Meet Amber, a teenage girl struggling with the death of her father, an overstressed mother- and lycanthropy. All she wants is for her life to go back to normal, but a magical corporation has lost a valuable test subject and they believe Amber will b...
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Chapter Fifty Eight
Kimberly woke up at sunrise. I was sitting on the edge of my bed watching her, and the moment her eyes opened I jumped up and ran to her.
"Hey, baby girl," I said softly. "How do you feel?"
She looked up at me, her eyes bleary and unfocused, and said, "My head hurts." Her voice was rough, like she had a sore throat, and I nodded.
"I know," I told her. "You're going to be okay."
She stared blankly at me for a few seconds, and then croaked, "I feel dizzy."
I glanced at the swollen purple knot on her forehead. I had hoped it would go down before morning, but it hadn't. My stomach twisted in worry, but I tried to keep it off my face.
She's a werewolf, I told myself. If Tyler can shrug off a bullet to the spine, then a bump on Kimberly's head won't keep her down for long.
"What happened?" she asked.
"You... had an accident last night," I told her. How much did she remember? Did she remember how she'd tried to change? I sat there, waiting for her next question, until I realized that she probably hadn't even heard me. The look on her face told me not much was going on in her head, as did the little trail of spit running down her chin.
"Kimberly?" I asked tentatively. "Are... are you there?"
Slowly, her eyes turned to look at me, but she didn't answer. She raised her hand to her forehead, her movements sluggish, but I grabbed her before she could touch the bump.
"Don't touch it, okay?" I said, gently putting her hand down at her side again. "Just let it get better."
She stared at me again for a few seconds. "...kay."
Then her eyes closed, and she went back to sleep. I sighed, getting up pacing the room. My feet felt like they each weighed a ton, and they were only getting heavier with each step. Between chasing down Roy yesterday and being with Kimberly last night, I was exhausted. I couldn't go to sleep, though. Not with my little girl like this. What if she woke up again? What if she got worse while I was asleep? I wasn't a doctor, and I knew I wouldn't be able to do much if something happened, but... well, being awake was still better than sleeping through it, right?
My frustration suddenly spiked, and I began to beat my forehead with my fist. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I have let this happen? I was supposed to be helping her, but all I was doing was making things worse! I looked at her helpless little body lying there on the bed, and was forcibly reminded of how she'd looked in the funeral home. I'd put her in that funeral home. I'd put her in that bed. I had essentially picked up her life and shattered it on the ground— and now I was picking up the individual pieces, one by one, and throwing them on the ground all over again.
