Inescapable (The Premonition #1) by Amy A. Bartol
My name is Evie Claremont and this was to be the making of me--my freshman year of college. I had been hoping that once I had arrived on Crestwood\'s campus, the nightmare that I\'ve been having would go away. It hasn\'t.
I may be an inexperienced seventeen-year-old, but I\'m grounded...sane. Since meeting sophomore Reed Wellington, however, nothing makes any sense. Whenever he is near, I feel an attraction to him--a magnetic kind of force pulling me towards him. I know what you\'re thinking...that sounds fairly awesome. Yeah, it would--if he liked me, but Reed acts as if I\'m the worst thing that\'s ever happened to Crestwood...or him. But, get this, for some reason every time I turn around he\'s there, barging into my life.
What is the secret he is keeping from me? I\'m hoping that it is anything but what I expect: that he is not exactly normal...and neither am I. So maybe Crestwood won\'t be the making of me, but it could be the breaking of me. I have been left to wonder if the dark future my dream is foretelling is...inescapable.Intuition (The Premonition #2) by Amy A. Bartol
I don’t open my eyes so I can’t see him, but I can smell him. He thickens the air I breathe, choking me with his scent…his aroma. I shiver. I have to resist. If I’m not strong, then I will be relegated to the same fate as this predator whose sickness infects me even now. But now, I crave him and he knows that; he has been counting on my need to end the gnawing pain. How he would savor my surrender. I’m alive, but how much longer will it take until I beg him not to be?Indebted (The Premonition #3) by Amy A. Bartol
I hang my head in sorrow for just a moment when I know I am truly alone. I feel like I’m going to my execution, just as he had said. Then I move forward again. I hop a fence of fieldstone and cross a field dotted with Queen Anne’s lace. Goose bumps rise on my arms as I pass the cluster of windmills that I have seen in a dream. The scent is sweet in the field though, not the scent of heat, like it had been when it was forced upon me in visions. I gaze down the hill, beyond the small, whitewashed house that I knew would be there. The church looms dark and grim with its rough-hewn, timber façade, capped by tall, oblong spires reaching to the sky. Black, ominous clouds have collected above the roofline, as if Heaven is showing me the way.
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