Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  ANEW: Book Two: Hunted

  By Josie Litton

  “Amelia undoes me in ways that I can’t fathom. With her, I can feel the coils of pain and memory that entwine so deeply inside me beginning to loosen. Far in the back of my mind, I can’t help wondering what will happen if they unravel completely. Will she know how to gather them up and reweave them into something new and better? I sure as hell don’t.”

  Amelia and Ian's story continues in Book Two of this erotic retelling of "Sleeping Beauty" set in the near future. Torn apart by the revelation of Ian's tormented past, the lovers are caught in a web of deadly danger they can only survive by confronting together.

  As the collective madness of Carnival descends on the glittering world city of Manhattan, Ian's fight to redeem himself takes him into the depths of the nightmare that has haunted him for so long. At the center of it is Amelia, at once a pawn in a monstrous game of evil and the only hope of ultimately defeating it.

  In a world ruled by sensual excess, the passion of these lovers holds the power to transform despair into hope and betrayal into justice. But a fateful decision will change the course of their lives forever.

  Praise for the ANEW Trilogy by Josie Litton

  "Most beautiful, erotic twist of Sleeping Beauty! Can't wait til the next book!!"--Chrissy Dyer, Goodreads Reviewer

  "...a new twist on futuristic romance! And let me tell you, it's totally worth it!!!...Cannot wait for the next installment. FIVE STARS FOR THIS AUTHOR!!!"--Summer’s Book Blog

  "5 Explosive stars...nothing less than spectacular..sensual, explosive and revealing."--DawnMarie Carpintero, Goodreads Reviewer

  "I loved every minute reading this book...What an amazing start to this series, thank you Josie Litton."--Kerry Callway, Goodreads Reviewer

  "…a completely unique and creative story that had me captivated from the start."--Melissa Cheslog, Goodreads Reviewer

  "I love Josie Litton's creativeness. She will capture you and keep you conquered in everything she writes."--Twin Sisters Rockin' Book Reviews

  “As an avid lover of romance novels of all genres, I am always so happy when I discover a new type of plot line or a book that has a superb story to support all of the steamy bits that make me blush. That’s definitely what you’ll get in this book."--Loredana, Goodreads Reviewer

  “…a completely unique and creative story that had me captivated from the start.”--

  Melissa, A Risque Affair Book Blog

  THANK YOU

  Thank you for purchasing my book! The support of readers like yourself means more to me than I can ever say.

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  Table of Contents

  THANK YOU

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  AVAILABLE NOW!

  Dedication

  With heartfelt thanks to my readers over the years. Your steadfastness and encouragement have been amazing!

  Prologue

  Amelia

  The small gold plaque bears a single line of cursive script, “The Cabinet of Secret Delights”.

  A shiver of anticipation runs through me. I know this place. I recognize it. I’m back at the palazzo where Ian and I first met. But it isn’t real. It’s a dream.

  I don’t care. Awake, I am forlorn and alone. Only in dreams do I come alive.

  At my touch, a hidden door beside the plaque swings open. The room I step into is a study in beauty and opulence. Its intimate size is magnified by the gilded mirrors hanging in ornately carved gold frames beneath a soaring dome. The floor is covered by a finely woven carpet in shades of hunter green, ivory, and ox blood red. The same colors are picked up by the ceiling mural that depicts the god Zeus in pursuit of various nubile females. Successful pursuit, it appears, as he is shown plunging his impressive endowment into a succession of startled beauties.

  But it isn’t the god who commands my attention.

  In the middle of the room stands a gilded cage, six feet in diameter and at least half again as tall, constructed of roped wrought iron curled into scrollwork. I stare at it as my heartbeat accelerates. Everything about the room arouses and alarms me--the padded benches fitted with discrete restraints, the armoire filled with exotic toys, the aura of carnality that hangs thick in air lightly scented by leather and sandalwood. But nothing effects me more than the cage. Aside from its obvious purpose, I have no idea why it is here.

  But perhaps I’m about the find out.

  In the world beyond dreams, the one we call real, I’ve only been in this room once before and then I was alone. Now I’m not.

  A man steps from the shadows. Black jeans hug the long length of his legs and his narrow hips. Under a snug black T-shirt, I see the movement of muscles across his broad shoulders and chest. His arms hang loosely at his sides, the fingers of each hand curling inward as though he carries weapons that are invisible to me. His hair is dark brown, thick and slightly long. The sun has burnished his skin. He has strong, symmetrical features, the facial bones angular and chiseled.

  He hasn’t shaved in a day…two? I wonder suddenly how the stubble along his square jaw would feel against my fingertips. Is it coarse? Raspy? Silken? The thought shocks me with its presumption of intimacy.

  When no more than an arm’s length separates us, he stops. This close, he appears even larger, more formidable but also young, still in his twenties. At last, I can see his eyes. Set under arching brows, they are a rich golden amber shading to brown, framed by thick lashes. In them burn the barely banked fires of heart-stopping hunger.

  Distantly, I am aware that this is how Ian appeared the first time we met. Such a short time ago. An eon. The pain of missing him fills me with every breath I draw, threatening to blot out everything else. I push it aside resolutely. The dream is fragile. I can’t risk any thought that might shatter it.

  He holds out his hand. Without hesitation, I step toward him. At that moment, what I want most is to hear his voice. When it comes, the deep, slightly husky timbre sends a shiver through me. I watch in unwilling fascination as his full, surprisingly sensuous mouth--the only hint of softness I can see in him--shapes a single word: “Amelia.”

  My name on his lips is at once an acknowledgement and a command. I obey without hesitation and p
lace my hand in his. At the first touch of his skin against mine, pleasure sings through my veins. I am overwhelmed by a sense of relief. This is where I belong. Where I want to be.

  As I move, I feel the thin sheath that skims my body from shoulders to ankles. Beneath the diaphanous fabric, I glimpse blushing alabaster skin. Ian’s eyes darken. His gaze lingers on my breasts, the indentation of my navel, the small gap between my thighs that reveals my bare cleft.

  I feel the wetness gathering in me, the excitement, the all but unbearable need. I want so badly to touch him and be touched in turn. He knows my body better than I do but even more, he reaches beyond mere flesh and bone to the center of my being, soothing my fears, freeing my hopes, fulfilling my dreams. In his arms, I have found the one place where I am complete.

  Without him…

  A wave of anguish curls through me. I flinch and instinctively step closer to him, seeking the comfort only he can provide. But between one beat of my heart and the next his hand slips from mine. He takes a step back and smiles with gently chiding regret.

  No! My desperate effort to deny his rejection falters against my knowledge of his implacable will. And with that, the edges of my dream begin to fray.

  Instead of Ian’s embrace, the wrought iron bars of the cage close around me. As I struggle to shake them loose, the mirrors that line the walls of this sensual retreat suddenly begin to crack. Through the jagged wounds, skeletal fingers of dank mist rush into the room. They spread quickly, encircling Ian. Far from trying to elude them, he stretches out his arms as they weave around him, swiftly cloaking him in darkness.

  I cry out, pleading with him to resist but it’s too late. He is vanishing before my eyes. My sobs, my pleas, my curses have no effect. They fall away, mere gasps on empty air, until at last nothing except the memory of him remains. I am left alone, anguished and bereft, trapped in the gilded cage.

  The coldness of the metal seeps into my skin. I begin to shiver uncontrollably. Curled in on myself, I lie sobbing until the dampness of my tears on linen pillow cases scented with lavender draws me back into a reality from which no dream can grant release.

  Chapter One

  Amelia

  Manhattan Island

  May, 2059

  .

  “Amelia--?”

  I look up, meeting my grandmother’s concerned gaze across the oval breakfast table spread with white linen and set with old family china and silver.

  “Your breakfast is getting cold,” Adele prods gently. Although we have known each other only since I arrived in Manhattan a month ago, I don’t doubt that my grandmother’s concern for me is genuine. I’m grateful for it, even though I’m sometimes at a loss as to how to respond.

  On this occasion, I force a smile and poke my fork into the perfectly made omelet scented with fragrant herbs. Adele waits as I take a bite, chew, and swallow.

  “Are you excited about tonight?” she asks.

  I’m dreading the Crystal Ball, the gala event that precedes the start of Carnival. The hours that will be spent smiling, making idle conversation, and pretending that I am delighted to be among the cream of society hold no appeal. All I really want is to creep away and hide but I am not about to inflict that unpleasant truth on a kind woman who wants only what is best for me.

  “Of course,” I say. “It’s the most anticipated event of the season, isn’t it?”

  As short a time as I’ve been here, I’ve learned that everything involving this glittering enclave of the elite is ‘the most’--exciting, important, exclusive, desirable, whatever. The city, so beautiful in many respects, is a testament to excess and self-regard. While everything is ‘the most’, nothing is ever regarded as ‘too much’.

  “I suppose that’s true,” my grandmother says with a smile. “Certainly, everyone who matters will be there.”

  I glance at her in time to catch the hint of challenge on her lovely, ageless face dominated by eyes the same aquamarine shade as my own and framed by elegantly coiffed silver hair. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if she thinks that Ian will be at the ball but I stop myself. I’ve already learned that to speak his name, even as a whisper in the tormented night, only makes my longing for him all the more unbearable.

  Realistically, I know that I don’t need to be concerned about encountering Ian tonight. His power and position allow him to shrug off attending such events without consequence. My situation is far more tentative. Despite the lengths that he and others have gone to protect me, I can’t risk drawing the wrong kind of attention. As a member of the McClellan family newly arrived in the city, I am naturally a focus of curiosity and interest. But that is nothing compared to what would happen if people suspected for a moment who--and what--I really am.

  The soft ticking of the ormolu and marble clock on the mantle draws me from such cheerless thoughts. I set my napkin aside with a flicker of relief and rise.

  “I should be going. Sergei doesn’t tolerate tardiness.” The ballet master is as demanding as he is gifted. I’m fortunate to be taking classes with him.

  Adele frowns but she doesn’t object. “Of course, dear. Just be sure that you’re back by three o’clock. The dressers are arriving then.”

  I smother a sigh and nod. On my way toward the front entrance of the manor, I make a brief detour. At the far end of the living room, a life-sized portrait of a beautiful young woman hangs looking out over the gardens. Susannah McClellan, Adele’s other and very beloved grand-daughter, Edward’s older sister, dead now for more than a year.

  In the painting, she is wearing a white, pleated gown of Grecian design that leaves one shoulder bare and skims her perfect figure. Her head tilts slightly to one side, as though she is lost in thought. She looks delicately beautiful with an air of waiting for something that she accepts will never happen.

  Her hair, like mine, is chestnut but straight, perhaps not naturally since my own is a tumble of curls. Her eyes are the same shade of aquamarine. An accident in Susannah’s youth that required reconstructive surgery left her cheekbones a little lower than mine, her jaw a bit rounder. But that is only the beginning of the differences between us. On my best day, I could never manage her air of serene acceptance. My nature is far more inclined to impetuousness and defiance.

  The contrast in our personalities inevitably makes me think of Ian. Susannah was the woman he chose to be with and whose loss he has truly mourned. Whereas I… He never asked for me to be a part of his life. I was thrust on him without his prior knowledge or approval. Merely by existing, I’ve forced him to confront the nightmare that he thought he had long since escaped.

  The pain of that is agonizing yet I can’t bring myself to blame Susannah for any of it. Everything I have, all that I am, I owe to her. If she hadn’t acted with such courage and grace at the end of her life-- I push aside thoughts of the macabre fate that would have been mine and reach up, touching two fingers to the side of the frame. It’s a small gesture but one that I find myself making every time the complexities and challenges of this world threaten to overwhelm me. Fittingly enough given the connection between us, she has become my talisman.

  Moving on, I take a quick glance in the gilded mirror that hangs on one wall of the mahogany-paneled entry hall. My appearance tells me little more than it did a month ago when I saw myself for the first time. Still, I no longer feel as though I am looking at a stranger. Little by little, I am coming to know myself.

  My hair is brushed as smooth as possible given its inherent wildness and coiled into a bun at the nape of my neck. I’ve lost weight in the last few days with the result that my eyes look even larger than usual in the pale oval of my face. At least the raw silk pants and fitted black velvet jacket that I’m wearing over my practice clothes are elegant enough to pass unremarked on the city’s streets where appearances count for everything.

  Outside, I stand for a few moments just beyond the entrance to the mansion and tilt my head up to the sun. The warm spring air carries the scents of flowers and newl
y mown grass from the park on the far side of the avenue. Beyond the stand of Lombardy pines that screen the residence, cars skim by soundlessly. I can hear the call of gulls who come inland from the harbor along the rivers that surround the island city, looking for whatever spoils they can find.

  They aren’t alone. A faint rumbling under my feet reminds me of the network of conduits that take workers back-and-forth between their micro-apartments and their places of employment. Deliveries arrive the same way and waste materials leave. Nothing is allowed to mar the city’s pristine surface.

  Farther down in the abandoned tunnels of the old subway system and the derelict sub-basements of buildings long since demolished is an even less welcoming world, home to the scavengers who flock to the city out of desperation, smuggled in by human traffickers and abandoned at the first hint of trouble from the heavily armed Municipal Protection Services.

  Yet the beautiful, tree-lined streets that I walk along on the way to Sergei’s studio exude a sense of harmony and serenity. Not coincidentally, those are the twin virtues emblazoned on the banners fluttering gaily from flag poles, street lights, and passing cars. Combined with the other decorations going up for Carnival, it’s all very festive.

  I can almost forget that beneath the veneer of culture and beauty lurks a far more hedonistic reality. Almost nothing is off-limits or even particularly difficult to obtain. Clubs abound where the most beautiful and skilled sex workers--men and women alike--serve every taste. The most popular among them become celebrities, paid huge amounts to endorse products. Recreational drugs are everywhere. The brilliant and darkly handsome Jorge Cruces, head of the world’s largest pharmaceutical company, is one of the most respected men in the city. His success in keeping his products out of the hands of those too young to use them legally assures that he is left free to sell them to everyone else. Yet as ruthless as Cruces is said to be, there are still rumors of illicit substances coming from hidden labs, drugs that promise to overcome every inhibition and release the darkest, most powerful desires.