Vengeance (Burning Beliefs #2)

Chapter Three *edited*

GRACIE'S POV

I gasp for air as I stumble out of the car, clinging to the handle of the opened door. My stomach yawns, grasping painfully into an empty space, stretching out past its limits. I wince and pound one fist into the soft skin.

Dean looks me over. “You okay?”

“I haven’t been in a car for a long time,” I say between gags. “It’s just motion sickness.”

He lowers his eyebrows, but decides to ignore it.

“Come on, everyone’s inside.”

I take in a deep breath and follow Dean into the building. It looks the same as it did seven years ago. Almost. I let out that breath in a shaky sigh, leaving footprints in the dust.

The echoing of my heels bounces against the walls of the hallway. I smile a little as I recognize the little storage room, and me and Serena’s room. My skin prickles in reaction to the wintry air surrounding me, and I shiver a little. My happy reminiscing dims as I realize I don’t smell cupcakes.

Dean holds the main door open for me. When I walk through the entrance, I feel like I'm walking through a bubble. The air warps around me, the sound wraps around my head, until the pressure returns to normal.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Protective spell,” a familiar, deep voice answers.

My stomach twists, along with my heart. I somehow find the courage to look up, and see the black hair, and the dark blue eyes, and the unshaved stubble gracing his jawline.

“Dad,” I say breathlessly.

The last time I saw my father, he was trying to talk me into hunting with him. I was in New Orleans, in a hotel room, relaxing after the recent kill of two Angels. He tried to drag me out the door, but I pushed him backwards. Without using my hands. I remember a spark of fear in his eyes, a realization that I was more powerful than he originally thought. Six years ago. Well, a lot has changed since then. We both know it now.

“Gracie,” he smiles.

I give a small grin back. I can barely hold back laughter when he stands up, seeing the oversized arms of a trenchcoat fall over his hands. Within seconds, he’s in front of me, and his arms wrap around my body.

“It’s good to see you,” he says.

I hug him back, somewhat reluctantly.

“You have no idea,” I sigh.

My attention is drawn away from my father as I catch sight of Sam. Well, not just Sam. A girl next to him, with straight black hair, dark skin, and glossy brown eyes. She’s wearing dark-colored makeup, too, and her nails are painted black. A leather jacket covers her thin arms, with black jeans and stripper heels to match. My eyes widen.

“Who’s this?” I say, raising one eyebrow.

“This is Zephira,” Sam answers. He’s sitting next to her at the mahogany dining table. “My wife.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.

“You’re wife?” I choke out.

“That’s what I said,” Dean mutters.

Sam gives him a look. “Yes, my wife,” he hisses.

I clear my throat. “How long has, uh, this been going on?” My voice is high-pitched, as I’m still trying to control the laughter.

“Three years,” he answers. Zephira glares at me, tapping her heel against the ground.

“That’s not all,” Dean shakes his head. “Sabrina here is a witch.”