by Shelly Crane
Though I’d gladly be trapped on Maxton’s skin, any time. That didn’t seem like punishment to me.
I then faced the wall and tried to reason and logic this thing out.
See, here was the thing. There was no way that Rivers put up that huge reward for me. I wasn’t worth it. He hadn’t paid anywhere near that for me in the beginning. Rivers’ pride wasn’t worth it either.
And the reward had gone up substantially after it was initially announced about my running away from Rivers—and his piddly amount he put up for the reward—so someone else had upped the reward money. But why? And who? What purpose? I was a nobody slave and no one knew who I was, so…
But before I could debate any further, I heard the holographic door buzz behind me to let someone in and knew my first guest was here. I readied myself to see Rivers, steeling my fists, knowing he was going to say a plethora of lies to try to make me feel horrible, but when I turned, it wasn’t Rivers I saw in the room with me, and my breaths turned shallow as I backed up until my back hit the wall.
Havard said just two words, and they stopped me dead. Just two little words, but they brought a wash of revenge with them. And I knew I wasn’t just in confinement, I wasn’t just in trouble, I wasn’t just in for a rough time with the guards.
I was in Hell.
“Hello, poppet.”
First, to my God, thank you. Then to my amazing, fantabulous husband, Axel—for all those days of “I think I’m going to finish the book today” and then I SO did not finish the book that day, thank you for understanding and always hanging tight. And always bringing home supper so I could keep on working late into the night. You’re the best there is, and I’m the luckiest for being “stuck” with you, Crane.
Thanks to my oldest son, Jonas, for helping me name the new animals. He thought that was rad. Porcupig is his own creation and I give him total creative rights to it. I am the borrower of the porcupig. Thanks, bud! You’re awesome.
Thank you to my writing buddies, Samantha Davis and Rachel Higginson. You girls are one of the main reasons this book is done. Thank you for the encouragement and long days of sprinting! You are rockstars!
To the Five Horsemen!! I freaking LOVE YOUR GUTS! I wouldn’t make it through a book release, let alone a day or week, without you. I love us, that we can be us, and we get us. You are ROCKSTARS.
Thank you Shayne Leighton, for being my reading buddy, rocking out at being the best beta there is. Georgia Cates, thank you for all your help with this book. You’re THE best. Love ya, girl.
Thank you to my readers. I know with my heath “stuff” going on that things get a little crazy sometimes. Thank you for always sticking with me and being supportive! You don’t know how awesome you are. To my Street Team and the Aces, you are my A-MAZ-ING. Thank you, thank you. To Meg Howard, my Street Team assistant. You work your toosh off and I adore you for it! Mwah!
Home II : Dotan
Work Song : Hozier
Gravity : Jamie Woon
Oblivion : M83
Thousand Eyes : Of Monsters and Men
Gold Dust : Banners
Perfect Machine : Sounds Under Radio
Someone To Someone : Ross Copperman
The Weight of Us : Sanders Bohlke
Red Dust : James Vincent McMorrow
I Found : Amber Run
Pieces : Andrew Belle
The World You Want : Switchfoot
Fall Asleep : Jars of Clay
Who I Am (What’s My Name) : Snoop Dog
Hot Gates : Mumford & Sons
I Am : Awolnation
Need The Sun To Break : James bay
Falling : Haim
What Time Do You Call This : Elbow
All I See : Mutemath
Whirring : The Joy Formidable
Shelly is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author from a small town in Georgia and loves everything about the south. She is wife to a fantastical husband and stay at home mom to two boisterous and mischievous boys who keep her on her toes. They currently reside in scorching North Florida. She loves to spend time with her family, binge on candy corn, go out to eat at new restaurants, buy paperbacks at little bookstores, sight-see in the new areas they travel to, listen to new music everywhere, and LOVES to read.
Her own books happen by accident and she revels in the writing and imagination process. She doesn't go anywhere without her notepad for fear of an idea creeping up and not being able to write it down immediately, even in the middle of the night, when her best ideas are born.
Find Shelly here:
www.shellycrane.blogspot.com
https://www.facebook.com/shellycranefanpage
https://twitter.com/AuthShellyCrane
And now, enjoy a preview of a Soul Savers Series - Book One,
A Demon’s Promise
By Kristie Cook
The sensation of being watched clung to me like a spider web, invisible threads bristling the back of my neck and down my spine. I brushed my fingers across my shoulders, as if I could drag the feeling off and flick it away.
It was ridiculous, of course. Not just ridiculous to think I could pull the sensation off so easily, as if it really was the strand of a web, but it was even more absurd to feel it in the first place. Except when accidents launched my freak-flag high, there was nothing stare-worthy about me. And right now, said flag was tucked safely out of sight.
Yet the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end at the feeling as I visited my favorite Washington, D.C., monument for likely the last time. I sat on the stone steps with the stately Thomas Jefferson behind me and gazed over the Potomac River tidal basin, enjoying the peace just before sunset. Well, trying to enjoy it anyway.
I blamed the ominous feeling on my unruly imagination, with it being twilight and the sky looking so foreboding. It provided the perfect backdrop for one of my stories. The sun hung low—an eerie, orange ball glowing behind a shroud of haze, a column of steel-blue cloud rising around it, threatening to snuff it out. I envisioned something not-quite-human watching the sky from the shadows, waiting to begin its hunt under the cover of darkness, and I imagined the kickass heroine who also watched, ready to protect the human population.
That’s all it is, my fascination with mythical creatures getting the best of me, I told myself. Uh-huh. Right.
Surrendering hope for a peaceful farewell, I hurried to the closest Metro station. The feeling of being followed stuck with me on the train ride home, but at my stop in Arlington, I forgot the sinister sensation. A group of teens a few years younger than me and dressed in all black stood near the top of the escalator as I stepped off. I’d witnessed before their favorite summer activity: harassing people exiting the Metro station. I usually took the elevator to circumvent them, but had been too distracted tonight. When I saw the elderly couple they heckled now, I purposely walked right by them, distracting them, as expected.
“Hey, there’s the freak who heals,” one of them said loudly to the others. “It’s s’posed to be really sick to watch.”
“Hey, freak, got any tricks to show us?” another called.
I gave them a sideways glance, acknowledging the boys and diverting their attention completely from the senior citizens. They were so predictable. Focused all on me, they continued their jeers, and although I’d asked for them, they still stung. But I’d brought this on myself—I’d been a klutz with the Bunsen burner in Chemistry, and my lab partner saw my skin heal almost instantly. One of those times the freak-flag came out. Being able to heal might have been cool if it weren’t for the way people reacted. Kids hassled me about it every day the last two months before graduation, but if I didn’t let them get to me, they were usually just annoying. Usually.
I hadn’t expected these guys to follow me.
My pace picked up as I walked through the bright commercial district and turned down the street for home four blocks away. Night had crept its way in during my ride from downtown to the suburbs, and except for a few streetlights, d
arkness blanketed the residential area. Footsteps behind me echoed my own. I quickened my steps, hoping they’d give up. Two more days. That’s all. Just two more days, and we’re out of here.
“C’mon, we just wanna know if it’s true.” The boy’s pubescent voice cracked twice as he spoke.
“Yeah, just show us. It doesn’t hurt, right?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Three boys followed me, and I caught the glint of a blade in one of their hands. Their plan to satisfy their curiosity—slice me open and watch the wound heal—made my stomach clench. What is wrong with people? Of course, it hurts! Bungalow-style homes lined the street, each with an empty front porch. Not a single person sat outside on this summer’s evening. No one to witness whatever was about to go down. My heartbeat notched up, pumping adrenaline through my veins.
Pop!
Crack!
Blackness engulfed the street. The streetlights along the entire block had blacked out at the sounds. I inhaled sharply while halting mid-stride, and the footsteps behind me ceased, too.
“What the hell?” Surprise and fear filled the boy’s question.
A couple had appeared out of nowhere, three houses down, standing in the middle of the street. The cloudy night made it too dark to see their features, and I could only tell their genders by their shapes. The woman’s high-heeled shoes clicked on the pavement as they walked toward me. The man, big and burly, pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to the woman. Without breaking stride, he took off one shoe and then the other, leaving him with only pants. What the . . . ?
I considered my options. The woman and her half-naked companion blocked my way home, but I couldn’t just raise my chin and hustle past them, pretending they meant no harm. Because I knew they did, and instinct told me the self-defense moves I knew would do little good against them, especially him. Which meant I stood trapped between the boys with the knife and the bizarre couple. My gut told me the knife was less threatening.
“Boo!” The woman cackled as the boys took off running. As she and the man closed in on me, the alarms screamed in my head.
Evil! Bad! Run! Go!
My sixth sense had never been so frightened, but I couldn’t move. Dread, and morbid curiosity, paralyzed my body. My heart hammered against my ribs.
The couple stopped their advance several yards away. The woman studied me as if assessing a rare animal, while the man lifted his face to the sky, his whole body trembling. My gaze darted upward to follow his to the thin, gauzy clouds sliding across a full moon. The woman cackled again, the sound of pure evil. Real fear sucked the air from my lungs.
“Alexis, at last,” the woman said, her voice raspy, like a pack-a-day smoker’s. “We’ll get such a nice reward for you.”
My ears pricked. “Do I know you?”
She grinned, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Not yet.”
Or ever, if I can help it.
I turned and ran. My pulse throbbed in my head as breaths tore through my chest. My mind couldn’t focus, couldn’t make sense of this strange couple and what they wanted with me, but my body kept moving. The bright lights of the commercial area I’d left minutes ago beaconed me to their safety.
The woman abruptly appeared in front of me before I was halfway down the street. The shock sent me hurling to the ground, and my head smacked hard against the pavement. Stars shot across my eyes. My hands burned from asphalt scrapes. Fighting the blackness trying to swallow my vision, I rolled onto my side, gasping for breath. A sticky wetness pooled under my temple. Why is this happening?
My eyes rolled up to the woman, who now pointed what looked like a stick at me. Her lips moved silently as she waved a pattern in the air, and I suddenly felt pinned to the ground, my muscles unable to move though nothing visible restrained me. Panic flailed below the surface of my paralyzed body, making my breaths quick and shallow. I was done for. They could do anything they wanted with me now. There was no escape.
My vision faltered. Now two women stood over me, two sticks pointed at me. Two moons wavered behind them. I didn’t know if fear or the head injury caused everything to slide apart and together again, but I squeezed my eyes shut to make it stop.
But I couldn’t close my ears, couldn’t block out the spine-tingling gnarl. My eyes popped open with terror, expecting to see a wild beast, but the feral sound came from the man. His eyes rolled back in his head, showing only whites. His hands clenched into fists. His muscles strained, the veins protruding like ropes along the bulges, and his body shook violently until the edges of his shape became a blur.
“I can’t hold it,” he growled.
“Then don’t,” the woman said. “Don’t fight it. It’s time!”
A ripping sound tore through the night as the man lurched forward, his skin shredding. A gelatinous liquid spurt out of him like an exploding jar of jelly. His pants tore into ribbons as his body lengthened and grew. The shape of his limbs transformed. His face elongated, his nose and mouth becoming a . . . Holy crap! A snout! I gasped, a scream stuck in my throat. By the time his front . . . legs . . . hit the ground, fur covered his body. He was no longer man. He was— A freakin’ wolf?
The beast moved closer, a low growl in its throat. Its stench of decaying corpses and rotting leaves overwhelmed my hypersensitive sense of smell, the sharp but sweet odor gagging me and forcing me to breathe through my mouth.
Pop! Another woman appeared, again out of nowhere, with pale skin and white hair that shimmered in the moonlight.
“I smell blood,” she said, her voice a flutter of wind chimes, as she made a wide circle around me. “Mmm . . . delicious blood.”
The scrapes on my hands had already healed, but not the cut on my head. It must have been deep enough for a normal person to need stitches. For me, it could take ten minutes to heal. So my blood was still fresh.
I could only smell the wolf’s rancid odor as it hovered over me.
“Back off, mutt,” the white-blonde snarled as she stepped closer. “This is too important for the likes of you.”
“How dare you!” Stick-woman accused. “We had her first.”
“Alexis is mine. Always mine!”
What the hell? What do they want with me? Cold fear slid down my spine, and my fight-or-flight instinct kicked into high gear, though I could do neither. I couldn’t so much as twitch a muscle.
Pop! My heart jumped into my throat as another man materialized in the darkness and strode toward me. Seriously? How many more could there be? The wolf growled at the newcomer, and both women hissed. Goose bumps crawled along my skin.
The man stepped in front of me, placing himself between me and the others.
Good! Very good! Safe! My sense slightly calmed me.
“You’re alone?” the blonde asked. “Ha! You haven’t a chance.”
The man twisted his hand behind his back, and a breeze swirled around me. My ears popped, and the air itself tasted cleaner, refreshing after the stench of the wolf. At the same time, the beast lunged at my protector, who raised his hands and thrust them outward. The creature flew back as if blasted by some kind of invisible force. The wolf hit the pavement somewhere outside my line of sight, but I heard the thud and a whimper, both sounds muffled as though passing through a thick barrier. I blinked several times, disbelieving what I’d just witnessed.
The women hissed again. The first one raised her stick, pointing it at my protector, while the blonde took a step toward me.
With a faint pop, another person appeared between the two women and my human shield. Where the hell were these people coming from? How? The women responded to the new arrival in complete contrast to the first guy—their teeth gleamed in the moonlight as their lips spread into grins and their eyes glinted with appreciation.
And it was easy to see why. My protector couldn’t possibly stand up against this second man. The new one was taller, broader in the shoulders, thicker in the torso and arms than my protector, who was now out-numbered and out-muscled. The second man took a sing
le step toward us. I didn’t dare look up at him, afraid of what I might see, but I felt his eyes rake over me in such a palpable way, I could practically feel welts rising on my flesh. My trembling turned to quakes.
My sixth sense continued shouting conflicting alarms, everyone’s intentions strong.GoodandEvil both screamed in my head, and I couldn’t tell which this new person was.
But then he turned to face the women, and their expressions darkened. And I knew. He was on our side. I swatted down a leap of hope, though. The attackers still out-numbered my protectors.
The wolf, now back on all fours, stalked toward us. The fur on the back of its neck rose, and hunger shone in its reddish-orange eyes as its lips curled back in a snarl, baring fangs longer than my little finger. Its pace quickened, my heart galloping with it. It lunged once more. I tried to scream. My constricted throat only allowed a whimper.
Then the wolf flew backwards again and fell to the ground a second time. The bigger man’s hand hung in the air, palm straight out facing the wolf, as if he’d hit it, but I never saw the contact.
Both women eyed me with obvious greed. Then their eyes shifted back to my brawny protector, and confusion and even fear flickered across their faces. He turned his hand toward them. Their eyes widened, looking as terrified as I felt.
And then they disappeared.
“I’ve got Alexis. Take care of that one.” The lankier man turned toward me, his face hidden in shadow while his hand waved in front of my eyes, his fingers curling inward. “The disco.”
The phrase came as a whisper, immediately lost to a wolfish howl behind us that diminished into a human cry of pain.
And then everything went black.
~ * ~
“Alexis.” Mom’s voice, soft and distant, pulled me out of unconsciousness. “Alexis, honey, get your behind up.”
