Sara walked into her room and plopped down on the bed with the chrome handgun on her thigh. She, Sara Bone, had kissed a freaking werewolf. What had happened to her? She liked this new life of action and passion. Old Sara, the one that sat around writing a novel that would never get published, was not just a character in her own story. Better yet, she was the main character. It was about time she started living her own story.
Somewhat mindlessly, she opened the blinds and looked out over the parking lot below. She didn't see movement. Maybe nobody would come during the night. Maybe someone would. She had no idea, but there was no way she could change it. They'd come or they wouldn't. Her worrying wasn't helping, but still, it continued.
