yes, moon shits,” I defend as my fight-or-flight reflex tries to walk it off. “What are you doing?” I hiss at him, irritated that he just jump-scared me again.

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