Nevermore, The Complete Series (Boxed Set) (Twin Souls, Hybrid, Sacrifice, and Destiny)

by K. A. Poe

  “I remember what you were.”

  “Then tell them! Tell them that I am not crazy!”

  “That’s not what I meant. Look Alex, I have to go help. I should have been back already. I’ll call you when I can. I promise.”

  I knew that wasn’t a promise he would keep. Just like Paul and Kim had gone on to basically forget about my grandfather, Jason and Eila would eventually put me in the past.

  I dreamt again last night. My children were older in this one, maybe ten each. I could see Lenore running in an endless field far away. Her musical giggles turned to screams as a sea of wild flowers began to wilt. The sky darkened and in the distance I could see another child, a boy. He was running too. He was chasing Lenore. She screamed in terror as she looked over her shoulders, running from an inevitable fate. The grin on the boy’s face was both beautiful and hellish-a smile framed in fangs. He caught her from behind and bit deep into her throat.

  I awoke screaming, drenched in sweat and tears. My heart raced and blood hummed through my veins.

  “Just a dream Alex, just a dream. It isn’t real. None of it is real.”

  “Oh, it’s real.” A familiar and completely unexpected voice came from inside my room. My eyes flew to the door but it was still locked from the outside.

  “Here,” it said again, and a figure I had not seen in two years stepped from the shadows.

  “Hannah…”

  “Expecting someone else?”

  As it registered completely who I was looking at, my mind began to cloud with anger. I leapt off the bed and ran at her, swinging at her with everything I had. It was no use however, her strength was far beyond mine and she easily caught and held both of my wrists.

  “What the hell are you doing here?! You left him there! We could have saved him! You made me leave him!”

  “He was dead Alex!”

  “Not yet! We could have-” she released my arms and slapped me, the force sending me to the floor crying.

  “He was gone, Alex. I didn’t want it any more than you did. If you had listened to me about the baby before you ran off and got pregnant none of it would have happened. It’s your fault he’s gone. It’s your fault for everything!”

  “Then why didn’t you leave me there with him to die!? Why save me?”

  “I didn’t know you’d end up in some loony bin at the time. Look, I thought you should know…in case you ever make it out of here…”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “What? Who?”

  “The boy. The one in the dreams you’ve been having.” She knew about the dreams. Had she been causing these endless nightmares about the twins over the last two years just like she had caused about Salem so long ago?

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even want to come here; Ezra’s the one that said you ought to know. He says you are the mother after all. Took him almost a year to convince me. Finally found someone more hard-headed than me I guess. He’s the only reason I’m here.”

  “Take me with you.”

  “No. I hope you rot here after what you’ve done. You were the worst thing that ever happened to my brother.” And with that she was out the window and gone.

  Her words had hurt worse than any slap could. And she was right. I had given Salem nothing but a hard life ever since we had met. He had gotten few moments of peace since we were together. I know all he wanted was to be with me, but he would have still been alive had we never met.

  With the heartbreak of betraying Salem, I fell asleep in the corner of my room sobbing.

  I awoke this morning in my bed. I was certain I had fallen asleep on the floor after Hannah left. Maybe her visit had been just another nightmare. They had been getting worse and worse and after the last visit with Jason I was questioning the validity of my sanity even more. Maybe my story was just a fantasy to justify Salem’s death—to fill some sort of mental hole. And if so, what had really happened in my life? If what I had written was not real, then what happened after I met the handsome boy with the English accent?

  The thoughts were lost as I opened my eyes to the sound of what had woken me. I counted four of them in my room. I didn’t know what it was all about, generally I was visited by only one nurse in the morning that opened my door and gave me a small paper cup with medicine in it. I strained to peer around them and make out their muffled words but had no luck.

  “How did you do this?” A large dark-skinned man said when he turned and noticed I was awake.

  “I…I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  He moved aside and pointed at the window which hung wide open. “That. These things are bolted and locked. You bent the damn thing open.”

  “No…I was asleep, I swear.”

  “Well, no one flew up here and opened it.”

  My head raced; maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all. My eyes flew down to my wrists and I saw large, fresh bruises encircling them. I pulled a hand to my cheek-it was sore.

  Hannah had been here. Hannah was real. The monsters from my past were real. He was real. I clenched my eyes shut and all I could see was a boy.

  A beautiful boy with eyes the color of blood.

  THE END

  Thank you very much for reading The Nevermore Series!

  I know your time is valuable and I sincerely thank you for finishing the novels. If you would take a brief moment to return to where you downloaded this book and leave a review it would be much appreciated!

  Reviews help new readers find my work and accurately decide if the book is for them as well as provide valuable feedback for my future writing. You can either review each book individually or the entire series as a whole.

  Thank you again, and be sure to check out the other sequels in the Nevermore Series!

  To fast track to a review landing page right now, simply press the following link: http://goo.gl/LFZef8

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  Thank you for reading the Nevermore Series! ‘Destiny’ was by far the hardest thing I have ever had to write, and the ending pained me deeply. Over the years these fictional characters have been such a huge part of my life that it hurts when they hurt.

  I wanted to end this book with some information and a word of hope, however. Although this fourth title is the final book in the Nevermore series, it is not the end of everyone’s story. There will eventually be a sequel series which focuses around Madison/Lenore being the main character. This series will finish up a few loose ends, make new ones, and unravel some that seemed final in the Nevermore series.

  Does Alexis ever get ‘better’? What happens to the boy with the red eyes? Will Lenore ever learn of her heritage? Did Salem truly die?

  All these and more will be addressed in the next series! Please make sure you sign up to my mailing list to be notified as soon as book one is released, simply click the below link.

  http://www.kaylapoe.com/p/newsletter.html

  And thank you again for reading Nevermore!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  K.A. Poe lives in Arizona with her husband and daughter. Someday she hopes to travel the world and live life to the fullest she possibly can. Writing has always been her passion. When she isn't writing she spends a lot of time reading, playing computer games, browsing the web, and spending time with her family. She has a vivid imagination, an eccentric personality and collects colorful socks.

  To learn more about the author please visit her website at:

  http://www.kaylapoe.com

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  http://www.facebook.com/kaylapoe

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  http://www.twitter.com/KAPoeAuthor

  Or e-mail her at:

  kayla.a.poe@gmail.com

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  http://www.kaylapoe.com/p/newsletter.html

  ALSO BY K.A. Poe

  Twin Souls (Nevermore, Book 1)


  Hybrid (Nevermore, Book 2)

  Sacrifice (Nevermore, Book 3)

  Destiny (Nevermore, Book 4)

  Darius - Episode One (Through the Rift)

  The King's Hourglass (Avarial Trilogy, 1)

  A SAMPLE OF “THE KING’S HOURGLASS”

  Please enjoy this sample of the first book in my epic fantasy trilogy—The King’s Hourglass (Book One of the Avarial Trilogy). It is available to purchase at all major digital retailers.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Avarial

  King Aramond sat tapping his fingers in boredom against the arm of his throne as the jesters played a show for him, as dull as ever. They were no longer as skilled as they once were, perhaps because they were gaining in age, as was the King. One man suddenly lost grip of one of his juggling knives, which hit one of the other jesters in the foot. As he flipped an hourglass over and over repeatedly in his hand, the King barely noticed the high-pitched scream coming from the injured fool. Leaving a trail of small droplets of blood the jester hobbled out of the throne room, bound for the healing quarters.

  The remaining two jesters attempted to impress the King, oblivious to the fact that he was not paying any attention whatsoever. King Aramond was preoccupied with watching the beads of sand trickling one by one toward the bottom of the hourglass. No matter how often he flipped the device none of the beads returned to the upper portion. A heavy sigh slipped out from between the King's pale lips as he contemplated the unique timepiece he held.

  Nearly seventeen years prior to this day he had sought out the help of a wizard. It was on that day that the King received the news from his wife that they would be expecting a child, and he had an idea. Aramond often dwelt on the notion of death in those days, to the point that it even crept into his sleep and haunted his dreams. His father had been killed at the age he was now, putting Aramond in the throne at barely sixteen and unprepared for what was to come. He did not want to put his future offspring in a similar position. It was a time of peace in Dulcor, but one never knew what was to be on the morrow. He met with the wizard in pursuit of a magical item that would predict his time of death, and that is when he obtained the hourglass. The King knew he could not put off the inevitability of death, but he was to make sure it did not catch him and his family unprepared.

  King Aramond was disrupted from his thoughts when his son and only heir entered the room. The prince muttered something about the Forest and ran back out the door before Aramond could even respond or ask for an explanation. He thought little of it, Divian was sixteen now, a man grown after all, and he often grew restless in the castle grounds. His son was more likely than not headed off on a hunt. Yes, that must be it. The King resumed his repetitive flipping of the hourglass, his mind’s eye set clearly on the beautiful wife he had lost, now so many years past. He often thought of her. It was true that royal marriages were planned by fathers and mothers and were more often than not done for political or financial reasons, but Aramond loved Valora fiercely. The Gods had been good to let their lives lead to such a matching, but cruel to take her from him so young, and with only one heir.

  Aramond rose from his throne, a chair made of hard stone, softened and made comfortable with layers of plush red satin and golden silk. He sat his glass companion down on a small table he had had made for this sole purpose, then began to walk across the room. The jesters danced and sung around him, trying to get his attention and summon a smile but he simply strode past them and climbed the great stone stairs. The throne room of Avarial sat at the base of a large ebony tower, rising high and contrast to the rest of the white castle below. The queen’s tower, as it was called now, was a beautiful but formidable keep. The walk up the ever winding steps was beyond familiar to Aramond and he scarcely even noted the worn stone below his feet, ground smooth from a thousand years of King’s boots.

  At the top he met two of his King’s Guard, who he had notion were sitting before they heard him approaching, but he paid them no mind. They stepped aside and bowed deeply as Aramond walked passed and pushed open the large red door to his chamber, then shut it behind him. Immediately to the King’s right stood the windows which gave the tower its name. One large, with a smaller one to each of its sides. The two small windows were not much more than two feet tall and held no glass or cover and a cool breeze pushed through them now. Aramond noted the dead hearth and cursed softly under his breath. The guards had grown lazy in the long stretch of peaceful years, and the servants took advantage of the King’s lack of punishment. Maybe he need change that, but the thought left as he stared at the Queen’s window, his thoughts once again returning to his lost love.

  The center window stood tall, at least eight feet. In the time that Queen Valora shared the chamber, the window seat was her favorite place. She would sit there for hours, gazing across their kingdom, or with her nose between the pages of a random volume from the library. To the southeast, just passed the inner walls of the keep was the castle grounds, always alive with the sound of music and chatter. In times of peace the area was open to all, and in such a long stretch of peace the area had been heartily filled with merchants, entertainers, and travelers. Every once and again when the breeze blew just right she could smell the waft of meats roasting on their spits, glazed in sweet honey and herbs.

  To the west laid the stables, training grounds and smiths, though they had rarely been used as such in recent times. It was more common for the area to lay host to a tournament or festival now than anything. Beyond the outer walls lay the houses of the more common folk and peasants. When the wind blew the smell of pasture and farm in through the window in place of roasting pork and fowl the queen had enjoyed it all the same; it brought nostalgia of her childhood homeland. The smell wafted through on the cold breeze now and the King shriveled his nose.

  After the Queen’s sudden death, King Aramond had bashed the window out with his own hands in grief and anger. A two foot hole in one’s chamber is one thing, an eight foot one is quite another, however. Within a fortnight he had ordered craftsman and artist alike to build the glass which now filled the hole. It was a wondrous sight, near as beautiful as the Queen herself, though sometimes Aramond wondered if the image brought him more grief than solace.

  The workers had done a tremendous job. Where once there had been nothing but thick glass and steel reinforcement, now stood the queen. Her stained glass depiction filled the window and when the sun rose in the morning and cast its light from the east it was as if she lived once again, forever watching over her beloved kingdom from her most familiar spot. The King wished his wife truly stood there now, but she did not, and the sand in his hourglass downstairs trickled on. Soon he would be gone too.

  One could tell by the obvious age and wear across the green slate tiles that led from the throne room to the kitchen that this was a path often tread. The prince attended breakfast at the same time each day for all sixteen years of his life. Directly after sunrise he would wander down the corridor that connected his room to the base of the Queen’s tower, make a quick right and enter the lord’s dining hall and discover a fresh loaf of bread, some hard cheese, and a small bit of meat and nuts—usually salted pork. He would devour it swiftly and rarely be seen in the castle again until late in the evening.

  After leaving the Throne Room, the prince exited through the castle doors, where he was met by two men clad in armor, each wielding a spear clutched within their ornamental steel gauntlets. The two guards bowed their helmed heads in allegiance. The prince had not acknowledged this gesture in a long time, not since he was old enough to realize they were bowing to his lineage and not to him as a person. He did not want only to be respected for what his ancestors had accomplished; he wanted to earn his own respect.

  As if the young prince were the sun itself, he passed over this same path every day at nearly the same time—out the castle door, through the ever-opened portcullis, across the thin wooden bridge overlooking the dry moat, then down the short stairs past the inner wall and another portcul
lis. Today he was determined to finally take the path into the Forbidden Forest, a journey which had to be more exciting than the now boring routine of hunting, fishing, or practicing with swords.

  The sounds of the merchants grew louder as he neared the square until soon it drowned out everything else. One could hardly even hear themselves think at this hour, in this place. Everywhere Divian looked brought a different stand and group of people. Some were familiar to him now, others not at all. As he walked through the crowds most people paid him no mind, though occasionally people still recognized him as the prince, despite his attempt to dress in his most modest attire. When he was recognized people would bow and make way. Some would ask for his blessing on this matter or another, but largely he ignored him.

  Today he made his way to the back gate. This part of the city was much less crowded, and the back gate was the quickest route to the Forest. He would go there today. He told himself this near every day and never followed through, but he continued. Soon he passed the last of the merchants—some dark skinned men from across the sea, pedaling expensive carved ivory and tiger’s skin. He looked up at the large outer wall and its great gate, open as always aside from night or war, and headed through. Another set of guards paid him respect, and this time he gave them a slight nod.

  When he exited through the massive portcullis the smell of the peasant folk and their meager settlements came fiercely. He would have thought after all these walks through the place he would be used to it by now, but he was not and his nose shriveled at the odor. It was somewhat depressing here. The peasants clamored around trying to sell anything that they had to spare—struggling to raise funds to feed their families. It was near impossible to tell any of them apart due to the common attire. The men wore straw hats to block out the blazing sunlight; tattered shirts and pants loosely clung to their slim, gaunt bodies, and occasionally one could be found wearing a shoe, even rarer still, a pair. The women were scarcely different, clad in patchwork dresses. It did not appease the prince to see these penurious people, but he knew that he could do nothing to change their situation, for now. In such a long peace one would think all would be prosperous. Seeing the poor and hungry made that notion soon disappear.