Not What You Expected

Chapter Twenty One

Sophia's P.O.V

"I'm not Riley Jane Snow, am I?"

The words slip off of my tongue so effortlessly, as if thousands upon thousands of thoughts are not running through my head in endless waves.

Ethan swears underneath his breath before his fists tighten. "It seems we are going to need that bloodsucker after all."

I sigh at the degrading nickname, but I choose not to voice my opinions on it, because honestly, in a situation like this, that small detail doesn't matter. I mean, I have images of me having intercourse with men that I don't even fully remember!

I thought I was a virgin...

So many questions flash through my mind and threaten to slip from my lips, but I refuse to speak when Ethan looks about ready to murder something or someone.

"What does Jackson have to do anything with this?"

As soon as the question leaves my lips, images of me kissing, laughing, and doing so much more with Jackson flow into my mind. But they don't look like the 'nowadays' Jackson. For example, in the images, Jackson has a small ponytail, like the ones the men used to wear in the sixteen and eighteen hundreds, and in some of the images, he speaks with words that I've never heard spoken from anyone's lips.

Before Ethan can even speak, more images are flowing into my mind like a never-ending tidal wave. During dinner with my father and Jackson's family, it was before I even knew I was a vampire and first met Octavia.

Gosh, that feels like a lifetime ago...

But I remember Blake and Jackson fighting over a girl named Sophia, which I now know is me. Octavia has mentioned 'me' on so many occasions, and now I realize how much I don't even know about myself.

"I need to speak with him."

I don't even need to utter his name for Ethan to know who I am referring to.

Ethan lets out a low growl, but he turns away from me once more and walks to his dresser. He pulls out a pair of long washed-out jeans and a plain red t-shirt. As he starts to change, I turn away with a blush on my face. He doesn't seem to mind changing in front of me, but I don't want to disrespect his personal space. Plus, I kind of forgot he was only wearing grey sweatpants and no shirt.

My mind isn't focusing on the small details...

"For the record, this a terrible idea, and if sh*t hits the fan, just know I was right."

I can't help but roll my eyes and softly smile at him as he grumbles under his breath, grabbing a set of keys from the bedside table.

"You own a vehicle?"

It comes out sounding more bitter than I meant it to be, and I actually intended it to be a question.

Stupid tongue!

He sends me a weird glance before scoffing, "It's not the moon, Riley Jane. Us wolves don't run everywhere."

I mentally slap my forehead. Of course, I didn't think they ran everywhere, but I once read in a paranormal book that werewolves are claustrophobic, and they don't like to be in enclosed places that remind them of cages.

Now I'm realizing how much of a made-up story that is...and honestly? That book, compared to the actual paranormal world, seems so much easier. I mean the books, movies, tv shows, etc. make it look like the paranormal world is almost a walk in the park, as if any human could just enter it and be fine. No, the paranormal world kills the weak and haunts the brave. In this world, it's either kill or be killed.