Series: The Un Series by Izzy Sweet
Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
More fear flows through the bond and she thinks, How can I possibly escape him? How can I be free?
She wants to escape me?
The beast inside me strains against his chains, and dangerous tendrils of dark mist begin to swirl around my vision.
Thunder cracks in the distance.
“You can’t escape me, Alena,” I rasp as the air crackles and pops with the smell of ozone. “We are bound for eternity.”
A raindrop falls on her forehead as she demands, “I want you out of my head now.”
Lightning streaks across the horizon. Then a loud boom of thunder rattles the ground beneath our feet.
I loathe the darkness as much as my beast relishes the chance to show his demonic head. He doesn’t care what she wants. He doesn’t care about her control or free will.
He only knows completion is at hand, and that the void that’s drowned us in agony for centuries can be filled.
“No,” I snarl. “Never.”
The clouds above us release a downpour, drenching us both.
And she screams, “Get out of me!”
This woman, this soul that’s been destined for us, still denies us!
When I speak, it’s not only me speaking. “You are mine, Alena.”
My lips pull away from my fangs and my beast declares with finality, “Now that I’ve found you and I’m where I’ve always belonged, I’m never letting you go!”
TWO
ALENA
The Past
10 years ago
Boston
My eyes burn and swim with tears as I stare into the mirror connected to my white vanity. Holding my hair up in a ponytail with my left hand, I drag my pink brush through it, smoothing out the small bump of hair in the middle.
Only to create a new bump on the side when I relax my fingers around the ponytail to pull the brush through.
Desperate to get this right, I smooth out the bump that popped up and create a new one going down the middle again.
Frustration bubbles up inside me, urging me to give up.
It’s hopeless. I’m too stupid to get this right.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get everything smooth. I don’t know the magic trick to this.
But if I don’t…
Casting a nervous glance over my shoulder, I peek at my closed door.
My mother is bound to check on me at any moment.
It feels like I’ve been at this for hours.
Arm growing tired, I turn back to my mirror and make two more attempts to get my hair right before I hear the sharp snap of my mother’s heels on the marble stairs.
A soft cry flying out of my mouth, I move closer to the mirror and jab my chest into the edge of the vanity. Hoping it will help me.
Please God, I silently beg, give me the power to do this.
I’m a good girl, I swear.
I smooth out the bump in the middle again, then toss my brush down. Grabbing a dark elastic, I wrap and twist it around my ponytail. Securing it in place just as my bedroom door opens.
“Alena,” my mother hisses behind me, “what on earth is taking you so long?”
Our eyes meet in the mirror, perfect reflections of each other.
Until hers narrow with anger.
My heart drops into my stomach and my tears threaten to spill over.
But I know if I start crying it will only make things worse.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I will my tears back.
Stepping into my bedroom, my mother slams the door shut behind her. “What have you done to your hair?”
Forcing my mouth to stretch into a smile, I spin around, purposely making my white dress twirl and flap around my legs.
“I did my hair, Mother, so you don’t have to. Isn’t it pretty?” I ask, hoping she sees my efforts as a good deed.
She’s always complaining I make too much work for her. That life was easier and better before I was born.
And punishing me for it.
I do my best to take care of myself. I’ve learned how to make my own food and always clean up my messes.
I even clean up after her.
But it’s never good enough.
I’m dumb and don’t know anything. Even after she shows me. Even when I check what I do a million times to make sure it’s perfect.
No matter how hard I try or what I do, I mess it up somehow.
My mother looks pointedly at my hair, then drags her angry gaze down my body. Lingering on my white lace dress.
The white lace dress my daddy bought me for my second Judging.
We spent all day picking it out. Going from shop to shop. Trying every white dress we could find on.
It was the best day of my life.
An entire day being hopelessly spoiled, as my daddy put it with a twinkle in his eye.
An entire day without Mother.
Her lip curls up with disgust, and I know I’m done for.
Stomping so hard I fear her white heels might crack against the floor, she marches up to me then grabs me by the ponytail.