Survival Instinct

By Jaye A. Jones

Savannah hardly understands demonkind any more now than when she first became Scion. There’s a constant sinking suspicion that someone is out to kill her. And between work she wants to do and work she has to do, finding stolen time with the people she loves means a severe case of sleep-deprivation. But despite it all, Savannah feels like she’s really getting the hang of this Royalty thing.

That is, until Rowan’s ex shows up with a sob story and whisks him away before Savannah can blink.

And then, he doesn’t return.

Everyone assumes he’s left Savannah for good. Her council keeps giving her sympathy-eyes, the police are knocking at her door, her homicidal, power-crazed Royal mother is showing some compassion for once, and the manipulative director of Division is setting her up on dates. How is Savannah supposed to handle everything without the male who holds her world together?

Discovering new strength and learning to trust herself, Savannah finds out what it really means to be independent, powerful, and in charge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye A. Jones
• Release date: Jul 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310859533

Jaye A. Jones

Jaye A. Jones lives in a beautiful suburb of St. Louis. Jaye is obsessed with musicals, Marvel comics, and sci/fi and fantasy stories whether they be movies, television shows, or novels. Joss Whedon is her story-telling idol. She's addicted to the Cooking Channel, to good food, and to attempting new recipes. A lifetime of absorbing pop culture, of reading when she should have been working, and of having eclectic interests that span contradictory subjects was her writing school. Her degree in Psychology from St. Louis University comes in handy every now and again too. Visit http://www.jayeajones.com for more.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Vines whipped across my face, thin cuts stinging my cheeks as I sprinted through the forest. Don’t stop. Don’t slow down. Don’t look back. She was right behind me, but I couldn’t hear her footsteps. If she caught me, it would all be over.

Ducking through a sticker bush, I winced as the skin on my hands shredded into a dirty, bloody mess, but the pain bought me a few seconds. Sometimes, a few seconds made all the difference.

Feeling triumphant, I grinned like an idiot. And like an idiot, my ankle caught on an unearthed root, sending me flailing.

Splash.

Crackle.

Crunch.

I was the absence of stealth.

Stumbling noisily through the fall, I kept going forward but lost what few seconds I’d gained. Just like that. My mistake was a complete lack of focus. I should have seen the root—or at least been quieter about the fall. The clumsiness of my human half far overshadowed the athletic grace I should have had from my demon half.

I could never just concentrate on one task anymore.

With a deep breath, I pushed all thoughts into a cage inside my mind, hiding them from myself. I held onto only one thought.

Evade Mina.

I followed a stream, feet splashing mightily, the water slowing me down. But she couldn’t track my footprints through the stream as easily. It might gain me another second or two. I’d deal with my responsibilities later.

One task at a time.

The forest began to flicker, the canopy of skeletal branches loomed like they were poised to snatch me from the ground. My brain registered not normal.

Then oomph!

Flat on my back, Mina’s agile pounce was completely undetectable until impact. She straddled me, my arms pinned in the mud. Her half-caste Razer eyes dilated, wide and narrow, right in front of my face. The forest fell away. Her eyes were all I saw, all I knew.

Memory banks in my mind released for her, cages sprung open, locks unlatched on all my most private thoughts. I wanted to give her my secrets. She should have them. She’d know what to do with them.

Damn it, Sav, Mina growled, breaking the trance.

My memories were my own again, her half-Razer hold on me gone. She was skill—and I was utter failure.

Pushing off my shoulders, she forced my head into the mud.

"You were wide open for, like, five minutes. I could have taken…damnit, anything, Savannah. Anything. And when I attacked, you just fell. Mina threw up her hands, flipped her short black and bronze hair, still in place even after traipsing through the forest. Did you even think to command me to stop?"

I stood, smearing mud and leaves around my clothes in a futile attempt to wipe them off. She was beauty and grace—and I was a disaster. You know I don’t like to do that.

Mina Kay, the first half-caste Razer demon like myself I’d ever met, was taking her limited free time to train me, and I was too distracted to soak anything up. I was a terrible student. And she was a temperamental teacher. I couldn’t imagine Razer demons not being temperamental teachers, which explained my substantial respect for Dmitri. A full-caste Razer demon, he taught hundreds of humans in his Demon History and Defense classes at the local community center. To my knowledge, none of his students had ever been sent to the hospital—or the morgue.

I missed those classes. It felt like so long ago.

Savannah, Mina hit me with one of her bad-ass stares, the kind that felt like an actual smack to the face. You’ll have to get over this childishness. And soon.

My body heated from the core as my temper flared.

She was calling me childish? Please. Demonkind looked to me for guidance, trusted me to offset Iliana’s fixation with tradition, oppression, and cruelty. I had people relying on me every single day. My decisions mattered, affected lives. And there was the very unchildish, very serious relationship with a Hammer demon who shared my bed each night.

Childish my ass.

You need to grow up, youngling, Mina shook her head, chastising with her copper sunburst eyes. Or do you want me to take your childhood from you? Do you want me to see what you and your Sentinel do at night?

She couldn’t read my thoughts, not the way full-castes of our demon caste could. Half-castes—most of them anyway—could access memories, implant them, rearrange them, block them out so they could be easily forgotten. Mina couldn’t tell what I was thinking. But times like these, it seemed like she could.

To add to the threat—or maybe because she could sense my excuses coming—she pushed into my mind. The memories of being with Rowan last night surfaced, tugged at the core like a vortex. The threads in my mind snapped apart bit by bit, bending my memory to Mina’s will.

Big, warm hands on my hips, hot breath on my neck, his corded muscles flexing under my touch. And fangs…that sharp spike of pleasure when I felt their sting.

I shuddered, then tried to keep private things private.

Knock it off!

Completely ignoring my telepath, she didn’t pull back, only pushed her thoughts in deeper, snapping more threads. I had a million memories of Rowan, plenty to replace any lost ones. But I could only control so many things at once. Only had the strength to subdue one part of my conflicting halves at a time.

Balance, Mina called it. I didn’t have it. I was an uneven scale. All the weight on one side, or all the weight on the other.

Baring my teeth, I struggled to keep the smoke-and-fire building inside me dormant while locking my memories up tightly inside an opaque cage.

White light burst from my skin, the smell of burning leaves tickling my nose, but I couldn’t see anything. I was still awake, still knew where I was, still knew who I was. I just wasn’t in the driver’s seat anymore.

My body moved, sensed the threats and reacted involuntarily as Mina attacked.

Block. Duck. Punch.

Burn.

Obliterate.

Rule.

My memories were safe, the threads she’d snapped stitched back together, but a seductive desire to shed my human scruples and let the Razer in me dominate raged. I had power. I was second in command to all demonkind. I had abilities no one else in the universe had, or has ever had. Only two people even knew about those abilities—Rowan and Benn. My demon half basked in the secrets, believed my concealed talents equaled supremacy.

My demon half could be such a narcissist.

It was becoming scarily like Iliana, the most powerful demon alive, Queen of the Underrealm, the most evil force I knew, and my mother.

Which made me Scion, the demon term for second in command. Nothing I wanted, nothing I expected. A year ago I was sure I’d spend my entire life with mismatched features, a confusing demon disposition, and one friend in the whole world. Working in my dad’s bookstore and living alone in the apartment above it was safe. When the Sorcerer Hadrian lifted the glamour my mother cast on me when I was born, revealing my true face and my position among demonkind, everything changed. I changed.

Sometimes, I missed that simple life. Iliana was entirely to blame, her ambition to be all-powerful and become Royal. But it was in the past. Over and done. I didn’t waste energy dwelling on it anymore.

Each time the demon inside me made me feel superior, I thought of my mother. No matter what I learned, how powerful I might become, I didn’t want to be like her. With thoughts of Iliana, I could push back my demon desires every time. The concentration still took everything I could muster, but I would keep it in check.

What happened while I battled the smoke-and-fire, I never knew until the fog lifted. Then my surroundings snapped into place, like being jerked awake by a loud noise.

Nothing, then everything.

This time, when the fog lifted, I had Mina pinned in the mud. Her arm was burned, her lip bled, and the odd mix of failure, anger, and of all things, envy blazed in her eyes—a look she’d given me a few times before.

She pushed me off her, and I sat, wallowing in the mud, head bowed into my grimy hands.

Why? I panted, out of breath and pushing away frustrated tears. It just keeps happening.

Stand up, Savannah.

Nine months, and it’s still happening. The Razer in me was dormant. I wasn’t sure who was most disappointed in me—Mina, or my demon half. One wanted me to start showing signs of control. The other craved a freedom I could never allow.

Don’t pity yourself. It’s unbecoming.

Struggling with my emotions, and with the lingering sensation of power stinging my fingertips, I stood. Part of me loved that stinging feeling of utter power. It was the ultimate in seduction, heat and adrenaline and rightness. My other half felt sick.

I was covered in muck, too messy to care anymore. When I looked up, Mina was filthy too, which she hated. I should be able to control it by now.

Mina grabbed my shirt collar and yanked me towards her. Inches away, I could smell burnt fabric, hair, and skin. I wanted to apologize, but she would only throw me back in the mud. This wasn’t the first time this happened. Not even close.

I’ve lived with the balance my entire life, Savannah. You only started to experience it. That the Razer in you only comes out when provoked is, honestly, to be commended. Mina let me go roughly, not sounding like she meant the words. You’re worn down. You have way too much going on. Your control is suffering because of it.

How did she always know everything? There was too much going on, so much on my calendar.

Conferences supporting Division, plans and permits for Home. I had meetings scheduled all day, one with my mother’s Reaper advisor to talk finances, not to mention the interview in Gateway magazine I did last week going public someday soon.

I wondered what time it was now, if I was already late.

I wondered if the Gateway article would hurt more than it would help.

I wondered if everything I was trying to do was wrong.

I know I need to take a break. There’s so much… I sighed. I wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. Rowan says we’ll go to the beach to rest when we have a few days free.

Even I had started to wonder if we’d ever find the time.

You’ll never have free time, not unless you take it, she said, as if she read my thoughts. "And you never will."

I heaved a half sob, half sigh. Maybe she was wrong, but I couldn’t disagree. Bottom line, I needed rest. So did all of my council, but there was so much going on.

And who knew how long we’d have to get it done.

We walked toward the clearing beyond the forest in silence, me feeling downtrodden and worthless and Mina growing more and more angry with me, for feeling sorry for myself, for not being better than I was, for putting other responsibilities before our training.

As if I had a choice.

Noises from the forest caught my attention as we exited. I strained to listen—any distraction welcome as I grasped for a moment to think of something other than my incompetence. It wasn’t easy to hear, the sounds far off in the distance, but I could have sworn it sounded like animals howling.

The forest noises faded into the background as a voice boomed, You know you are not to be here without a guard, Daughter of Iliana. A wash of primeval, powerful sorcery I’d learned to recognize electrified the air.

I turned to the voice. The metallic screech of her words echoed before the Sorcerer’s accusatory glare materialized in a cloud of red, sulfur smelling smoke.

Astor, the centuries old Sorcerer who’d ruled the Underrealm long before I was born—or even my great-great-great-great grandfather was born. She stood in the clearing ten feet away, swathed in black robes, a thin-lipped, reserved expression on her waxy, red-skinned face.

I wasn’t surprised to see her. We were in Faction, the piece of the world Astor still ruled, and she always liked to keep tabs on me when I was here. She probably wanted to make sure I wasn’t planning a hostile takeover.

Every time I saw Astor, she looked the same. Fine wrinkles, aloof look, black robes, and surrounded by the same three guards who protected her from the shadows nine months ago.

The demon guards were skilled at finding hiding places. I still hadn’t actually seen one, had no clue what they looked like. But I could feel the way her guards honed all their attention onto Astor’s safety. I could feel them hidden in the trees, ready and eager to spring into action if they were needed. I could feel their presence then as I felt them here now.

There was one notable difference though, from the first time I met Astor, the ancient Devil Queen and today. Now, she kind of liked me.

I know your rules, Astor. I pointed to the sky. I will always respect them.

Three Mischief demons circled overhead on bat-lizard wings. Connell flapped steadily as he whooshed down for a dramatic landing, while Flora and Yan took their time, coming down at a slower pace.

You two were mud-wrestling without me again. Connell smiled his toothless smile, winked at me with his glassy, see-through eyes, and kissed the top of my muddy head. You really must invite me to watch next time, beauty.

I smacked his emaciated stomach as he picked twigs and clods of dirt from my hair.

Yan and Flora landed like butterflies, getting Astor’s momentary attention. Good thing too, because a Hammer demon jumped, their caste’s term for teleportation, beside us the next instant.

Sorcerers could keep Hammer demons out if they wanted. While I visited Faction, I constantly feared the Devil Queen would decide to change her mind about letting my Hammer demons teleport in, and stop them mid-jump, leaving them in some sort of outside-dimensional purgatory they could never return from.

Everyone assured me it wouldn’t, and actually couldn’t happen. Whatever. They assured me about a lot of things but I wasn’t always convinced. Fear was usually irrational. And this constant anxiety over the safety of the ones I loved wasn’t getting any easier.

Once upon a time, I had only two people I worried about.

Have we adopted an open door policy I am not aware of? Astor hissed sarcastically as Cyrus greeted me as he always did now, not with a bow, but with a one-armed hug, flashing adorable dimples.

Easily reading my disappointed expression, Cyrus explained without me having to ask.

He got caught up in the ‘realm, Savannah. Things are taking longer than planned.

I patted his arm, and tried to relax. Cyrus was my friend. I’d met him nine months ago, along with Grayson and Rowan, the day my life began to change. I was always happy to see him, but he wasn’t my Hammer demon.

I hated when Rowan was out of telepath range.

Never make a deal with a demon. Everyone knew that. I thought I understood it before. My contribution to history would probably go down as the most notorious cautionary tale for making deals with demons.

One of the deals I made with my mother was I couldn’t enter the Underrealm unless she called upon me. So Rowan was there now doing my job, and I was a nervous wreck, waiting for him to return Up Above so I could hear him in my head again. I missed him there.

But the worst part was her clever wording. The unless she called upon me part made all the difference. Who knew I would have to go to the Underrealm whenever she summoned me? Immediately. Drop anything I was doing—sleeping, showering, didn’t matter—and go. She’d been doing it often and in the most inopportune times too.

It had been weeks since I attended one of dear old Mom’s special tea parties. She liked to call for me when I wasn’t expecting it, which was probably why I hadn’t been summoned lately, even though there had been plenty of completely inconvenient moments during the past two weeks. I’d begun to anticipate when her messenger might show up. Somehow she sensed that, and now I had no idea when the summons would come and I would have to drop everything and spend an hour with my wicked, Royal Razer demon mother. Keeping me uneasy seemed to be Iliana’s new favorite pastime.

I wondered how she always knew when the worst possible time was. She must have had spies, or her Sorcerer keeping mystical tabs on me or something.

Hello? Astor’s metallic screech snapped me back to the present, her tone so flabbergasted, it was practically amusing. Am I not the Devil Queen? Does no one listen to their elders anymore?

She had asked for an explanation for why so many non-Faction members were in her territory. No one had answered. It was entirely my fault. Astor was my superior in every logical way, but by the backwards, archaic demon laws, I was the highest ranking demon in the clearing.

A twenty-one year old, erratic half-caste who, less than a year ago, knew nothing of this demon world and wasn’t known by even a single demon, now outranked a several thousand year old full-caste Devil who’d ruled the Underrealm for more than five human lifetimes. It was the way things were, but I knew enough to know it was ridiculous.

I also knew I couldn’t show her I didn’t think I deserved respect too. Being Scion meant I had to act a certain way about certain things. Even Astor couldn’t be disrespectful to the Scion.

Technically, I owed her no explanations. But I refused to be like that.

There are three of us, I explained, turning to the ancient Sorcerer. We have three guards. Have the rules changed, Astor? Are you banning me from Faction for some reason?

The first time I felt the wave of emotion from her, it had been a shock. But I was used to the sense of affection from her now. Someday, you will push a demon too far, child.

I grinned. Won’t be you, though. I think I’ve grown on you.

Perhaps, Astor showed her piranha teeth. And perhaps you are growing arrogant and compliant, which would be the best time for attack, don’t you think?

I studied Astor, wondering if the demon who’d been following me for the past several months was sent by her. If he was, nothing about her demeanor or emotions suggested it.

The demon never got close enough for me to tell who he was, or even which caste he was. But he always showed up, at what Holly called my 11:00—up ahead, and slightly to my left. He was everywhere I went in a given day—except for Faction—the hood of a hooded sweatshirt covering his head, keeping his face within the shadows.

My stalker didn’t freak me out. Maybe I was being reckless. Maybe I was too busy to be frightened of the possible threats out there. So far, the demon kept his distance. He just observed, probably spying for someone.

One problem at a time. I wouldn’t quiver over abstract threats. It was demanding enough to keep people happy while working for the things I wanted to accomplish, before someone—probably my mother—decided on the most opportune way to kill me.

Come, Savannah, Cyrus placed his hand on my shoulder, like he always did for Grayson when they were about to jump. You made me promise to get you Home, and you’re already late.

Feeling the full weight of the looming exhaustion I’d been fighting all morning, all last night, all freaking week, I rubbed my face. When I pulled my hand away, there was blood on it. Not mine.

The failure hit me all over again.

I’d been doing all right, covered in drying mud and thinking about other things as a distraction from what happened with Mina.

We better go. Cy patted my arm, commiserating with my anxiety, reminding me I had more than just my inadequacies to fret about.

I said goodbye to Yan. Flora reminded me of our scheduled wardrobe fitting in two days—the Mischief demon made most of my clothes now. I reminded Connell about our plans for tomorrow. After a little prodding, Mina agreed to let Cyrus drop her off at Division, where I could wash the blood and mud off, on our way back to the other side of the world. I said my thank you to Astor for her continued hospitality.

I could never leave when I planned to anymore. Fifteen minutes after Cyrus jumped to Faction to pick me up, we were finally able to leave.

Another side effect of this new life I had? I was never on time anymore.

CHAPTER 2

Home. The twenty-five half-castes who were the first to move in two months ago named it. It seemed to fit the place. I’d been calling it the boarded up hotel on Market Street. Their name was better. Half-castes are often ostracized, unwanted, shunned by their families. They needed a place to call Home.

There were six floors, the top five with ten good sized rooms, an elevator that didn’t work, and a skuzzy pool out the back probably incubating the bubonic plague. The auditorium was home to bats and rats and other creepy crawlies. The large, open lobby had a fireplace covered in wooden planks and the dilapidated front desk, both of which had been spray-painted with neon green and pink profanity.

At least the spray paint had been covered over. The rest somehow looked dingier than I remembered it being yesterday. I had this feeling every morning.

Ah, Home.

Good morning, Sci…erm…Ms. Cole…erm…Savannah. Lincoln, my tech savvy, jittery assistant met me at my office door, messages in one hand and the reusable to-go coffee cup she insisted I use in the other.

Lincoln was one of the first half-castes to come to Home. At the time, I was ears-deep in paperwork, schedules, and phone calls with absolutely zero idea of what I was doing. The half-Mischief female took pity on me, getting the chaos that took me two months to create in order within a few days.

Thanks, Linc, I took everything off her hands, and she scuttled behind me with a conflicted look as I made a break from my office.

Hotel room A1, the only room on the main floor, was my office, but it gave me the creeps. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

You wanna go through your schedule for today now?

In a sec, I said, taking a swig of the coffee she’d handed me. It was horrible, not sweet enough, and tasted less like coffee than like burnt plastic. I grimaced, but took another sip. Caffeine was caffeine.

We turned into the hotel lobby, and I took a quick mental count of who was up and about. Not many of the half-castes slept in, so almost all of our inhabitants lounged around the lobby, playing card games, watching the only TV in the building, or reading the pile of five year old magazines.

Good grief, it’s like they’ve multiplied.

No joke. Lincoln chuckled, tugging at the sloppy twist of orange-brown hair she always wore.

The place was packed. With more scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Was there some sort of underground half-caste telephone system no one told me about? The group arriving tomorrow, which last I heard consisted of fourteen half-castes all under sixteen years of age, were from Oregon and Washington state.

It was so far for them to travel to get here. I needed to find a way to open up a new Home on the west coast. If the Gateway article did what I hoped, expanding wouldn’t be an option anymore. It would be a necessity.

I picked Home’s location in St. Louis, and made a deal with Director Pakala