by Morgan Rice
turned
(book #1 in the vampire journals)
(alternate ending)
morgan rice
SELECT ACCLAIM FOR TURNED
"TURNED is an ideal story for young readers. Morgan Rice did a good job spinning an interesting twist on what could have been a typical vampire tale. Refreshing and unique, TURNED has the classic elements found in many Young Adult paranormal stories. Book #1 of the Vampire Journals Series focuses around one girl…one extraordinary girl!...TURNED is easy to read but extremely fast-paced....Recommended for anyone who likes to read soft paranormal romances. Rated PG."
--The Romance Reviews
“TURNED grabbed my attention from the beginning and did not let go….This story is an amazing adventure that is fast paced and action packed from the very beginning. There is not a dull moment to be found. Morgan Rice did an awesome job bringing the reader into the story. She also made it easy to root for Caitlin and want desperately to her succeed in finding her truth….I will be looking forward to the second book in the series.”
--Paranormal Romance Guild
“TURNED is a likable, easy, dark read that you can read in between other books, as it is short….You’re sure to be entertained!“
--books-forlife.blogspot.com
"TURNED is a book to rival TWILIGHT and VAMPIRE DIARIES, and one that will have you wanting to keep reading until the very last page! If you are into adventure, love and vampires this book is the one for you!"
--Vampirebooksite.com
“Rice does a great job of pulling you into the story from the beginning, utilizing a great descriptive quality that transcends the mere painting of the setting….Nicely written and an extremely fast read, TURNED is a good start to a new vampire series sure to be a hit with readers who are looking for a light, yet entertaining story.”
--Black Lagoon Reviews
About Morgan Rice
Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling author of THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, a young adult series comprising eleven books (and counting); the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books (and counting); and the #1 bestselling epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising thirteen books (and counting).
Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations of the books are available in German, French, Italian, Spanish, Portugese, Japanese, Chinese, Swedish, Dutch, Turkish, Hungarian, Czech and Slovak (with more languages forthcoming).
TURNED (Book #1 in the Vampire Journals), ARENA ONE (Book #1 in the Survival Trilogy) and A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1 in the Sorcerer’s Ring) are each available as a free download on Amazon!
Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, download the free app, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!
Books by Morgan Rice
THE SORCERER’S RING
A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)
A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)
A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)
A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)
A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)
A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)
A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)
A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)
A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)
A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)
A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)
A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)
A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)
AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)
THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY
ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)
ARENA TWO (Book #2)
THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS
TURNED (Book #1)
LOVED (Book #2)
BETRAYED (Book #3)
DESTINED (Book #4)
DESIRED (Book #5)
BETROTHED (Book #6)
VOWED (Book #7)
FOUND (Book #8)
RESURRECTED (Book #9)
CRAVED (Book #10)
FATED (Book #11)
Download Morgan Rice books on Amazon now!
Listen to THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS series in audio book format!
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Copyright © 2014 by Morgan Rice
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Jacket Image ©iStock.com/Bliznetsov
TURNED
(alternate ending)
Jonah rode in the back seat of the bulletproof Suburban, sandwiched between two bulky New York City police officers, and he looked out the window, sweating. He felt a fresh rush of anxiety as he saw the long caravan of Suburbans, lights flashing, his right in the middle, all of them racing up Sixth Avenue on the way to Central Park. All of them going to where he was leading them.
To Caitlin.
Jonah felt wracked with guilt. He felt it was all his fault. They were zeroing in on her location thanks to him, thanks to his cell phone lighting up. He thought back and wished he could have hidden his phone in time. But he’d had no choice: every officer in that interrogation room had heard his phone buzz, and they’d snatched it and read her text before he’d even had a chance to reach for it. He had known, at that fateful moment, that any chance of his walking out of there and back to his normal life was over.
The cops had wasted no time. They had whisked him out of the room and had been relentless pursuing her ever since. Jonah was not surprised: officers were dead, and these men wanted answers, at any cost. He had also spotted dozens of detectives, FBI agents, and men in uniforms he did not even recognize. It was surreal; he was smack in the middle of the largest manhunt he had ever seen.
Cruising in this endlessly long caravan of flashing lights and sirens, Jonah felt as if he were the President of the United States being raced uptown at eighty miles an hour on the midnight streets of NYC. He saw them zoom past 23rd Street, the sign a blur, and before he knew it they were already passing 42nd Street, Bryant Park whizzing by on his right. He looked over and saw the back of the New York Public Library pass by, its windows dark. Jonah had never known that one could traverse NYC this fast; it was amazing how small the city seemed when you were doing eighty.
Jonah felt torn inside as they neared Central Park. Whatever Caitlin might have done, he did not want these men to imprison her—especially due to him. He still had strong feelings for her, even though he barely knew her, even though she had run out on him inexplicably at Carnegie Hall. He was infatuated with her, and he could not get her out of his mind. He did not want her to end up in these men’s hands, and he felt sure that she was innocent of whatever they thought she’d done.
More than anything, Jonah
just wanted a chance to be alone with her, to talk to her, to hear from Caitlin herself what had happened. He wanted to help her escape, to get away from all of this, just the two of them. The thought of her ending up in jail—or worse, dead—left a pit in his stomach. He could not allow it to happen.
Jonah could not fathom how it had all come to this. Just a few days ago his life had been so normal, everything the way it had always been, just another monotonous day of school, his life as boring as ever. And now this. He wondered if his life would ever be the same again.
They whizzed past a blur of buildings, pedestrians jumping out of the way for them, blowing red lights, sirens blaring—and Jonah wondered how all this would end. He wondered if he’d go to jail himself.
“Did you hear what I said, kid?” the cop sitting next to him asked, elbowing him in the ribs.
Jonah snapped out of it and turned to him. He saw an angry cop in his forties, twice his size, sneering back at him from behind a thick mustache and coffee breath.
“Huh?” Jonah asked.
“I said text her,” he demanded. “Find out where in the park she is.”
Jonah looked down at his phone, holding it in his sweaty hands, and hesitated. He raised his fingers to the keys, but then stopped himself. He just could not bring himself to type the words, to set her up.
The other cop leaned in, scowling.
“Ya know what’s gonna happen if you don’t cooperate?” he asked. “You’re going to jail. For a very, very long time.”
Jonah stared down at his phone and gulped as he rubbed a sweaty palm along the side of his jeans.
“Let me take his phone and text her, Chief,” one of the cops, exasperated, said to the Chief sitting in the front seat.
The Chief shook his head grimly.
“Don’t touch his phone,” the Chief said. “You’d screw it up. These kids have a way of talking to each other—they abbreviate everything. You type and she’ll know it’s not you. She’ll run.”
The Chief turned his threatening gaze on Jonah and Jonah looked down, trying not to meet his glare. Jonah knew this was getting bad, and he could hear his own heart beating in the thick silence.
“Listen, kid,” the Chief said, his voice cold and hard and to the point. “You don’t want to go to jail, do you? A good kid like you? Good grades, good family. I know all about you and your violin—”
“Viola,” Jonah corrected.
The Chief stopped and reddened, clearly angry at being corrected.
“Viola. Whatever the hell it is,” he said. “You got a great life ahead of you. A future. Ya don’t help us now, and all that’s over.”
He leaned in close.
“Ya understand?”
Jonah gulped.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said.
“Ya really think I care?” the Chief replied. “I’ve got dead cops out there. And someone’s gotta pay.”
Jonah met his eyes, cold and hard, and he could see that he meant it. He didn’t care. He was going to pin this all on somebody—he had to. Jonah felt without a doubt that the Chief meant what he said, that he would go to prison. These cops were desperate, and they would ruin his life.
Jonah took a deep breath, coming to a decision. He nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”
The Chief nodded, seeming satisfied.
“We’re not getting a clear GPS,” he said. “She might be in a dead zone. I need to know exactly where in the park she is.”
Jonah looked down and unlocked his phone. It lit up, and he began to type.
Jonah tilted the screen to him slightly, so that the others wouldn’t be able to see, and began to message her. His heart pounded madly as he did; he felt that this would be the single most important text of his life.
Meet me at the Shakespeare Theater. Opposite Turtle Pond. Go now. I’m being watched. Destroy your phone. I’m destroying mine. You won’t hear from me again.
Jonah hesitated before hitting Send, his palms sweating, his heart slamming inside his chest. He glanced up and saw all eyes on him. He knew he needed to wait for the perfect moment before sending it—once he did, they would all want to inspect his phone.
Come on, Jonah thought, willing the traffic pattern to change. All he needed was a slowdown, just one small bit of gridlock. Come on!
Jonah looked over their shoulders and saw a huge traffic jam looming—a fire truck triple-parked beside two delivery trucks—and saw Sixth Avenue slowing to a halt. The caravan of Suburbans began to slow as well; all the cops blaring their horns and sirens did little good.
Jonah knew the time was now.
He looked down and, with shaking hands, hit Send.
At the same moment, Jonah reached across one of the cops, grabbed the door handle and, as their car slowed, he yanked the handle, opened the door, scrambled over the cop’s lap, and jumped out. Jonah felt the stunned cop clawing at him, trying to keep him in—but he moved too quickly, and they clearly had not been expecting him to jump out of a moving car.
Jonah went flying through the air and a moment later impacted the pavement. His ribs felt like they were being crushed as he rolled, scraping his knees and elbows. He rolled and rolled, wondering when the agony would stop, if he would survive this without breaking something.
Finally, he rolled into a parked cab and stopped, his world still spinning. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled to his feet.
He glanced back and saw that the caravan of Suburbans had all slammed on their brakes.
Jonah didn’t wait to see what happened next. He sprinted across the street, weaving in and out of honking cars, still clutching his phone, and made his way to a large sewer opening. Without slowing, he chucked his phone into it, quickly and furtively, watching it go deep into the blackness, hearing it land far below with a satisfying thud. He did it so fast, he felt sure no one spotted it.
Jonah glanced back to see dozens of cops scrambling to get out of their cars, tearing across the concrete, cursing cars parked in traffic as they struggled to chase after him. He had a good head start, though, and he knew he was much faster than they. Speed had always been his gift; he had been courted by the track team, in fact, and had narrowly decided to pursue the viola instead. Now it was time to use this gift.
Jonah sprinted down 53rd Street, then turned sharply down a back alley, seeing that it cut between the streets. He emerged on 54th Street, turned right, then spotted a hotel that spanned the whole street. He glanced back over his shoulder, saw the cops emerging from the alley, and he turned and darted into the hotel lobby.
Jonah raced through the fancy lobby, bumping shoulders with surprised hotel guests and knocking one woman over as he darted down the marble floors, his sneakers squeaking as he went.
“Hey, you!” a guard yelled.
Jonah kept sprinting until he emerged out the other end, on 55th Street. He checked back and didn’t see the cops in the lobby yet. For now, at least, he had lost them.
Jonah sprinted down 55th Street until he reached Fifth Avenue and turned left. Gasping for breath, he turned up Fifth, heading for the park.
He raced through teeming crowds, even at this time of night, past Tiffany’s, past Bergdorf’s, past the Plaza Hotel. He ran through the Plaza’s circular courtyard and across Central Park South, weaving in and out of horse carriages and tourists.
Jonah suddenly felt a thump on his side, and felt himself rolling up in the air. He realized he had been hit by a turning cab and was rolling over the hood. Somehow, he landed on his feet, and he kept running.
Before him loomed the steps to Central Park, and Jonah glanced back over his shoulder one last time: no sign of the cops. All he saw, several blocks away, were flashing lights. They still hadn’t spotted him, but he didn’t slow down.
Jonah sprinted into Central Park, taking the steps down three at a time, and he ran and ran. Soon he was enveloped in the park’s darkness. He looked ahead and saw the trails and he ran, determined, at any cost
, to find Caitlin.
Hang in there, he thought. I’m coming for you.
*
Jonah ran the entire way through Central Park, thirty blocks, gasping for air, weaving in and out of the trails lit only by sporadic street lamps. A fog was creeping in, further helping to obscure his view. He could hear helicopters crisscrossing high overhead, but with the night and the fog, he felt increasingly confident that he had lost them. Central Park was a big place, and even with all their men, it would not be easy to find him.
Jonah prayed that Caitlin got his text, that she could find the Shakespeare Theater, that she was there, waiting for him. Troubling thoughts raced through his mind: what if, he worried, she never got his text? Or worse: what if she didn’t want to meet him there? What if he had sacrificed everything—his entire future—for a girl who didn’t feel as strongly for him as he did for her?
Jonah sprinted through a patch of fog, recognizing a bend in the trail, and finally burst out onto the Great Lawn. He crossed it, the only one on it, and in the distance, obscured by the mist, he could make out Shakespeare’s Theater. His lungs felt as if they would burst as he closed the gap.
As Jonah neared the entrance he peered into the fog, looking everywhere, but he could see no sign of her. His heart began to break.
No, he thought. This can’t be.
He stopped at the front entrance and searched everywhere. He ran around the circular building, checking the other entrances.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Jonah finally stopped, heaving, dripping with sweat. He stood with his back against a wall, closed his eyes, and breathed.
How can this be?
