Plight: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 1) Read online

  Plight

  Call of the Burning Feather

  The Sephlem Trials

  Felisha Antonette

  Plight: Call of the Burning Feather

  The Sephlem Trials: A Dark Paranormal Romance

  Copyright © 2020 by Felisha Antonette

  FELIANT PUBLISHING

  www.felishaantonette.com

  Cover Design: MerryBookRound

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Read the free short story to The Sephlem Trials when you sign-up for Felisha Antonette’s Newsletter.

  For information contact:

  Felisha Antonette

  [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Nathan’s Intro

  Part I

  1. sought

  2. touched

  3. enraptured

  4. scored

  5. chosen

  6. obsessed

  7. concealed

  8. accepted

  9. revealed

  10. denial

  11. impatient

  12. reappearance

  13. introductions

  14. acquainted

  15. resent

  16. perfection

  17. astonished

  18. relinquished

  19. assurance

  20. enlighten

  21. bound

  22. tenacious

  23. routine

  24. deceived

  25. adapt

  26. veiled

  27. inhibited

  28. vined

  29. unforeseen

  30. deception

  31. revolution

  Part II

  32. certainty

  33. relieved

  34. cloaked

  35. uninhibited

  36. abhorrence

  37. rejuvenate

  38. infiltrated

  39. dedicated

  40. veracity

  41. broken

  1. Bonus Chapter

  About the Author

  Also by The Sephlem Trials

  For the strong women who continue to stand with me

  The love I have can last a lifetime alone in darkness, waiting for the mate of love to return to the side of a lonely heart. I, however, cannot wait long past tomorrow to hold you, hear you, or see you in my arms. Without us bound together as one, there is no darkness emptier than I. There is no depth lower than the solitude I experience from longing for you. For this love is greater than any made known to man or beast.

  For this love I have is you.

  -Nathan

  Part I

  sought

  Warmth tingling my cheeks, I leave the podium and step off the stage to head back to the bleachers. I dodge cans of spray cheese and bottles of water being caught mid-air by awaiting hands.

  The football team is planning on turning our pep rally into a cheesy wet-n-wild. Thanks to Principal Hollander’s noonday announcement congratulating me as this year’s valedictorian, I’m first in line for the senior class’ traditional cheesing.

  Ducking behind the crowd to return to my seat, I find my cautious efforts futile when Sam yells over the dismissal bell, “Watch your back, Tracey!” He flashes a devilish grin, as he shakes his spray can of Cheddar ‘n Bacon Easy Cheese.

  “I’m opting out!” I shout. Rising from my crouched position, I wave a white sheet of paper I found on the floor. “Please don’t cheese me.”

  “If we don’t get you today, we will this weekend!” Sam threatens, and then yells, “Hey everyone, party at Andrew’s this Friday!”

  A cheer roars through the gym for the predictable Spring Break party that happens at the same time every year, and always at the Lacrosse captain’s house. Andrew Black’s the lucky host this year, and having the strictest mother in town, we may never hear from Andrew again after this weekend.

  Glen hands me my bag when I get back to my seat. I take it from her and look away from her poked out lip and puppy dog eyes. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

  “C’mon, Tracey. You’ve missed every party this year, we need to go to Andrew’s,” she says, following me down the bleachers. “Think of it as a reward for doing well this year.”

  I wince from the echo of something breaking silencing the gymnasium for a second.

  Our senior class shuffling around the gym and out the doors makes it hard to spot the culprit of the now-broken, gray painted wooden bell the drama club has been working on for their The Hunchback of Notre Dame play this Friday. I’ve been thinking about going to see it just to avoid this party.

  “I don’t know, Glen. Something bad always happens at those Spring Break parties, and I want to be as far away from anything that will mess up our senior year. I need this school year to be perfect.”

  Our school, Mt. Francis Senior High, has the largest student population of our and neighboring towns here in Bennington, Vermont. I’ve lived here my entire life and have known most of these people since preschool. This is something I’d like to remember as I prepare my speech. So many days, recently, I take in my peers, not as a body of students, but as a body of water. I consider them as flowing into parts of the world, evaporating into the sky and, later, raining down our new knowledge and the things we’ve experienced throughout our twelve years of learning and growth onto new generations.

  I dig through my bag in search of a pen to jot down my thoughts. Writing this speech is going to be such a challenge if I can’t keep focused.

  “Will you consider going Friday?” Glen asks, pushing this weekend’s party.

  No luck finding my pen, I throw my bag over my shoulder. Glen is going to hound me about this party until I cave. “Let’s try to make it out of here before the football team cheeses the principal. I’m next on their hit list.”

  She laughs. “I want to see Hollander get cheesed.”

  We join the crowd rushing to the doors as Sam yells, “Go for the toupee!”

  Glen hooks her arm around mine, and we run out of our school, laughing as many students pass us smeared with cheese and drenched in water. Glen’s been my best friend since third grade. She, her mom, and her older sister moved here nine years ago. Her first day in our third-grade class, our teacher assigned her the seat by me. I smiled at her, and she offered me one of her pink princess erasers. We’ve been inseparable ever since. We have lots of things in common, but we’re total opposites. Where she’s loud and outspoken, I keep more to myself, but we blend our clashing personalities.

  “Oh gosh,” Glen murmurs over the giggles and squeals from girls crowding to our left, where the boys park in the student lot. “Guess some new hottie started today,” she says, throwing glances over her shoulder as we pass. “Wonder why he’d start three days before break.”

  “Maybe they’re just now noticing him.” I shake my head at two sophomore friends rushing toward the forming crowd. How often have I told these girls not to chase after boys, to instead, let them court you? It’ll force a greater level of respect than they currently have for women! I call out to Lina and Abby, getting completely ignored as they approach the black, jacked up truck.

  “Somebody call the swoon patrol,” Rachel Ryan jokes as Glen and I meet her at her car. “Swarming floozies at five o’clock. Can you believe Angela rushed over to see the new meat?” Angela usually meets us
after school too, but I’m not surprised she’s checking out the new guy. Rachel twirls her keys around her finger and rolls her bright blue eyes that stand out against her ginger dyed hair. She stuffs her backpack through the driver’s side window of her car, asking, “You two wanna go to the mall and then my house?”

  As she and Glen discuss their afternoon activities, I take a second to jot the possible beginning of my speech before I forget it. When I finish, I drop my pen and notebook back into my bag and interrupt their gossip. “I’m sitting this one out, girls. Call me when you get back.” Although I love their company, today I’m in no mood to hang out. After staying up until two this morning to finish my mid-term English essay, I’m pooped.

  “Kay. See you tomorrow, Tracey,” they sing.

  I make it to my car and snatch a Battle of the Bands flyer from my windshield and toss it in the passenger seat as I settle in. When I crank the ignition, Lindsey Stirling’s Master of Tides blasts through my speakers. “I love this,” I tell myself, hand falling away from the volume knob.

  The parking lot clears, and I back out of my spot and head for Cress Road. I yawn. I’m ready to turn off my brain, sprawl out on the couch, and wrap myself in a bundle of blankets. I may find an old movie to fall asleep to.

  A horn bellows.

  Screeching tires cry to stop before the sound of steel crashing into steel halts them.

  I thrash forward, and my head smacks the steering wheel. The seat belt, clutched across my chest, snatches me back and rams me against the warm leather seat.

  “Argh.” I blink, blindly searching for the gearshift, find it, and put the car in park. A violent panic works its way from my twisting stomach to my burning throat. I cough and cringe. Dad’s going to be so mad if my car is ruined.

  I take my throbbing head between my shaking hands and try to blink away the flashes and stars taking over my vision. Growing light-headedness, it’s hard to refocus. How hard did I hit my head?

  A tap against my window pulls me from my self-examination.

  I swing my door open and have a hard time getting my eyes to adjust against the sun and heavy pounding in my head. Annoyed by both I scold, “What the hell? You hit me!”

  “Yeah,” a male’s voice drawls with an edge of guilt. “I know. I’m sorry.” He apologizes, meeting my anger with a settling peacefulness.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and flick them back open, surprised to meet calm, deep-set, brown eyes taking me in. He shifts and a pale hazel glimmers in their depths. His new position, his towering height, and broad shoulders help shade me from the blinding sun.

  The guy clears his throat. “This has to be the worst thing to happen right before your break. I’m truly sorry. I can get the car fixed for you.” He stuffs his thumbs in his front pockets and lifts his shoulders high near his ears. “No idea what I was thinking.”

  I swing my legs from the car and step out. Standing, my dizziness worsens, and I lose my balance.

  “Whoa!” He catches me with a quick grab of my arm and cuff of my waist. A burning sensation attacks my bare arm where his hand is clenched around me. Once I’m able to stand on my own, he retracts, putting a required amount of distance between us. Seeming to measure it with a darting gaze, he nods and then asks, “Are you okay? You look a little out of it.” The heavy confidence lacing his voice softens as he asks, “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  I rub my arm where the burning has lessened. I stare, somewhat impressed by the stranger.

  Oh, crap cakes, I grumble, flicking my gaze to the sky. He must be the cause of the squealing girls.

  “Uh, hello?” he sings. “Anyone in there?”

  Dammit. I step to the side, shifting my gaze to the ground. “Um.” Reply, Tracey! “Yeah, totally,” I say, clearing my throat and shifting my weight. You will not turn into one of those floozies dammit. It’s just a face, I tell myself. An oddly attractive face with a beautiful smile you will not fall victim to like those losers on TV! Be normal. Slacking my shoulders, I coolly engage with him. “So, how’d you hit me?”

  “By completely not paying attention,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I came to pick up my cousin and while searching the parking lot, I was texting him. I kind of lost focus on the important part of driving.” He shrugs and his arm falls to his side.

  “You do know you’re not supposed to text and drive, right?” With my hand clamped on the right side of my head, I walk around to the back of my car to check for damages.

  “Again, I’ll get everything fixed.” He follows behind me, sure to keep an acceptable distance between us as we make it to the rear end of my car.

  There doesn’t appear to be any major damage, just some scratches, and a ding near my license plate. But, as Mom would say, “The real damage can be under the car and not noticeable, honey.”

  I pull my gaze from my car to the young man with a god-like jawline and benignant smile. “Well, looks like the only real damage was to my head.” I graze my palm over a knot protruding near my temple.

  “Can I take you to the hospital? You seem a little dazed.” He veers to peek at the car. “How about I make a call and have a shop pick up your baby?”

  I offer a small shrug as a vile taste slides over my tongue. “I’ll be fine. My head just hurts. Once I get something to eat and a Tylenol, I’m sure I’ll be better.” I swallow hard. “I am just going to head home and go to the body shop later.” Nausea builds in my stomach, and my head swims. “I think I need a nap,” I say, words echoing twice more in my head. I sway as the earth spins as I try to stand still. To hold my balance, I lean my butt against the car, groaning.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, concern causing a line to form above his knitted brows. “You may have a concussion and it’s never good to go to sleep with one. You could slip into a coma.”

  “Humph.” A searing twinge attacks my head, and I reach for it, seeing him do the same. His thumb grazes my hairline and everything goes black. My body hits something hard. The car or . . . the ground?

  I’ve been touched by many guys. I’ve brushed by them in the hall, held hands, given a hug, even my first kiss. But none of them ever had the effect of knocking me unconscious.

  touched

  I wince, awakening on a bed in the nurse’s office. Lemon scented ammonia mixed with fresh linen resurfaces my headache.

  I press my hands against the cushion of the plastic-covered mattress and force myself up. Hit head on by dizziness, I groan and add nausea to my list of problems. There’s a pain in my back and my butt’s sore. “Argh.” I reach for my head but freeze when a figure moves in my peripheral vision.

  I want to look but hesitate to dart my gaze over my shoulder. If it’s the hot guy who hit me in the parking lot, and I barf, this situation could get way more embarrassing.

  I peek from the corner of my eye.

  There they are—those broad shoulders even a concussion can’t make me forget. They slowly rise and fall, as if he’s sleeping. If he isn’t, he’d at least adjust or say something seeing me sitting up on the bed.

  Careful to not rustle the plastic covering the mattress beneath me and steady to not seem obvious, I slowly turn my head.

  “What are you doing?” Busted! “Practicing for the exorcist?”

  Crap! Scrambling for an excuse, I rush to say, “Um, I was, uh, trying to stretch my neck to avoid making my head hurt worse.” Really, Tracey? There were probably seven other better-sounding excuses I could’ve come up with. I shake my head and bite back my grumble.

  He gets up from the chair and walks in my direction, crossing the floor with tenacity and fortitude infusing every step. His back is pen straight and his shoulders sway with an abundance of confidence. Though, a display of humbleness shines through as he approaches the bedside with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “Would you like an Ibuprofen for your head?” he asks, bending over and examining me. His brown eyes shift as his gaze seems to look me over. “The nurse is still here. She
’s been waiting for you to come to.”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Cool.” He straightens. “Let’s go see what the nurse has for you.” With his fists still in his pockets, he offers me his arm to grab.

  A pinch of annoyance strikes the back of my neck. “Nah, that’s okay, I got it.” He shrugs and steps back, leaving space for me to conquer this leap. I stare at the floor, tightening my grip around the bed’s edges. That half of an arm wouldn’t be much help.

  He groans impatiently. I peek up at him through my lashes. He arches one thick-laid eyebrow. “You sure you got it?”

  “Yes. Getting impatient?” I ask, sounding more zealous than I intend.

  The truth is, I am incredibly dizzy and uncertain if, when I stand, I’ll be able to continue standing. I’m also giving the floor’s spinning black-and-white tiles time to settle.

  “Nope. Just don’t want you to hit the floor.” His mouth lifts with a smirk that oozes arrogance. “Again.”

  I roll my eyes, acknowledging his illusive concern. He licks his lips, drawing attention to his full, raspberry-colored bottom lip that’s soon drawn between his teeth. Dressed down in dark, denim jeans, and a black T-shirt that matches his Nikes, he looks like the average Joe, but there’s something peculiar about him that is more potent than attraction. Something I’d say draws in the floozies, but a part of me is doubtful others notice it. His shoulders widen as he sucks in a loud breath. He rocks back on his heels, and his brows jump.