I screamed and sat up, instantly waking up from my chaotic nightmare. My heart was beating wildly, and I was drenched in cold sweat. I gulped in air, which was almost immediately followed by an unbearable ache in my leg. I looked down and discovered a giant purple, and yellow bruise spreading across my shin. It stopped from my mid shin, and trailed up just below my knee. I moaned in stress, and kept looking at my leg in despair. My immediate thought was, Hunter. He'll definitely know what to do.

Hunter, I sent.

Hunter, please, come, I'm terrified, I pleaded.

I finished my message and silence filled my ears. Out of know where I heard that voice, that god-awful voice, filled my head. It echoed through my brain making hot tears slide down my face again. We make our own choices, my daughter.

My daughter?! My daughter? I hadn't clued in yet to the fact that 'My daughter,' seemed to have a slight significance. A little, don't you think?

On my way, love, Hunter notified me, and relief swept over me again I almost burst into tears. I crept down the stairs, and the only sound to be heard was the distant whirring noise of the refrigerator, and my slipper-covered feet lightly padding down the stairs. I pulled out a from the dining room table, by the door and waited for my boyfriend to arrive.

10 minutes seemed to feel like an eternity. A long dreadful eternity. An eternity full of that terrible drive-you-insane voice circling my brain. I think I burst into terrified tears at least three times. And I thought my heart stopped when I heard Hunter tapping gently at the door. I flung open the white painted door and buried my face into his shoulder. Hunter wrapped his arms around me, and it was so comforting, my tears stopped almost immediately.

"Shh..." he whispered, brushing my hair away from my damp face. He sat me down on a dining room chair and took my hands in his.

"Morgan..." he whispered. "Tell me what happened," he said tucking my hair behind my ears. I told him everything, in a spill of an avalanche, everything came tumbling quietly out of my mouth. My mom and dad were above us and if my parents caught me with a boy they'd think it would be some form of witchcraft (as they were strongly against my participation of wicca), or that I was doing the clich├ęd 'devils dirty dance'. They used to say that when I was a preteen supposedly invoked to the world of sex, drugs, and violence. God, they're old.

Hunter's face twisted into concern, and sympathy.

I sniffled and noticed my nose was stuffed.

"I'm being stupid. It was probably just a nightmare of some sort... it couldn't possibly be as bad as what happened in New York, could it?" I asked running my hands through my tangled hair.

Hunter looked to be in deep thought and his sea green eyes were unfocused.

"Who knows...," he spoke in a deep voice. "Your father's a powerful one, he is,"

My father... I thought.

With a terrified interest I realized that powerful, drawling voice in my dream was my own father.

Ciaran MacEwan.