Chance Nightshade, daughter of the Melbourne City Alpha, will avenge her brother's murder at any cost. Even if it means working with a charming vampire prince.
Season 1 of Witchfire
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My breath exploded into a snarl as my shoulder hit the wall, sending tiny fissures through the plaster. Recycling that momentum, I launched off the incriminating surface and sprinted across the room in a fury of pumping muscles and blood, enraged beyond rational thought.
I hit another wall, even harder than the last one. Plaster fell around me like ashen rain, settling in my hair, infiltrating my lashes and stinging in my eyes. I pawed at my face in a blind panic, trying to get it out. As tears formed, the walls seemed to press in even closer, forcing the air to congeal and the pressure to rise. It felt like I was trying to breathe in treacle, every gasp sweet and precious but sickening and choking at the same time. The ache in my temples peaked, becoming a keen blade of pain. The world wobbled...
And then it stilled, and the waves of nausea ebbed. I was on the floor, face mashed into the blue carpet threads, nose full of dust and cheeks streaked with tears. Trembling, I pushed myself up into a sitting position and picked white chunks of plaster from my hair, flicking them into the far corner where I'd stacked the worst of the debris from my previous lapses into instinct.
Once a retreat of cool blues and blonde woods, my room was now a wreck. The bed was a mound of splinters and shredded blankets, my bookshelf was in shambles and holes riddled the walls, exposing the electrical wiring within. I couldn't even recall what I'd done to result in the destruction. All I remembered was fear. Fear of the walls...
I'd only been trapped in here for a few days, but the wolf in me suffered. Wild animals weren't meant to be caged.
It soon became apparent that picking the plaster from my hair was an exercise in futility. It was crumbling into powder, mixing with my sweat and becoming pasty at my scalp. Huffing with frustration, I climbed to my feet and started pacing, stepping in time with the mental mantra that had been slowly but surely eating away at my human thoughts. I shouldn't be in here. Guttural noises clawed their way out of my throat, brought into being through no will of mine. With each step, the walls pressed in even closer...
I realised I was already charging at the door and skidded to a halt. "This is madness," I hissed, rubbing my temples. "Absolute bloody madness."
Throwing my hands into the air, I fled for the ensuite, entering the shower clothes and all. Before I could change my mind, I slammed the cold tap on as far as it would go.
"Argh!"
Icy water blasted from six different jets, saturating me from head to toe. Even knowing what I'd been planning, the water came as a cruel shock. I shuddered and spluttered, body rigid as a board. A black clump of hair slopped into my eyes and I pushed it aside with shaking hands, forcing myself not to wrench away into the warm, dry air. This shock, this clarity, was exactly what I needed.
Sadly, my body soon adjusted to the temperature of the water. It sucked to be a werewolf, sometimes. When the shower lost its hold on me and I could barely register the sensation of water pounding into my skin, I sighed and turned the tap off. I shouldn't be in here. If I broke the mirror or shower glass in a fit of rage...
