Page 83 of Wrath

I squeezed my eyelids shut and willed air back into my spasming lungs. I had to control myself. The others relied on me to keep a level head, to lead them. I couldn’t do that if I were spiraling face-first into a fathomless pit of despair and depression.

Once I was certain I had my bearings, I reopened my eyes and stepped out of the car.

Froze.

Blinked.

Frowned.

What the fuck?

Mere seconds ago, I stood in the middle of a forest with tents and trailers scattered throughout. Now, I appeared to be in a…meadow.

I rubbed at my eyes, certain I was hallucinating, but the scene didn’t change. In every direction, as far as I could see, hills of green dotted with yellow and white flowers rippled. A large white farmhouse stood directly in front of me.

What. The. Fuck?

Hesitantly, I ran up the first few steps and onto the wraparound porch. Plants hung from hooks above me, and a wooden swing swayed in the light breeze.

I stared at the house with mounting horror.

Was this my trial?

Where was Z?

What was I supposed to do?

How—

“Lin!”

The door of the home was thrown open, and I came face-to-face with a beaming Z. Her golden curls were arranged in an elegant bun at the nape of her neck, a few shorter tendrils brushing her cheeks. She wore jeans and a beige sweater that slid down one shoulder.

“Z? What’s going on? How?—?”

Her kiss interrupted my questions. Butterflies fluttered to life in my stomach, as they always did when she touched or kissed me, and I reached for her, desperate to deepen the kiss. But she danced away with a lilting laugh, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Dinner’s going to get cold,” she admonished, hurrying farther into the house.

Dinner?

Reluctantly, I followed her, taking stock of my surroundings. Everything was simple but elegant—white walls, wooden floorboards, and old-fashioned furniture that gave the home a rustic feel. Picture frames on the fireplace mantel caught my eye, and I took a step in that direction, grabbing the one closest to me.

It was a picture of…me. Me and Z. Together. Smiling. She wore a gorgeous white dress, not unsimilar to the one she had on when she was forced to marry Axel, and grinned up at me as if I were her entire world. Swallowing around the razor blade in my throat, I set that picture down and grabbed the next one.

This one was just of Z, her hands cradling her stomach.

Her bloated, pregnant stomach.

My heart hammered now, and my palms felt clammy.

I reached for the third picture?—

“Daddy!”

I spun just as a little girl grabbed me around the legs, holding tight. All I could see from this angle was a mess of blonde ringlets, eerily similar to Z’s own gorgeous locks.

“Abbie! Let your father go,” Z scolded.

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