by Lori Adams
Armaros offers a cold, deadly smile. “You think you were the only one watching her?”
There is a century of secrets in his question, and I don’t know what any of this means but Dante seems to understand. Somehow, Dante knows he has been tricked.
A blast of heat shoots up from the funnel like an oven door thrown open, and Dante panics, pulling me down a step. “We have to go! The gate won’t stay open long!”
“Sophia,” Armaros says gently, and I look back. A soft cerulean fog hovers around him and then extends toward me, reaching out like a loving arm. Armaros’s face softens. “This way, my dear.”
I have no choices left as I feel the center of my body drifting toward the blue fog. My hands slip from Dante’s grasp, and he yells with ungodly fury.
“Sophia! Don’t go! We are almost home! Tell him you belong to me! Sophia … tell him …” A howl of raw agony rages in Dante. “Sophia! You will always belong to me! We are not finished!” He is slowly dragged into the funnel, his anguished cries becoming part of the churning darkness.
I am paralyzed, staring at the swirling black whirlpool that has swallowed him. I feel a terrible sense of loss and whisper, “Good-bye, Dante.”
I rise without effort and go gently into the blue fog. Armaros drifts back to make room, and I spread my arms, letting the gossamer blueness lap at my body. I float and turn, smiling with pleasure. Armaros gives a faint salute, his work here complete, and then quietly shatters into a million white ice chips.
A sapphire light emerges from the fog and enters me through my eyes, sweeping in and around, stroking every nuance of my empty corridors. It gathers in my chest and takes up residence as a steady, muffled thrumming. I listen the way a child strains to hear the ocean in a shell. Is it there? Is it real? I long for the rhythm of my organ’s song, percussion to keep me company, to set the tempo of my life. I hear it now and know that Mom is drumming the beat; I recognize the sweet melody.
The beating swells and splits into a second heartbeat. It starts soft and timid, almost unsure of itself. Is it welcome? Is it wanted? And then it snuggles deep inside me where it belongs. There is a gentle tugging in my chest, and I am pulled back into my body, stretching into my full height in the lavender dress. The blue light beats inside me and morphs into sound.
“So-ph-ia. So-ph-ia.”
Michael’s gentle voice pours into my head. “Please don’t leave. Please come back.”
I inhale suddenly, deeply, and cold air passes over my scorched throat to fill my lungs. My eyes flutter and open but I am disoriented. There is too much blue light left in my eyes, and I blink, bringing the fuzziness into focus. Michael is staring down, panic-stricken.
“Sophia?”
I want to answer but my throat is cracked and dry. I become aware of myself and force a swallow. “Um … why is your brother’s hand on my chest?”
The hand is swiftly removed, and Raph’s face appears next to Michael’s.
“Hiya, Sophia.”
“Hiya, Raph.”
Gabe’s face slides into view next to his brothers’. “Sophia, glad you could make it back.” He gives me half a smile, so I give him half of mine.
Raph and Gabe step away so Michael and I have some privacy. Michael slumps with relief, blue tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I almost lost you,” he whispers. “You were so far gone. It took all three of us to …” He chokes up, and I tenderly brush away his tears. I want to pull him closer for a soft kiss, but I know we must keep our feelings secret—now more than ever.
Michael senses my emotions and cups my face, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. Desire plays in his eyes, and we grin like lovers.
“You know I love you, Sophia.”
“Yes, Michael.”
“And you love me?”
“Yes, Michael.”
“Sophia?”
“Hmm?”
“You have a lot of ’splaining to do.”
“Yes, Michael.”
The End But not in the way you might think.…
Find out what happens to Sophia, Michael, and Dante in Awaken, book two in The Soulkeepers trilogy.
To my family, Eddie, Danielle, Sierra, Dakota, and Romeo
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the unwavering faith of my family. Eddie, my husband, true guardian and soul mate who painstakingly read every version with an eye on my unique spelling habits. My daughter Danielle, whose insight rivals Gertrude Stein’s. My youngest daughter Sierra, my IT go-to girl who helped me navigate my computer without rolling her eyes, much. And Dakota, my golden inspiration who was constantly at my side, under my feet, and forever in my heart.
I would like to thank my mom, Joan, whose addiction to reading infected me in the best possible way. To my dad, Gene, a man of few words who taught me quiet strength and perseverance. To my old friends in the Saddleback writing workshop, who trained me, waaaay back in the day, to believe in myself. Thanks to my good friend Barbara Brennan, who believed in me before I did. To my new friends and followers at Wattpad, whose extravagant compliments burst my writer’s heart and boosted my confidence. Thanks for begging for more. To my mom-in-law, Carol Adams, my personal cheerleader and bragging aficionado.
An exclusive thank-you to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, for her excitement and insight for book one, and her enthusiasm and patience while I nervously pitched my vision for the entire series. Thanks for looking through my eyes. To Gina Wachtel, for telling me “We’re going to do great things” and making my tummy shiver. Thanks to the wonderful team at Random House: April Flores, Kim Cowser, Matt Schwartz, and Alison Dobson.
And a special thanks to the audio influences of some amazing bands who inspired and pumped me up. The right songs are as important to my writing as the right words.
~Aerosmith: “Dude Looks Like a Lady,” “Walk This Way”
~Lynyrd Skynyrd: “Sweet Home Alabama”
~AC/DC: “Back in Black,” “Highway to Hell”
~Noah and the Whale: “5 Years Time”
~Rev Theory: “Hey Yeah”
~Gavin Rossdale: “Love Remains the Same”
~Mötley Crüe: “Saints of Los Angeles”
~Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo”
~Decyfer Down: “Fight Like This”
~TobyMac: “The Slam”
~My Chemical Romance: “Famous Last Words”
~Fuel: “Angels Take a Soul”
~Matt Nathanson: “Come On Get Higher”
~Two Steps from Hell: “Master Of Shadows,” “Freedom Fighters”
And to Chelsea King. Forever Seventeen. Thank you for your Light.
BY LORI ADAMS
Forbidden
and
Coming Soon:
Awaken
Unforgiven
Photographer: Yuen Lui Studio
Lori Adams is originally from Oklahoma but now lives in Southern California with her husband and two daughters.
loriadamsbooks.com
@LoriAdams33
Read on for an excerpt from
Switched
by Cassie Mae
Available from Flirt
Step 1:
Pick Your Target
(And that target is, like, sexy defined!)
I love my best friend’s boyfriend. But I swear, I saw him first.
Gravel was digging into my butt as I sat on the asphalt of the elementary school playground, my bike, like, five feet away in a big heap of twisted metal. I cursed that bike. And my pants, because I’d been trying to yank them up as I was pedaling so I didn’t moon half our neighborhood. I’d squeezed the brake a little too hard and gone flying.
My knee was gushing rivers, but it didn’t really hurt. I think at that point it was just numb. I sat in the gravel and stared at the swings, wishing I had the energy to get off my butt and ride home.
That’s when I was first introduced to that oh-so-cute boy who lived a few street
s away. He sat down next to me, looked at my knee, and said, “Awesome!” Then he showed me his own scar from falling off his bike. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was the cutest boy I’d ever seen, with his blue eyes, football jersey, and spiky black hair. He shook my hand and helped me back on my bike, and I watched him jog away.
It probably goes down as the best moment in the history of Kayla.
After Talon Gregory told me his name, I didn’t speak to him again until our senior year, when he smacked my best friend, Reagan, in the back of her head with a football. And yay for me, I’ve been a fumbling mess around him ever since they started dating a year ago.
I sort of lose my grip on my pen when he walks into our econ class. He gives a few of his college football buds fist bumps and high fives as he passes them. I love how big his hands are. And no, it’s not because of that stupid saying about the bigger the hands, the larger the package or penis or whatever. (Though, that does give him bonus points.) But because they’re strong and callused and oh so manly. I bet he could squish the life out of me if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t.
His gaze turns to me and I do a mental checklist of my facial expression. No drool, I don’t think … but my mouth is definitely open and that’s not good, so I snap it shut. I’m sure my cheeks are bright red, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
He waves, and I wiggle my shaking fingers back, internally sighing at this little tradition we have every day. He comes in, says hi to all his teammates, then chooses to wave to me, smile, and slide into the seat next to mine. This is college, so we’re not assigned desks. This is significant.
There’s only one small—I mean, seriously minuscule—problem in this routine, which is that before Talon sits down, he settles his hand on top of the desk behind him, moves his amazing smile, eyes, and lips away from me, and turns them toward Reagan. When their lips meet, even for the shortest of seconds some days, I want to leap over my desk, shove Reagan out of the way, and fight to the death for the affection of this perfect, perfect specimen.
I had my eyes trained to Talon Vision ever since that day at the park. Then, of course, I was too chicken to actually talk to this piece of sexy till he became my best friend’s boyfriend. Since then, I’m sure I’m known as the space-case idiot who’d be the third wheel if it wasn’t for—
“Hey, wipe the drool from your chin. You have an audience.” Wesley kicks my foot with his Vans, and I quickly wipe my mouth. Okay, he has a point. I was a little wet.
I still kick him back, knocking his shin harder than I meant to.
“Ouch! I was just trying to keep you from looking like a water fountain.”
I lean over and drop my voice so Talon—or Reagan—won’t hear. “You could’ve been quieter about it.”
He rolls his hazel eyes, then starts drumming his pencil on his book. Just like I’m part of the dating-Reagan deal, Wesley came with Talon. The tagalong best friend who is hopelessly in love with someone who’s unavailable. He makes up the fourth side to this love triangle we’ve got going on here. I know that makes no sense, but it’s complicated. Let’s see if I can put it in one sentence.
Talon likes Reagan, Reagan likes Talon, I like Talon, Wesley likes Reagan. Notice how many Reagans and Talons are in that grammatically incorrect sentence? Because it’s complicated! We’re the two who are in love with our best friends’ significant others. But apparently he’s a lot less obvious about it, since he’s not wiping any drool from his lips when he sees Reagan walk into the classroom.
“Kayla?”
I zap my eyes from Wesley to Talon and his deep, guttural voice, which screams, I’m a good boy who wants to be bad. But I have to keep myself under control because Reagan is right there.
“Yeah?” Okay, sighing is not “under control.” Wesley chuckles next to me, and I want to sock him one.
“Did you finish the last essay question? It’s the only one I didn’t get.”
I glance back at Reagan, who’s spinning her gum around her finger, listening to her iPod with one earphone in. Gross. I love the girl, she’s my best friend, but how does she have both guys in our triangle/square relationship wanting her?
“Weren’t you and Reagan doing homework last night?” I ask, trying to sound innocent, but really I’m wondering if Reagan lied to me when I called to see where my roomie was and she said she was with Talon finishing up a paper.
Talon flashes his muscle-melting smile and scratches under his semi-scruffy chin. “Well, we, uh, got distracted.”
Reagan smacks his buff arm as if she’s mad that he’s being too vocal about them making out or kissing or whatever, but her smile when she leans back and plays with her gum tells me she’s anything but mad.
“Oh, uh …” My face is totally red, I know it. I’m not going to verify any story when it comes to them ever again. “I finished it. Here.” I hand over my notebook and ignore the way my skin prickles when he touches it.
“Thanks.” He smiles, and I sigh again. It’s totally involuntary.
Wesley starts hacking something nasty, and I shoot him an evil glance because he’s completely faking it just to make fun. Then Reagan leans over and says, “Hey, Wes, you okay there?”
I know she’s pouring the full force of her smile on him. It causes his Adam’s apple to move up and down with a large gulp, and he actually starts coughing. I give him one good smack on the back, and when he composes himself, I immediately start our note passing for the day.
Not so smooth yourself, huh?
He grunts when he reads it and scribbles over the already crumpled paper right as the professor walks in.
At least I’m not letting her copy my paper.
Since I can’t think of a witty response, I whisper, “You ass,” and shove the note in my bag. I won’t spend my only class with Talon arguing with Wesley. I’ll sit here and stare at perfection instead.
*
His fingers grasp the football, settling between the threads as the tendons in his wrist ripple. He’s saying something to me, but all I can think about are those sexy man hands. Delicious!
“You got it?”
“Um, what?”
He laughs, and it sets my body ablaze. Oh, his laugh. It’s like the second-best sound in the world, the first being when he says my name.
“You see the way I’ve got my hand positioned?”
Definitely.
“Pull back to right below your ear, and then when you let go, the football will spiral. Takes practice, but your fingers need to be right here.”
I nod again, and without any real warning, he tosses the football into my shaky hands.
“Okay, show me what you got.”
He jogs a few feet out, and holy hot butt! He’s wearing these gym shorts that hang a little low on his hips, but not enough for me to see anything. His tight T-shirt hugs his back muscles, and I think it should be illegal for someone to be so freaking hot and nice. I should write him a ticket, or book him. In my room. Handcuff him to my bed and—
“Kayla?”
I shake my head and try to concentrate on getting the ball to him. But that’s hard. Especially since he’s so droolable.
Pulling my arm back, I take in a huge lungful of air. Maybe he’ll see my amazing throw and fall smack into the ground in love with me. He’ll drop the football at my feet and kneel in front of me, professing he knew all along he should’ve been with me and not my best friend. And Reagan won’t be mad. She’ll say she won’t stand in the way of soul mates. And love will conquer all!
I chuck the ball forward. It does this funky wobble-type thing and lands about five feet shy of Talon and about a million feet to the right.
I guess love will conquer another day.
A laugh echoes through the stadium. I’m about to yell at the yahoo to leave me the hell alone because I’m a freaking beginner, but it’s Reagan. And her laughter isn’t directed at me. It’s directed at Wesley. He’s got his guitar out and he’s tossing his head around like he’s in one of
those scary hair bands—even though he doesn’t have the hair for it. His blond strands do nothing but stick straight up. Good strategy, Wesley. Looking like a huge dork and wiggling your head off will be oh so hot.
But then again, I’m trying to impress Talon with my nonexistent football skills.
Almost every time we hang out, just the four of us, I wonder if the two lovebirds catch on to the obvious flirt-fest going on with their best friends. But neither seems to have a dent. Talon’s actually laughing at Wesley’s performance as if it’s not a huge, big sign that says, I’m in Love with Your Girlfriend! And Reagan still sends me waves and smiles like I’m not holding the same sign, only I’ve written Boyfriend, obviously.
That’s when the guilt sets in. They don’t worry about it because they trust their best buds not to go after their significants. I suppose when you’ve been friends since diaperhood and jumped on the same bus to Berkeley, you don’t think about it. And you know, as much as I want to rip that shirt off Talon’s sexy body and kiss anywhere and everywhere he’ll let me, I won’t. At least not until Reagan gives me the thumbs-up. And that may never happen.
“You want to throw some more? Or should we call it a night?”
Talon’s face is right there. His sweaty forehead is pretty much the best thing ever, even though that sounds super gross. To me, it means he’s active. And I like that.
Before I can answer, Reagan shouts from the stands, “Hey, babe! I have to run. Curfew in thirty!”
Translation: Let’s get out of here and make out in the dorm before we’re caught.
I have to stop my lip from jutting out.
Wesley doesn’t look too happy either. He’s putting his guitar away, his eyes focused on that and his lips pressed into a thin line. As much as the guy annoys the hell out of me, I so feel his pain.
“Till next time then, Kayla. Remember what I taught you about the grip.” Talon smiles. I nod and walk with him so he can wrap his arms around my best friend.
Wesley hops down next to me just as Reagan plows into Talon. We don’t touch, but we do lightly smile at each other, like, Yeah, I know this sucks.
