Storm Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,71
adventures.
G. Bailey is from the very rainy U.K. where she lives with her husband, two children, three cheeky dogs and one cat who rules them all.
A few random facts about her...
She loves tea. (She may be a little obsessed but what Brit isn't?)
Chocolate and Harry Potter marathons are her jam.
She owns way too many notebooks and random pens.
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Her Guardians Series
Her Fate Series
Protected By Dragons Series
Lost Time Academy Series
The Demon Academy Series
Dark Angel Academy Series
Shadowborn Academy Series
Dark Fae Paranormal Prison Series
Saved By Pirates Series
The Marked Series
Holly Oak Academy Series
The Alpha Brothers Series
A Demon’s Fall Series
The Familiar Empire Series
From The Stars Series
The Forest Pack Series
The Secret Gods Prison Series
Supernatural Shifter Academy Series
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Chapter 21
Chapter One of Crescent Wolves Bonus Read
Sometimes when I look into the light of the sun, I can only see the shadows around the edges, waiting for their chance to smother what brightness is holding them back.
But looking up at the sky, as I make my way down the sloping drive, I can only see big black thunderstorms forming on the horizon. I’m only just past the top of the hill on Bowery Street, and considering how quickly the weather is going sour, the odds of getting home before it starts to rain are slim to none.
“Damn,” I mutter, pulling my backpack up higher on my shoulders and shaking my head. It’s times like these when I really wish Central High’s bus route included my neighbourhood. Well, our neighbourhood. Their neighbourhood. Whoever’s neighbourhood it is, it’s too far outside the city centre for the school bus to reach, and since I don’t have a car, I’m what some might call shit out of luck. Normally I don’t mind the long walk home. In fact, I usually enjoy it. It’s a chance to listen to some music, stretch my legs after eight hours of sitting at a desk, and, most importantly, it means less time spent around Mark. When the weather’s bad, though…
Kicking myself for not thinking to bring an umbrella, I continue down the road, hoping I’ll get lucky and not end up soaked by the time I reach the house. Doubtful. All I can reasonably do at this point is try not to get water all over the front entryway and pray that Mark won’t be in one of his moods when I get in. I can practically hear him snapping at me already, slurring his words as he gestures at me with an empty beer bottle: Damn it, Millie! You couldn’t even dry off before getting mud all over the front porch? What’s wrong with you, huh?
I shake my head, feeling the first raindrop plop down on my shoulder like a warning. Yeah, I know, I think. It feels like I’m on my way to the gallows.
Okay, maybe that’s a little overly-dramatic. But not by much. I’ve been living with my most recent foster parents, Mark and Tonya Stone, for going on a year now, and things haven’t been peachy. It’s not like I’m not used to bad foster family situations. In fact, that’s basically all I’ve ever known, with a few exceptions. It’s like the start of every fantasy story I’ve ever read: a baby girl, abandoned at the hospital when she was born by parents she never knew, drifting from one abominable living situation to another and wondering why she was put on this planet. Except if this was really a fantasy story, a fairy godmother would have appeared at my bedroom window a long time ago to whisk me away on some whimsical adventure.
Instead, the only things that have ever appeared at my bedroom window are the eggs thrown by neighbourhood pranksters and the occasional crow.
It hasn’t been all bad, though, I think as the ground levels out beneath my feet. The raindrops are coming more frequently now, and I see the horizon light up briefly with the flash