He nods, his expression tight and alert, his rifle ready in his hands.
I glance back at the figure. It grows and lengthens, drawing closer. I don’t let myself panic. The war against carriers is over. And it’s just one man. Mauricio seems more than capable of dealing with one man. Even I’ve proven myself against such odds.
As we get closer, something about the figure makes me increase my pace. I can’t see his face, but I begin to think, to suspect . . .
I know that poncho. The tall frame and loose stride. A hat covers his head and hides most of his face from me, but I know. I know it.
I know him.
I break into a run, leaving Mauricio behind. I’m not moving fast enough, so I lose my pack, send it flying to the ground.
“Caden!” I shout, my hat falling back from my head, hitting the baking earth. Nearly tripping, I catch myself and keep running, moving, the sun soaking my bare head.
He came for me. I came for him.
We came for each other. Because he’s right. We’re part of each other now.
Our bodies meet, collide. We nearly fall, but he catches us, staggering as our arms wrap around each other. He lifts me up, feet dangling above the earth as he twirls me in a circle.
“Davy, Davy . . . Davy.” His deep, lyrical voice whispers into my ear, mingling with the rush of wind and chattering cicadas. His voice. The world in general. It all feels clean and fresh. Bright and hopeful.
And I can hear it. Music. Warbling at first, and then gaining rhythm, strength, power. And it’s not just in his voice. It’s not just coming from him. It’s inside me.
I hear music again.
* * *
Dear Davy,
Your email almost had me packing my bags. I can’t believe you get snow in May. I’ve never even seen snow. Well, real snow. Snow that sticks longer than one hour before melting. You know what I’m talking about. It’s always been a fantasy. I used to dream about going to college up north. When I dreamed about things like college.
Sabine’s father visited us last week. It was really nice. He cried. She cried. I think Sean and I might have cried, too. It really made me think of my mom. I’m ready to visit her. Sean might come with me. And Sabine, of course. Sean wants to see his foster brothers. Travel has gotten easier for carriers. At least for those of us without imprints. Sean might still want to wear a scarf. Ha!
We just have to figure out a good time to get away from here. Sabine is the lead teacher in the preschool, and Sean has more work than he can handle in the garage. We’re still getting carriers here every day. The camp has doubled in size even though we’re all free now. They can’t (or won’t) stay in their old homes, and the protected areas set up by the government are already crowded.
But at least we have a choice. It’s funny how things work out. A year ago, I never would have thought we could go home. I never thought you wouldn’t be with us. But change isn’t always bad, I guess. We each have to follow our own path. At least we’re all free to do so now.
I know we’ll meet again, Davy. Friends don’t forget each other. Stay happy and tell Caden to keep treating you right. If he doesn’t, he better watch his back.
I gotta go now. The guy next to me just crashed his computer. Opening half a dozen programs at once. Idiot. Some people just shouldn’t go near a computer.
Build a snowman for me.
Love, Gil
—Email sent from Gil Ruiz to Davy Hamilton, May 2022
EPILOGUE
Alaska, September 2022
I SLIP ON MY HEAVY PARKA, PULL MY KNIT CAP snug over my blonde, shoulder-length hair, and step outside into cutting wind. At forty degrees it’s one of the coldest Septembers on record for this area. This high in the mountains, the cold bites pebble-sharp against my face. For me it feels arctic. Caden has adapted better, walking around in nothing more than long sleeves.
Carefully holding a steaming mug of coffee in my hands, I follow the sounds of whacks to the back of the cabin where he’s cutting wood. Making a decent cup of coffee has become one of the many tasks I’ve mastered since moving here. It’s not the end of civilization. At least I’ve determined it won’t be. It might be a far cry from a city with its malls and Starbucks on every corner, but we have neighbors and a small town at the base of the mountain with mail service and a pretty good pizzeria.
I smile, thinking about how everything I have here is better than any future I imagined for myself . . . how I’m better than that girl I used to think I wanted to be. Caden and I have found a new community here. People. A life where we can live without looking over our shoulders. Several times a week we perform at the local pool hall in town. Occasionally, we get other gigs, too. Parties, weddings. I just signed a fourth student for music lessons. It’s everything I thought I could never have. I stop and gaze at Caden as he hefts the ax and swings at the log he positioned just so.
And love. I’ve found that, too.
No longer do I fear. No longer do I let others define me. I know what I am. What I’m capable of. That I’m a girl . . . a woman who will fight to survive. Which makes me not that much different from anyone else.
I’m human, with or without HTS.
The majority of carriers have taken to reservations, feeling safer in large numbers. Some returned to families and homes and tried to pick up the pieces of their old lives. Others float, nomads on the fringes of society. And then some are like us. Existing in remote locations, finding their own definition of normalcy.
Caden must feel my stare. He looks up, and a brilliant smile breaks out across his face. I melt inside, and it does wonders for warming me.
“Hey.” He sets down the ax and comes toward me.
“I brought you some coffee.”
He takes the cup with one hand and wraps his other arm around my waist. “I don’t need that.” He doesn’t even take a sip before giving me a long kiss. Lifting his head, his amber eyes glow at me. “Just you.”
I glance at the pile of wood he’s cut. “How long until you’re finished?”
“I could stop right now.” He smiles that smile that’s only his—that’s made just for me.
Grinning up at him, I wrap both arms around his lean waist and hug him. “I don’t want to be a distraction.”
He chuckles. “Yes, you do.”
Suddenly a distant shout from the front of the cabin rings out.
I tear myself from him. His hand slides down my forearm, fingers lacing with mine as we walk together to the front. Neighbors stop by often. Even though we’re apart by miles, there’s a strong sense of community among the people out here. Some are carriers. Some aren’t, but there’s no judgment. Not like back home. The laws might have changed, but a great deal of persecution lingers back home. The world can’t change overnight. Not even in a year.
But here, where everyone forges their way, for the most part judgment is reserved for actions. Not words. Not what we’re reputed to be or have done, but who we really are. How we live is what matters.
As we clear the cabin, my gaze lands on our visitor. I don’t recognize him at first as he shuts the door of a beat-up truck. Then it clicks. He’s thinner than I’ve ever seen him, his hair long, brushing his shoulders. I break free from Caden and run across the yard, screaming his name. “Mitchell!”
Laughing, my brother hauls me close. “Hey, little sister . . . long time no see.”
My laughter twists into a sob. “Only forever.”
Pulling back, my brother fondly cups my face. His sharp eyes are as bright and shrewd as I remembered, looking into me, seeing me, but then he’s always been able to do that. See me even when my parents couldn’t. “We got a lot of catching up to do.”
I nod jerkily, feeling so ridiculously happy. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t after getting your email? I wanted to surprise you.” His gaze slides to Caden, who has come to stand beside me, waiting patiently through our reunion. Mitchell unwraps one arm from aroun
d me and stretches a hand out to shake Caden’s hand. “I had to meet this guy in your life.”
“Mitchell, this is Caden.” I take a breath. “My fiancé.”
Mitchell stares back and forth between us with wide eyes.
“Yeah. You must have missed the email I sent you last week. The good news is that you’ll be here for the wedding.” I watch my brother’s face, suddenly nervous at how he’ll react. “It’s next week.”
He pulls me into a hard hug. “Then I guess I’ll be giving you away.”
I bury my face against his chest, my smile so wide it hurts my cheeks now. My words are muffled against him. “I’d love that.”
I come up for air and look between my brother and Caden, emotion overflowing inside me as I wonder just how I arrived at this moment. Where everything feels right. Still smiling, I lift my face to the wind, to the open sky. I don’t even feel the cold.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Country Park Portraits
SOPHIE JORDAN grew up on a pecan farm in the Texas hill country, where she wove fantasies of dragons, warriors, and princesses. A former high school English teacher, she’s also the New York Times bestselling author of Avon historical romances and the Firelight series. She now lives in Houston with her family. When she’s not writing, she spends her time overloading on caffeine (lattes and Diet cherry Coke preferred), talking plotlines with anyone who will listen (including her kids), and cramming her DVR with true-crime and reality-TV shows. You can visit her online at www.sophiejordan.net.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
BOOKS BY SOPHIE JORDAN
Uninvited
The Firelight Series
Firelight
Vanish
Hidden
Breathless (a digital original novella)
CREDITS
Cover art © 2015 by Michael Frost
DNA illustrations by Sammy Yuen
Cover design by Sarah Nichole Kaufman
COPYRIGHT
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
UNLEASHED. Copyright © 2015 by Sharie Kohler. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-223371-4 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © January 2015 ISBN 9780062233684
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FIRST EDITION
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