CHAPTER 17DREAMS AND MEMORIES
DAMON
Naomi was at the bottom of a staircase with blood in her hair. Terror shrieked up my spine, blocked out everything but her neck, my fingers feeling for pulse and breath. Stupid, because no one would know sooner than me if she were dead.
“Damon!”
Westley? I looked around frantically. Why was Naomi at the campus chapel? What was Westley doing here?
A thump from the top of the stairs—a wild-haired figure slamming Westley against the wall, a knife in her hand. I leaped on her without even touching the stairs, tried to pin her but she twisted out of my grasp. My knife was in my hand now, and we circled each other, growling.
The growl froze in my throat as I recognized her. Ginger, a kathair who had lived at the Orphanage—three, four years ago? Ginger ha
