Page 30 of Beneath Her Skin

Brown eyes wide, puffy, tears streaking down her face. Her hands shake as she stares at the man in front of her—as he bursts into flames.

So much blood. So much blood.

I rock harder, nails digging into the wooden armrests. Footsteps. The woman presses a finger to her lips.

Silence.

My heart slams against my ribs. The screams stop. The footsteps stop.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Rocking harder. Faster.

And then—she lunges.

A blur of white and blood and frantic eyes, her mouth splitting open in a scream as she charges toward me.

"NO!"

I thrash, gasping for breath.

"NO."

"You're hurting yourself, Serena!"

A voice cuts through the horror. Firm hands grab my wrists, shaking me.

I blink. The vision is gone.

Josh is in front of me, his icy blue eyes sharp, scanning my face. He smells like earth, sweat, and something else. Something safe. But I smell blood.... feel the burn.

"It hurts," I say flatly.

Josh simply nods as he scans my face with a worried look etched on his features. His presence doesn't alarm me... At this point, I stop asking how he got here. He always appears when I need him—like some kind of farmer guardian angel. But again, my mind is slipping. This might not even be real. My hands pull away from my face, and I feel it—the deep scratches along my skin. I don’t even want to see the damage.

"I'm worried," he says as he cups my chin, tilting my face to assess the wounds.

But my eyes aren’t on him. They’re locked on the tall shadow standing in the doorway. Watching. Waiting.

"You should go," I whisper.

"I'm not leaving you like this." His voice is firm, final. He releases my chin and helps me to my feet. "Come, let’s get your face cleaned up."

I follow, my body trailing behind him like a ragdoll. As we move down the hallway, I catch a glimpse of my room. The door is slightly ajar.

I see it—movement inside. Then, the door slams shut.

Josh stops abruptly. His muscles tense as he scans the area. "What the fuck was that?"

I look to the mirror at the end of the hall. She is there. Pointing. At the nursery. Or my room. Or maybe at me.

"It’s the ghost."

Josh lets out a nervous chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. Just unease.

"You got jokes, ha."

I don’t answer.

I wish it was a joke.

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