Partly because she was pissed at Slappy and partly because she didn't want to talk to any of her family members, she avoided them and stayed holed up in her room, fuming silently.

Her fingers stilled ached with the amount of force she'd hit Slappy with; she could hardly believe she'd slapped him. Sure, she'd gone after her sister, but Sara had been asking for it. Him? Not so much. That didn't mean she felt sorry for the asshole.

He's totally jealous that that guy's paying attention to me. I mean, I bet he thinks I've never been flirted with by anyone and couldn't possibly find someone, she thought with a scowl, clenching her stinging hand into a fist. I bet no girl has ever even tried to flirt with him; he's such an ass.

Grunting in anger, she kicked off her sneakers and flopped down across her bed diagonally, nearly hitting her head on the wall. Well, she told herself, he can go kiss a cactus. Sighing heavily now, tired from the fighting and the "intervention" and meeting Ray Thurston, she unbuttoned her jeans, yanked them down her legs, and then crawled under the covers.

It was barely nine-thirty, but she was tired and could hardly keep her eyes open; the soft fabric of the pillow case crackled in her ear as she laid down, ignoring the way her hair hung over her nose and got stuck in the collar of her t-shirt.

Just a little nap, she thought to herself, pressing her face deeper into her pillow. The low ticking of the clock dragged by slowly, and she exhaled with every other tick, allowing the familiar sound to drag her under.

It was dark inside her room, the flickering light of the hallway lamp casting long, eerie shadows across her floor, when she woke up. Amy sat up slowly, glancing at the clock, which was perched precariously on the wall.

As she kicked off the blankets and her feet touched the dusty ground, she heard a voice.

"Amy?"

She turned her head to the open door, watching a long, wiry figure step around the corner. It wasn't Jed's head of red curls that she saw, but tight-knit blond ones, sleek against his skull. Robin-egg blue eyes in place of her brother's green ones.

"Ray? What—" she tried, licking her lips to push the sound through them, tasting the vowels and the shape of the letters as she spoke them.

Ray smiled, his teeth bone-white against his already alabaster face, and she felt the blood slither out of her face in one sweeping rush. An icy trickle of fear slid up her back like a bony finger, digging deep. Her stomach dropped exponentially.

"Where's my family?" she asked, glaring at him.

He cocked his head, as though he wasn't sure what to make of her question. Blinking eyes with pinpoint pupils, he shifted.

Fear churned slowly into anger and panic. "Where's my family, Ray?" she spat, letting her unease color her tone.

With a dismissive flap of his hand, he stepped closer. His pale eyes seemed to shift colors, slowly turning purple, and then deeper, darker, red.

Her breath caught in her throat with a little click and her hands began to shake uncontrollably, the blood in her fingertips pounding in tandem with her rapid, hummingbird pulse. Acid turned in her stomach, threatening vomit, but she pushed it aside feverishly, allowing the boy before her to steal all her focus.

His liquid slink was smooth and effortless, the hard lines and gaunt planes of his face betraying no hint of softening emotion. Shadows played with the beauty of his features like the flashing of a red light in a horror movie.

And just like a horror movie, Amy was immobile. Chains might as well have shot around her and bound her. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, drowning out the bullet-loud swish of his clothes as he stalked closer and the low, repetitive drone of the ticking clock. Sweat streamed down her back, making her want to shift, but she found herself unable to move.

Licking her dry, cracked lips, she glanced around, a little startled that her head could so freely move. Midnight-blue sky with the imposing black splotches of trees that swayed in a breeze, rustling the leaves, told her it was late, or either very early; she wasn't quite sure.

That was when she noticed it.

Normally, she'd hear dogs baying mournfully, cats yowling occasionally, and, most of all, the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves. It was silent now, except for the whisper of fabric, gunshot-loud in the aching void of noise, and the sound of her own ragged breathing. Her breathing, she noticed slowly, her eyes widening as she saw him closer than before, but not him.

Her stomach plummeted so fast it made her gasp in shock and the sound seemed to snap the chains binding her. As if in response to her sudden movement, the room was alive with a million sounds, dogs snarling and cats hissing and the long, loud scream of someone's horn.

Ray's red eyes watched her, following every movement carefully; though his face gave away nothing, she had an inkling he was categorizing her every twitch and shift.

Without breaking eye contact, he crooned, his voice low and seductive, enticing the deepest parts of her, soothing her in a manner no one had ever touched her in, "Amy."

She found herself walking up to him, and he unfolded himself from the crouch, moving so fast it seemed as though he had never been in the crouch at all.

Cool, blue shadows draped across the thin set of his lips. "Amy," he murmured, his eyes locked with hers as he placed an icy hand on her waist, freezing through the holey t-shirt she'd worn to bed, his other hand cradling her jaw tenderly. His red eyes captivated her.

"Amanda," he whispered in a voice that throbbed with emotion.

With a wild gasp that bubble from her lips, Amy tore herself away frantically, stumbling backwards onto her bed and smacking her head hard enough to hear the crack of the bone connecting with the dry wall.

"No!" came the guttural, bone-chilling bellow, deep and throaty and positively not human, as Ray lunged at her, his eyes wet with tears and wide with disbelief.

Her eyes snapped open as the door to her room slammed open with a loud bang and she bolted upright, disorientated but hoping she could reach her softball gear before Ray finished what he'd started. As soon as she'd yanked back the covers and coiled her muscles, ready to spring, a cold hand clamped down on her shoulder, making her stagger under the undeniable strength.

"I swear to God, if you don't let me go, I'll kick your ass! You don't wanna mess with—" Her rant died on her dry, trembling lips as she saw the auburn hair and glowing eyes, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

"Where is he?" he asked quietly, his voice dark and tight with barely-contained rage.

"Who?" Amy asked, settling back onto her heels. Long pieces of hair stuck to her sweaty race as she swept his hand off her shoulder, only to find his fingers curled around hers, tight enough to hurt.

"Ray, Amy! Jesus, he was in your room. I can smell him! This place reeks of that low-life."