I straightened, my stomach in knots, as
Trent glanced back at me. His face was contorted into a gruesome mask of evil,
and his normally blue eyes were puddles of black ink—lifeless and deranged. I
cupped my hand over my mouth to stop from crying out. What was wrong with him?
He smiled at me like I was the only person here, and then he bared fangs a
second before he grabbed Abby and tore into her neck.
“No,” I screamed, eyes wide with terror.
Uncle Dean tightened his hold on me, and I
struggled to free myself.
“No! Stop!” I screamed again.
Trent dropped Abby’s lifeless body to the
ground, and then stalked toward me, his mouth dripping with her blood.
“Abby. No,” I gasped. This wasn’t
happening. It couldn’t be real. I was having a nightmare or hallucinating. Abby
wasn’t dead. She wasn’t.
“You’re next, Chloe.” Trent grinned,
showing off his blood-covered fangs.
Limbs trembling and knees weak, I backed
up. “No, no, no.” I sobbed.
Trent advanced on me, each of his steps
matching two of mine. There was no way I could outrun him. I whipped my head
around, looking for someone, anyone, to help me. But everyone was too immersed
in the funeral. Didn’t they see what a monster Trent was? Didn’t they care he’d
killed Abby? Why was no one paying attention?
Trent reached for me.
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