Amanda Perry [Perry - Hidden Embers

HIDDEN EMBERS

ALSO BY AMANDA PERRY

Chosen Storm

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HIDDEN EMBERS

CHOSEN STORM

BOOK 1

AMANDA PERRY

COVEY PUBLISHING

HIDDEN EMBERS: CHOSEN STORM BOOK 1

COVEY PUBLISHING, LLC

Published by Covey Publishing, LLC

PO Box 550219, Gastonia, NC 28055-0219

Copyright 2018 by Amanda Perry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover Design Copyright 2018 Covey Publishing, LLC

Book Design by Covey Publishing, LLC, www.coveypublishing.com

Copy Editing by Covey Publishing, LLC

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-1-948185-23-3

First Printing, 2018

For my beautiful children and amazing husband. Without their patience, this book would have never been finished.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

My head hurts. Something warm and wet runs down my face. I try to lift my hand to wipe it away, but a pain shoots up my arm, making me moan. Where am I? Why does my head throb? Along with stifled yelling, the pulsing wail of a siren sounds somewhere nearby.

The shouts grow closer, clearer, until finally a man hollers from right next to me. "Is she alive?"

A strong hand wraps around my wrist, fingers pressing to the inside pulse point. When an unbearable pain radiates through my body, I realize my head and arm aren't the only things hurting. I try to tell them to stop and leave me be, but the words die on my tongue as my dry mouth holds the sound in. I pry one eye open, but my vision blurs. I blink once. Twice.

My vision and mind clear, bringing a terrifying reality of chaos and wreckage into focus. Flashing red, blue, and white lights illuminate the room, reflecting off broken glass littering the floor. A pair of booted feet stomps past my line of sight. Following the boots as they crunch over the bits of glass, I catch sight of her. Lying on her back, she has one arm spread wide and the other flung over her eyes. Even with her eyes covered, she wears the permanent scowl I know too well. The same scowl stars in many of my nightmares.

Vaguely aware of someone lifting me off the ground, my body becomes numb and my focus fixates on her chest, waiting for movement. She remains still, showing no signs of breath entering or exiting her body. Panic closes my airway as I struggle to break free of the person holding me. The arms around my body refuse to let go.

A scream gets lodged in my throat.

With a harsh jolt, I wake myself and try to breathe through the panic. My eyes dart around in an effort to ensure the horrors from that night arent truly happening again. The people sitting on the plane ignore me. Hopefully, I didn't cry out or scream in my sleep. I wish the bad dreams could be classified as nightmares, but they're not. They're memories. Staying awake for days on end helps me avoid them, but my body shuts down after a while, unable to handle another minute without sleep.

Pushing aside the terrifying memory, I let out a deep breath to relax and turn my attention to the view out the window in hopes of a distraction. The plane descends in preparation for landing. I slept the entire two-hour flight. Its not much, but it may hold me over for a while. Living in Washington State and not traveling, I never imagined I would end up on a plane to southern California.

The idea of leaving the state at all never occurred to me, but now, I'm headed to live with my father. A man Ive never met before. A man who knew nothing about me until a few weeks ago when social services tracked him down thanks to some paperwork of my mothers the police found. For some reason, she listed him on my birth certificate.

In December, I turn eighteen, which means I need a guardian for six months. A normal girl would be happy about meeting their father. Part of me is curious what he'll be like. Ive wondered about him my entire life, but Mom never provided any answers. There's really no telling what I should expect with him.

My body jerks in my seat as the plane's wheels hit the ground. The screeching of the breaks startles me out of my musings and the captain's voice, announcing the planes arrival at LAX airport, comes over the intercom. The seatbelt light turns off, and everyone stands up to hurry on with their lives. I sit in my seat until the last person shuffles down the aisle, then stand to grab my bag from the overhead bin.

Making my way into the airport, I pause and glance around nervously. My father said he would meet me at the gate, but I don't know what he looks like. As I glance around nervously, it takes a few passes before finally spotting a sign with my name, Riley, written on it being held up above the crowd.

Easing my way through my fellow travelers, I shuffle toward the sign until the person holding it comes into view. Before me stands a tall man in his mid-forties. His jaw is strong, and light stubble covers his face. My eyes widen in shock as I look into his. Ive seen them before, every day when I look in the mirror. Theyre bright and round and the same electric violet-blue as mine. Its a rare color, not one I've noticed on another person before.

"She has your eyes, Mark," a soft feminine voice gasps beside us.

Turning my head toward the voice, I take in the elegant woman about the same age as the man standing beside her. Her auburn hair falls in waves to her shoulders. Her eyes sparkle in a dazzling shade of hazel green. She has striking olive skin. Shes above average height for a female, with a sunny smile. I want to ask about her, but people I dont know make me nervous. She must notice the curiosity in my eyes, because she gives an answer to my thoughts.

"I'm Leanne," she introduces herself kindly.

I nod my understanding as the name rings a bell. My father's wife. Social services told me about her, but I didn't realize shed be here at the airport. I assumed she wouldnt want anything to do with me since she isn't responsible for me.

I gaze returns to the man at her side.

"You-youre my f-f-father?" I stumble over my words as I question the man with my eyes, even though I know the answer.

"Yeah, I guess I am." His brow wrinkles in concern as he assesses me, and I wonder if he even wants me here.

I don't want him to catch on to how vulnerable this whole situation makes me feel. Instead, my attention shifts to my old worn shoes. An awkward silence hangs between us until Leanne suggests we go find my bag.

While following them to the baggage claim area, I work up the nerve to explain to them I dont have any checked luggage.

T-t-this is m-m-mine, I whisper, gripping the duct tape covered strap of my backpack tighter.

My fathers eyes dart from mine to the warn bag and back again. His brow furrows again Dont you have more bags?