CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
Picking up the journal, I let my gaze float over the words in it while occasionally scoping from the jar of ice cream. I knew I was only reading it so I could stop myself from dwelling so much on Ian and his possible obsession of hope that I would go back to him. Shaking my thoughts free, I went back to reading. Even though the author had grown to be a little fond of werewolves later on in the journal, going to the extent of falling in love with one, her tales of demons showed just how much she had loathed the dark entities to the deepest part of her core. If she could, she’d probably destroy them all without wasting a single second. Why would Mrs. Carter insist that I keep this book to myself and never show it to anyone? Up till now, I hadn’t seen a single t
