Enchanting Wilder Read Online Free Page A

worry. Shit. The demon. What the hell does it all mean? This is going to be a bitch to decipher.
    “I had a dream,” I begin.
    Wood snorts. “Okay, Mr. King.”
    I backhand him, not really in the mood for his jokes when I’m having an internal freak out.
    His eyes take in my information more seriously this time and he looks to me. “Wait, you did?”
    I nod slowly, watching the orange and yellow trees outside of the car pass us by.
    “Holy crap. That’s a big deal.”
    Again, I nod, looking straight ahead. Beating at an unhealthy speed, my heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest.
    A red-eyed demon? I shake my head. Do they even exist? I thought they were myths dad told us about as kids to scare us in to going to sleep. Such a crappy tactic. That logic is a bunch of shit—scaring kids. Telling them there’s monsters in the closet. It’s sick.
    “And?” Wood asks, his expression alarmed, snapping me from my muddled thoughts.
    “And…” I trail off. He’s going to think I’m some kind of freak. He probably thought that anyway. I haven’t had a dream in almost three years . Throwing caution to the wind, I continue, “I saw a red-eyed demon.”
    “What?” he asks, stunned. I guess even he thinks that’s not a good thing.
    “And a woman.”
    His head snaps to me. “What woman?”
    I shrug and run my hand through my short hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t recognize her.”
    “Did she say anything?” His eyebrows furrow and my stomach begins to ache as I think about all the crap going through his head right now. He’s a never-ending encyclopedia of information. He probably knows what she is and it’s probably not good.
    Sighing, I shake my head. “No. Not really. She pointed to the demon behind me and screamed.”
    “What did she look like?”
    “I don’t know,” I grunt. I don’t understand why her looks are so important. “She had red, curly hair and light honey eyes.” Why does this matter?
    “Did you see any birds in the dream?”
    “What? No. Why are you asking me about birds?”
    Wood looks over his right shoulder, signaling and exits off the freeway. “I don’t know. It just seems weird, doesn’t it? You haven’t had a dream in forever and now all the sudden you’re dreaming about some random red-eyed demon.” He clears his throat. “There’s all sorts of lore on dreaming about demons. Some say angels come to you to warn you – help you.”
    I scoff. “Angels, Wood? Not likely. We’ve never come across one. We don’t even know if they exist.”
    Wood’s mouth turns down and he shrugs his shoulders, mumbling, “That doesn’t mean anything and you know it. Just because we haven’t seen one doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”
    I cross my arms and try not to roll my eyes at the absurdity. When it comes to religion, I don’t have a full grasp on what’s real and what’s not. There’s never been any evidence of Heaven and so I can’t bring myself to believe in it. That might make me blind or faithless or whatever, but why do I have to put my feet into one belief? Can’t I believe in a higher power and leave it at that? Sure, I’d like to think we go somewhere better than this place after we die, but I have no proof. There’s something hardwired inside me that questions everything I can’t see or touch. Wood and my dad would argue miracles and faith push us to believe in God and Heaven, but I’m not so sure. I’ve always been pushed to believe in God because dad said so. Maybe it’s me being defiant, but I believe in what’s right in front of me, and all I see is hell. Monsters, demons and everything else that’s bad with the world. That’s what I believe in.
    Rubbing the back of my head, I decide to go with it. “So, angels. What else do you think it could be?” Now that I think of it, the only plausible explanation as to why I’m finally dreaming would be because of something supernatural. I hate to admit it, but that does makes sense. I grew