Amelia
It’s human instinct, and probably werewolf instinct, too, to fight off whatever creature has just woken you out of a dead sleep by forcing a bag over your head.
I flail, making accidental contact against something with my elbow. A throat, I guess, based on the choking sound that follows. But the grip never leaves the opening of the bag kept firmly around my neck.
I reach out to the side, aiming to shove Molly awake, to warn her of danger. My hand lands on nothing though, her pillow empty.
But it’s still warm.
It couldn’t be her attacking me, could it? The thought makes me hesitate as whoever it is coughs through the hit to their throat.
When I hear the female voice finally say, “You little piece of human trash,” I’m actually relieved that it’s Ava. She’s nothing if not con
