TWENTY FIVE

BELLA

“Good morning little Pajarita.” A cold voice pierced through the fog of my sleepy gaze as I stretched, causing me to hold the blanket closer to myself.

Pajarita? As far as my knowledge goes, Ronan did not speak Italian and even if he did, his voice did carry a characteristic chill.

My heart picked up a murderously fast rate and I held my eyes shut, praying to God and all things holy that I’d open my eyes to find Ronan messing around or playing tricks on me.

Last night got really emotional and we talked about our fears. In the course of the conversation, I admitted Dante was one of my biggest fears. Maybe he was pulling a fast one on me, right?

Everywhere was deathly still, I couldn’t tell if anyone was breathing. If it was Ronan playing tricks on me, he would’ve said something by now.

Also, I doubt Dante would be patient enough to wait for me to take my precious time waking up.

I shut my eyes tightly, sending one last word of desperate prayer to the big guy upsta