I absently gnawed the top of my pen as I studied the sketch before me. How could I explain to CJ--the purple-haired tattoo artist sitting next to me--much less Matt that I’d waited a lifetime for this image to become real? I’d seen it in my dreams since I started shifting at thirteen. Maybe somet...
One seventeen. Great. I'd been in bed two hours. Two hours when I hadn't closed my eyes for long and most certainly hadn't been able to sleep. It's not that I wasn't tired. I was exhausted. But I knew what waited for me the moment I let sleep come and I wasn't ready for it, wasn't strong enough f...