Awakening: Hope Trilogy

By Lauren Ashley

To everyone, Emma is an ordinary teenager —a forgettable figure to most. But, little do they know that she is about to experience an awakening after centuries of being kept in the dark when fate finally chooses to call upon her and reveal the secret behind her existence. A descendent of godlike beings known as the El-ahren, Emma is both stunned and terrified when she learns she not only possesses special gifts and extraordinary powers, but is also destined to save the world. However, pitted against an evil alliance determined to destroy her and any good left on this earth, Emma finds it a struggle just to stay alive. Joined by those commissioned to protect her, she must search for others like her in order to fulfill her destiny and prevent the resurrection of evil. The first book in the Hope Trilogy by Lauren Ashley, Awakening is an intense page-turning epic fantasy that exposes myths and legends as it explores the compelling theme of good versus evil. With a skillfully crafted plot involving love, tragedy, betrayal, and sacrifice, it promises to take readers on a suspenseful journey of twists, turns, and heart-stopping surprises. Fans of the Twilight Saga and Hunger Games will not be disappointed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626756861

Lauren Ashley

Author Lauren Ashley writes sinfully saucy romances that would even make the devil blush. Her characters are wickedly sexy, will make you wild with want and have more drama than a season of Beverly Hills Housewives - a far cry from Lauren's life which consists of watching Disney with her daughter and reading her Kindle while her hubby plays PlayStation. Everything I Am: Part Two, Crossroads is the second installation to her hotter-than-hell debut novel trilogy, Everything I Am.

Book preview

Rises

Chapter 1: Introductions

Vampires and werewolves. Angels and Demons. Gods and Goddesses. From ancient times to the present, man has always spoken of legends—fables and myths passed down through generations. In every culture these stories exist, in some way, shape, or form. But despite their differences in language and theme, they all share one thing in common, fallacy—they are but distortions of reality—embellishments of the truth. I had never put stock in believing in such things, knowing well that they were just that, stories. Never in my wildest imagination could I have dreamt that I would become what I had always known to be untrue, a legend. And so my story begins….

***

Not more than a few minutes had gone by that my mind began to drift, along with my gaze as I found myself staring out the window. Across the field stood a barren tree, its lifeless limbs struggling to reach toward the sky. Something about it seemed to always capture my attention. Perhaps, its futile struggle to stay alive, a pathetic attempt at best. Or staring at the decrepit bark flaking from its trunk like rotting flesh peeling away from a decaying corpse. In some strange, morbid way it seemed…familiar. And despite its obviously creepy appearance, I somehow found it….beautiful.

Ms. Hope, would you like to share what you wrote? Mrs. Pearson called on me, aware my mind had been aimlessly wandering. Frazzled, I quickly focused my attention back to class, leaving the tree to its certain demise. Mrs. Pearson stood over me, glaring at me through her narrow thin-framed glasses perched near the tip of her slender nose. It was obvious she was a little annoyed.

Not really. I replied, soberly. I didn't have to look around the room to know that everyone else was staring at me, their nearly hundred pairs of eyes glued to me, making me uncontrollably blush. I hated that I blushed when I was embarrassed since my skin turned to the color of a lightly bruised peach, which made me stand out even more than I preferred.

Not satisfied with my response, Mrs. Pearson still hovered over me—her beady eyes could have shot lightning bolts down at me. By the way her arms were folded across her chest, I knew she must have been really annoyed with me.

Maybe next time. My small gesture of a peace offering. Slowly, I reached over my shoulder, pulled a handful of hair across my cheek, then slid my hand to the side of my head trying to shield my face from my fellow classmates. It was useless. I could still feel everyone's eyes piercing through my veil of hair and screen made of my fingers. Stupid of me to think that would make me less noticeable. Fraught with embarrassment, I slouched further in my chair wishing I could disappear.

Emma, part of your grade depends on class participation, Mrs. Pearson threatened, politely. Her head was tilted downward slightly as she spoke, which caused her glasses to nearly slip off her nose. She was actually quite pretty without her glasses since they made her look much older. Without them, I would have guessed she was in her early thirties. I figured she presented herself that way in order to gain respect from her students, being that she was one of the younger teachers in school.

I know, I acknowledged courteously, after adjusting myself in my chair. I opened my book, pretending to be engaged, hoping that would appease her. Definitely next time. I nodded. I wanted nothing more than to have the class's attention directed elsewhere since I fervidly hated being in the spotlight. Between the center of attention and a root canal, I would have chosen the latter any day of the week.

After what felt like an eternity, Mrs. Pearson finally cleared her throat, pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, and then continued with the lesson of the day. Once the coast was clear, I began scribbling in my notebook, my pencil heavy with frustration, lead nearly pressing into my desk. But I had the feeling that I was still being watched since it felt like I was covered with boils.

As inconspicuously as humanly possible despite the awkwardness of the movement, I tucked my chin down and casually peeked over my right shoulder.

Natalie, the overzealous, studious, wannabe-class-president was staring at me. She had a nasty look on her face: nose crinkled and upturned, corner of her mouth downturned, eyes unleveled. I could pretty much hear what she was thinking. It wasn't pleasant at all.

'What!' I scoffed inside, sneering back and shaking my head at her, doing my best to mimic the exact expression on her face. She easily took offense, then immediately shot me a look of disgust before turning away. I sighed and rolled my eyes at the way I acted, then focused my attention back to my scribbling.

The bell ringing in the background couldn't have come soon enough.

Quickly, I gathered up my things and bolted for the door. That was so embarrassing, I uttered to myself as I passed through the hallway, barely dodging other students as they exited their classes. I flew open my locker door and began methodically putting some of my books away. I couldn't wait for the day to be over.

So, are you going to the game this Friday? Sarah asked as she approached. I glanced over just in time to see her flirting and smiling at a guy across the hall. He cocked his head back slightly and returned a confident smile.

You're incorrigible. I teased, smiling and shaking my head at her. I leaned up against the lockers and stood beside her, the crowd of students passing in front of me seemed to blend into an indistinct herd. I was still hung up on what happened in class.

Sarah eventually turned her attention to me after waving goodbye to the guy across the hall. Her wave was technically not a wave since there was no side-to-side motion of her hand. Instead, it was one of those cute girly waves, where she just flexed her fingers in unison a few times. It was flirty and effective.

The game? she asked again.

Yeah, hmmm… I paused, my head down, pretending to give serious thought to my decision. However, I already knew what my answer was going to be. It was almost always the same. I was sure she also knew it as well. Funny how we still went through that routine. After a few seconds, I turned to her, Planning on staying in this weekend, I replied, raising one of my books, gotta get some reading done.

Let me guess, maybe next time, she smirked playfully at me, eyes squinted and nose crinkled—her cute little bunny look with upper lip slightly raised making her front teeth appear a little bucked— one of her many looks. I didn't respond, at least not verbally. Instead, I stared at the ground, tuning out everything around me, my usual way of avoiding things, so I had been told by her.

Don't forget, tomorrow after school, she said, quickly changing the subject after acknowledging my body language—she knew me well enough to pick up on my cues. We had been friends since I moved to town before starting high school several years ago. Somehow she was able to draw me out of my reclusive, hardened shell, getting me to open up and break free from my then hermit-like ways. Though I always had a lot of friends in the past, I never really had a friend so close like her, someone that I considered a sister. But Sarah was different. She felt like blood to me. It didn't hurt that she could read me better than anyone I had ever known. For those reasons and others I just couldn't explain, we just clicked despite being opposites.

You promised me, she continued, smiling and pointing her finger at me while backing away, like somehow that was going to make me keep my word. I didn't know why I had agreed to help out, but Sarah had the ability to get me to do things I ordinarily wouldn't. Maybe it was because she always asked me with her sad puppy dog look: head tilted downward, eyes wide and looking upward, lips pouted slightly—the look that I couldn't seem to say no to. Or, maybe because I knew she wouldn't stop pestering me until I gave in. Regardless, she always seemed to get her way with me, at least most of the time.

Sure. I nodded and somehow managed to refrain from rolling my eyes. She winked at me, then twirled around and skipped away. She could somehow always bring a smile to my face even when I was less than enthused. After she was out of sight, I plodded down the hallway in the other direction.

By habit, I focused on the ground just a few steps ahead, trying my best to avoid eye contact with anyone crossing my path. Only occasionally did I glance slightly upward to avoid bumping into people. When I did look into the crowded hallway, nearly everyone seemed faceless and indistinct from one another, like a colony of drones in our hive of a school. But then, like clockwork, the exception appeared out of the bunch—Griffin. He approached, staring straight ahead as usual, gazing at something far off in the distance—at what, I had no clue. He was different than everyone, rather….interesting, the best word that I could come up with to describe him. He was quiet, silent really, and always kept to himself. Much like me, only exponentially to a greater extreme. But unlike me, he always appeared angry, like he was pissed about something or at someone, which was why people, myself included, feared him a little. It didn't help that he was also pretty tall and broad. Coupled with his demeanor, he was intimidating, intense and menacing. Maybe I had more words to describe him than I thought.

As he drew nearer, my body tensed up, a shiver ran down my spine. Despite the hundreds of times we had walked by one another, he still had that same strange effect on me. It wasn't because I was afraid he would do something to me. I didn't get the sense that he would ever hurt me. But I didn't get a good vibe from him either. Maybe if I had the chance to get to know him I would have felt differently. However, that was impossible since we never interacted with one another. In fact, I couldn't recall him ever uttering a single word to me, and for all I knew, he could have been mute since I had never heard him speak. Like an uncontrollable reflex, I clutched my books closely to my chest and cautiously followed him with my eyes as he passed by.

The first bell rang, so I picked up my pace and continued on to class.

OK, everyone. Please sit down, Mr. Jameson called out in his stern tone. Immediately, everyone scurried and quickly settled into their seats. He stood head and shoulders above everyone, built more like a construction worker rather than a high school teacher. He was also pretty buff—his long sleeve buttoned up shirt looked too tight against his chest and arms. I remembered how the girls in class swooned over him on his first day when he substituted for Mrs. Reiner, and how thrilled they were when he became our permanent history teacher last fall. The guys on the other hand weren't as enthused with him, his brawny frame and authoritarian style was very effective in controlling the rowdier boys in class.

Before we get started, I'd like to introduce a new classmate of yours, Connor Vincent.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the back of the class to where Mr. Jameson had directed everyone's attention. In the back corner of the room, I could only see a gentle hand being raised, tentatively.

How hot is he? one of the girls around me whispered. I casually leaned in my chair to get a glimpse of him. Even though he was sitting, he appeared tall and slender. And like the girl next to me said, I also thought he was….attractive.

Interesting. The muscles in my forehead twitched as I thought about my first impression of him—it wasn't like me to dote on one's looks. I'd like to think that I wasn't superficial, so it was weird for me to have focused on his nice smile, the softness in his eyes, cheekbones that could appear on the cover of a magazine. His gentle wavy light brown hair, perfectly styled….

Quickly, I turned away once I realized I had been staring at him. I brushed the back of my fingers against the corner of my mouth to make sure I wasn't drooling. Thankfully, I wasn't. Luckily, no one noticed me either. After a few moments, I shook my head and focused on my doodling.

It wasn't more than a few minutes into class that some of the guys began to haze Connor, mostly because they were jealous by the attention he had received from the girls, including myself. To his credit, he just smiled through it all and effortlessly shrugged it off. I empathized, knowing the feeling all too well. It was barely three years ago that I was in the same situation.

Guys, please make him feel at home, Mr. Jameson chided, an impish grin appeared across his rugged jaw. Wistfully, I smiled upon hearing the request, to make Connor feel at home. Three years here, sixteen going on seventeen in this skin and I still felt awkward—a fish out of water. Even amongst my close circle of friends, I didn't feel like I fit in.

Over the next several minutes, I continued observing Connor, casually stealing furtive glances at him over my shoulder, pretending to look at the clock at the back of the class. As I watched him interact with the others, I couldn't help but grow envious of him as he seemed likable and charismatic. The girls were immediately fond of him, they had no problem making that obvious to everyone. I hoped I wasn't that obvious. Surprisingly, most of the guys befriended him, even those that had teased him earlier. As class dragged on, my eyes eventually wandered and floated out the window to the cars zipping by the front of the school. One by one, I watched as they sped by, the cars almost melding into a blurry caravan of colored metal boxes. Then suddenly, I caught a glimpse of something. At first it was just a flickering image that appeared and disappeared between the passing cars. Eventually, as the pace of the cars slowed, I realized what it was—someone was standing on the other side of the street. It was rather odd for someone to be there especially at that time of day—there was no bus stop, stores, or anything. I sat up and raised my head to get a better look, squinting and focusing on the person who was still just a faceless blur. Then slowly, as my eyes focused, I realized who it was. To my surprise, it was Griffin, standing there motionless, eerily staring back at me.

What the hell was he doing out there? I shook my head and blinked a few times, making sure I wasn't seeing things. Then slowly, the cars seemed to fade and disappear. It was then I noticed he was carrying something. But the reflection from the glass obscured my vision. I couldn't quite make out what it was.

Dragged from my seat by curiosity, I slowly made my way toward the window. As I got closer, my eyes grew wide, horrified by what I saw—my limp body draped across his arms.

Chapter 2: Coincidences

Emma, Mr. Jameson barked, his voice nearly echoing throughout the room. Immediately, I sprung forward in my seat, my heart pounding wildly. I whipped my head around the room to find everyone staring and snickering at me, except for Connor who politely refrained. Are you still with us? Mr. Jameson asked sarcastically, his tone now softened.

After quickly regaining my composure, I apologized, then immediately slumped in my chair, embarrassed by my lapse. My shoulders were raised to my ears, chin tucked to my chest, hoping that would hide me from the class—I could only imagine how foolish I must have looked, like a turtle retracting its head back into its shell. As soon as everyone lost interest in me and returned their attention to the class discussion, I summoned the courage to peek out the window.

My heart fluttered with anticipation, fearful of what I was going to see. At first I could only glance, side-eyed, but then, I was able to follow it with a full turn of my head and blank stare out the window.

Not surprisingly, but nonetheless still perplexing, Griffin was no longer there. In fact, there was no street with cars, only the empty track and field. Then after a few seconds, it donned on me. There was no way for me to see the front of the school—we were on the opposite side of campus.

Frustrated, I shook my head at myself—it was just another strange daydream. I had been having more of them over the past few months, each successively becoming more vivid and weird. Worst of all, none of them made any sense. It was all bizarre, random stuff. Not nice daydreams about beautiful meadows or cascading waterfalls—my mind was incapable of drifting to places like that—lands where everything was made of chocolate and ice cream. As luck would have it, I imagined freaky and scary things: raging fires, faceless people, mysterious Griffin carrying my body—I was starting to wonder if I was slowly losing my mind.

Eventually, I let out a deep sigh, closed my eyes and shook my head at the thought of being that girl—the one who went insane. The girl dragged away in a straight-jacket kicking and screaming about the microscopic people living in her body. I could picture the look on people's faces as they watched me being thrown into the back of a paddy wagon and taken to the asylum—Shady Hills, Home for the Insane and Demented. There, I could imagine living out most of my good years in a five-foot by five-foot padded room before finally being released after decades of intense psychotherapy and pills colored like Skittles, and I can't even begin to describe how much I hate pills. I shuddered after picturing myself as an old lady living alone with her hundred cats.

I hate cats, I uttered softly to myself, but not softly enough as Natalie raised a brow at me—it was obvious she heard what I said.

Freak, she whispered. I folded my arms across my desk and buried my head, wondering why I always had to sit next to her.

Throughout the remainder of the day, I apprehensively glanced out the window, wondering what tricks my mind was going to play on me next.

***

After school I headed straight for my bus as usual, foregoing the post-school day socializing. I used to participate in extra-curricular activities: cheer squad, track, and tennis, to name a few. But lately my desire for such things hadn't been the same. Actually, things hadn't been the same since he left earlier last year. I kept having to remind myself not to think about him, but found it hard not to, for many reasons—there were so many questions left unanswered. As I was beginning to perseverate about it all, I quickly cleared my mind of him and posed a simple question to distract myself:

'If I could choose to be any animal, what animal would I be? A hard question to answer. Probably a ferocious animal, one that no one would want to mess with. Not that I need to feel superior to others or that I would want to hurt anyone. But rather, because I would want to protect everyone from predators stalking and hunting them. Maybe a lion, a benevolent king of the jungle. Not like the cowardly lion from The Wizard of Oz, but more like Symba only after he returns to be king. That way, I could keep all the other beasts in line, tame them, so that they don't go attacking everyone. But, lions have to eat. So how would I do that without harming anyone? I don't suppose there are vegetarian lions? I'm probably out of luck since I believe all lions are carnivorous.'

A smile came to my face as I pictured a fierce lion eating a garden salad. The exercise was silly, but it always did the trick since I was now at my bus.

First on board as always, making sure to sit unnoticeably in the middle—no one paid attention to me there. It was like I was….Luxembourg, a tiny, little country discretely existing in the middle of Western Europe. So tiny and irrelevant that no one gave me a second thought.

The rowdy guys liked to sit in the back, like it was cool or something to sit at the back of the bus. But I had always wondered how cool one really was if they had to catch the bus. I guess it was better than the alternative, having their moms pick them up since most of the kids that rode the bus didn't have their driver's license yet. I could picture their moms pulling up in a minivan, or better yet, a Volvo. Not that there was anything wrong with driving a Volvo, a popular car in Luxembourg, made in Sweden and all. So sitting in the back of the bus was probably the lesser of two evils—cooler than riding shotgun next to your mom.

Unlike them, I already had my license. Still, I chose to catch the bus since I didn't want to strap my aunt with the financial burden of getting a car for me. It wasn't that important for me to have my own car, especially not if it came at her expense. Plus, riding the bus gave me a chance to catch up on my reading, a perk of not having my own car I suppose.

A variety of people sat in the front of the bus, mostly people that wore glasses or shared their seats with an instrument. I didn't pass judgment on them just because they were smarter than the rest of us, or that their interests were directed towards things less than popular. If I had to choose between hanging out with them or the average jerk behind me, I would choose to be with the people in front, hands down. Unfortunately for them, the clowns behind me didn't share my philosophy. Instead, they often picked on those that sat in the front. But if they only knew how foolish they sounded since their vocabulary and grammar were at a fourth grade level. I would usually just laugh inside at them since I dared not be the object of their next assault, staying true to my Luxembourg foreign policy. If only I were a vegetarian lion, I could have kept them in line.

Once everyone boarded and my seat was secured for just myself, I slid over toward the window and stared down at the book in my lap. My hair conveniently fell off the side, nearly concealing my face from everyone. Even though it helped me avoid eye contact with others, I could only imagine what I must have looked like—a mound of hair slumped over in the seat—some kind of hairy troll. Everyone on the bus probably thought of me as that quiet, weird girl, the one off in her own world. I only hoped they didn't see me as the female version of Griffin, not the impression I wanted to leave with anyone. But I wasn't always like that, at least not as extreme. I just preferred keeping a low profile, trying my best to blend in, maybe sometimes trying too hard not to stand out. I was just never comfortable being in the spotlight, so I did my best to avoid it like the plague. Sometimes I wondered if something was wrong with me since I wasn't like most teenage girls and didn't need attention from all the guys. In that way, I guess I was weird. I wouldn't say a freak, maybe a little eccentric or just to the right of normal—probably closer to normal a few years ago, but things had changed.

I again knew where my thoughts were headed, so I quickly plunged into my reading.

As the bus continued making its rounds, I temporarily broke focus for a moment and glanced at the scenery out the window. The trees were becoming full of green leaves again. The morning gray skies had yielded to the spring afternoon sun. The past few days had been unusually warm for the time of year. Even though the cold chilled me to the bone, I generally preferred winter since there was less opportunity for social events—the freezing weather provided ample excuses for staying at home. Still, I enjoyed going out with my friends occasionally, just not all the time. During spring and summer, it seemed like we should go here, or there, do this, or do that. It was almost never ending. I had already burned through my book of excuses and found myself having to get really creative with some of them: 'I have to take my aunt's pet turtle to the vet…it came down with turtle flu and it's really sick.' Nonetheless, I appreciated seeing the color back in the landscape as I stared out the window.

Eventually I returned to my reading, my concentration undeterred despite the cumulative chatter from the other students on the bus. The lighting dimmed as we started to pass under the overhanging trees. When I raised my book to catch a little more light from the windows, I noticed Connor sitting a few rows in front. He was facing toward the back with his legs in the aisle, arm over the back of his seat, looking in my direction. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see what had caught his attention. A handful of our classmates were behind me—the clowns had long since dozed off. The others were quietly seated, gazing out the window, probably stoned since their eyes looked a little glazed. Nothing seemed interesting enough to warrant him watching them so closely. I figured it was a coincidence and returned to my book.

After reading a few pages, I glanced up again, surprised to find he was still looking in my direction. Only he smiled as our eyes briefly met. I offered a polite but awkward, pressed-lip smile in return and a slight nod before quickly plopping my head down and burying my face in my book. I couldn't believe how dorky I acted. Luckily, my face was hidden so he couldn't see how embarrassed I was—I could feel the pink in my skin from blushing. It didn't help that when I shifted uneasily, my leg sliding along the vinyl covering of the seat emitted a sound, the kind of rubber-meets-skin friction sound that sounded like I let one out. I could only pray that he didn't hear that. Either way, I felt humiliated.

Minutes passed. The bus came to a stop. Several people around me got up and began filing in the aisle in front of me, blocking my view of him. I listed from side-to-side but still couldn't see him. Finally, the aisle cleared. But he was gone. I looked over my shoulder out the window toward the back of the bus and saw him walking away. I watched him until he was out of sight. Eventually, I turned around as the bus pulled away from the curb.

As we continued on, I sat staring intensely at the seat in front of me, fiddling with my lower lip between my finger and thumb, confused by my curiosity with him. Rarely did I pay so much attention to anyone, especially someone I didn't know. He was attractive, bordering on gorgeous, but that wasn't reason enough—I couldn't put my finger on it, why I seemed captivated with him in that moment. Rather than think about it more, I shrugged it off, slouched back into my seat, and opened up my book to where I had left off.

***

My aunt was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I arrived home.

Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, she called to me as I entered. You should go get washed up.

I tossed my keys on the entry table near the front door and headed upstairs, my gaze always fixed on the floor, avoiding the pictures hanging on the wall—looking at them only reminded me of the hole in my heart. Not that I didn't want to be reminded of my mother, but avoidance was easier than dealing with the pain of her absence.

My room was kept…orderly—neat would have been an understatement. Maybe it was my way of compensating for feeling out of place everywhere else in my life, like being organized in my room evened things out in some way. I wouldn't consider myself obsessive-compulsive since I didn't feel the need to make sure everything was always aligned, centered, or stacked perfectly. But I did feel on edge if something was out of place, which was probably why I didn't collect many things.

The decor was nothing flamboyant either—it was restrained and perfectly suited to my taste. Even the books on my shelf were composed—commonplace and ordinary stories, nothing embellished, and all without fairytale endings. I identified best with certain characters, like Jane Eyre, women who were temperate and moderate. Like them, I naturally chose being subdued over conspicuous. Perfect example, the way I dressed, casual—mostly plain shirts and jeans, no skirts, and only a dress or two for special occasions. Simple sandals and closed-toed shoes—tennis or running types—were neatly aligned on the floor in my closet. I had never worn heels and didn't even know if I could walk in them. My bathroom followed the identical theme. Countertop pretty bare, except for a toothbrush and toothpaste, mouthwash, and a bar of soap—not facial soap or anything fancy—just plain, generic soap or whatever was on sale. Whereas most girls my age littered their bathroom with beauty supplies, I didn't since I wasn't as particular with my appearance, choosing only to be presentable. Plain and unnoticeable, I preferred, sometimes to a fault since I was told that I was….pretty—thankful to have been blessed with my mother's looks and beautiful skin. But as I looked at myself in the mirror, it was hard for me to see anything but ordinary.

***