The Forsaken

By C.J. Hart

Fear. Uncertainty. Wonder. Those three things are thrumming through me, pounding in my ears and coating my tongue with acid. All words that escape my mouth are wrong; I can't explain how it feels to not remember—for chunks of my memory and hours of my night to have been erased. Erased? No... forgotten.
How do you forget whether you killed a person or not the night before?
Cassie Spencer's human life is over, and the resulting consequences are flooding in. As she learns to adapt to her new life, pieces of her honorary family are unravelling. Every day is another spent worrying who Ash will take from her next. Though he's not the only danger she should be concerned about.
A man turns up dead. Eaten.
The Hunters suspect Ash is behind it—one of his sadistic games. But who is really at fault?
And then there's the mystery illness Cassie contracts, a disease unheard of by both her father and the elders. Can they find her a cure before her condition worsens?
Not every hero wears a cape. Some wear gray beanies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CTP Publishing
• Release date: Nov 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781634221481

C.J. Hart

C.J. Hart (Also known as RenÉe Swann and Renée Shearer.) Renée Shearer writes young adult fiction under the name of C.J. Hart. Renée is a full-time writer who lives in Sydney, Australia, with a crazy pooch named Abbey and a boisterous, somersaulting rescue budgie named Kaleb. Her days are spent living in her fictional worlds and consuming way too much caffeine. She has an (unhealthy?) obsession with all things cupcake- and coffee-related plus Kerouac and YA dystopia/fantasy books. Renée can often be found surrounded by books, marathoning crime shows and munching on vegan goodies, on Twitter, Pinterest, or dancing in a rainstorm. Renée hopes to one day visit Rio and is currently learning Brazilian Portuguese.

Book preview

The heat blinds me, burning and searing my flesh; I wonder if all that’s left is a pile of bleached-white bones. I hear the harsh croak of a lonely raven, a rustle-crunch of leaves, and then my eyes snap open. A canopy of reddening foliage is above me, the sun poking through. I turn my head. Shrubbery and a fallen tree. Pine needles blanket the soil.

Rolling into a crouch, muscles tensed, I catch the coppery scent of blood as it stings my nostrils. My ears are pricking up at any pitiful sound. A soft breeze tickles my skin, bringing my gaze down to my body.

I’m naked.

And splattered in blood.

I slowly straighten, listening, watching, and sampling the air for movement of any other creatures that may lurk. Satisfied there are only squirrels and rabbits in the area, I locate my extra set of clothes—which are stuffed into a hollowed-out log—and tug them on. But this leaves only one question lingering in my brain.

What the hell happened?

Switching on the radio, I hum to a Daft Punk song as I stack the dirty dishes. I fill the sink with water hot enough to burn, telling myself not to worry. Cass will find her way home. She has to. If not, she’ll find a pay phone when she returns to her senses. Everything will be fine.

Nothing to fret about.

Right?

So I busy my hands and mind with menial tasks, hoping she’ll be home soon. There’s nothing else I can do; I already tried looking for her.

A little over a month ago, days after her eighteenth birthday, Cass and I moved into a little blue house on Amber Avenue. Of all the places I’ve lived in, this one’s my fave. Not just because it has Cass, or because one of the rooms houses her five hundred and twenty-three books. But because it is ours. A place to call home where neither of us can be kicked out by parents or pack members.

A place where we can be ourselves.

I hear the top step squeak. A heartbeat later, the back door opens. I expect my girlfriend, but who is this girl covered in blood?

She stumbles towards the oak end table to steady herself, bones trembling with the force of keeping herself upright. She draws in an equally shaky breath. Finally, Cass looks at me. I think I killed someone. I—I think I ate someone. Her features contort into a mask of sorrow and disgust.

Cassie, the girl who can’t swat a mosquito, ate someone? It doesn’t make sense. The dots aren’t connecting.

I jog over as her legs give out, catching her as she swoons. It’s okay. I know from experience how hard it can be to control the monster inside—especially in the first few months after the transformation. She’s still a newbie to this. Volatile. Anything can provoke the wolf buried under her human skin, at any moment. I know she hates herself—just from the possibility of breaking our most-imperative rule—but she shouldn’t beat herself up about it.

Though I know she is. It’s not difficult to read her.

I’m a monster, she says, choking down sobs and clawing at my hands, begging me to let her go. When I don’t, she admits defeat, the life seeming to go out of her.

I give her a shake. Hey. Cassie, hey—hey. Don’t say that, please. Seeing her like this is unbearable. It rips at my heart. Don’t give up just yet.

Her tears have cleared paths through the blood on her cheeks. She’s a horrid sight with her dress stained and her bare feet blackened with dirt. Please don’t give up. She’s stronger than this. I gulp down my rising fear long enough to ask, Are you okay? Stupid question. Of course she’s not. I mean, are you harmed?

A pause. And then she absently clutches her side.

I feel along her ribs for fractures or breaks, but I find none. Please tell me if you’re okay, physically—unless you want me to call the good Doctor Spencer to give you a once-over?

A little more sparkle returns to her eyes. She shakes her head. No, don’t call Dad! He’ll kill me if he finds out what happened!

She’s not wrong there. The Hunters exist primarily to slaughter our kind—or, at least, those who feast on humans. But could Brett harm his own daughter? I’m not sure enough to test that theory. C’mon, let’s get you into the shower.

She allows me to scoop her up into my arms. I carry her to the bathroom, flipping on the water. She strips off her blood-soaked dress and flings it across the room—out of sight, forgotten. Silvery scars crisscross her stomach and thigh. A circle of puncture marks wrap around her wrist where Ash bit her. Ruined skin but still beautiful. Even if the scars were on her face, they wouldn’t dampen my love for her. That’s never going away. Impossible.

Fresh scrapes and a few cuts interlace across her chest and neck. From the looks of them, maybe she was wrong about her kill. It looks like an animal, and a strong one at that. No human could do this without a weapon. I should’ve looked harder for her.

I wring my hands, desperate to control my worst fears—of losing her. Tell me what you remember. I’m aware she’s right in front of me, that I haven’t lost her. But what if someone saw? It would end us all. One little witness.

Still, this isn’t her fault. It’s not like she ran out of here with the intention of devouring anyone.

Hmm. Still a little wobbly on her feet, she steps under the stream of hot water. When was the last time you saw me? She tugs the curtain just far enough so the water doesn’t splash.

Dinnertime, yesterday. You were reading the paper and then just charged off into the night. You shifted into your blonde wolfie self as soon as you were out of the door. Long gone before I could follow you. Not to mention you nearly gave me a heart attack, if mortal maladies were possible for our kind.

The paper… Lines between her brows appear as she watches the crimson-tinted water swirl down the drain. There was an article—another disappearance. They were downplaying it. Made me so mad after what happened to Eve. She encloses the bar of soap in her fist, squeezing. It jumps out of her grasp and plops onto the tiles.

There’ve been several humans taken from their homes and offices in the past months. Her best friend Eve was the first, and she’s the only one who has been found so far. The mortality rate in this town is worse than Panama City, thanks to us ‘monsters.’ Sheriff Scott, Cassie’s uncle, has been kept busy all right. Even the assistant sheriff, Cass’ godfather, has been helping us clean up the mess Ash has made. It’s a damn good thing that both of them are on our side.

As I watch the last of the blood dribble off her left calf, the thought of her taking on a big cat by herself pinwheels through my brain again, implanting a nib of hope in my chest. What makes you believe it was a human? Besides the blood. Could she have been wrong?

Squatting to pick up the soap, she says, I guess it was my first reaction. I storm off angry, probably looking for a fight—haven’t you ever been tempted, when you’re a wolf?

Once. By you.

Plus there was blood everywhere, and it didn’t smell the same as our usual hunts.

I think for a beat, my mind connecting thoughts hers has yet to. Your friend Miley’s into science, right? You think she could tell us what species the blood is from?

Poking her head out from behind the curtain, her eyes widen. She absolutely would. She’s got a whole array of forensic gear in her dorm room. She leans out further, pressing her lips to mine. You’re a genius.

Genius is my middle name, I say. Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay? Could be animal. God, I hope it is. We don’t need more trouble. Since Ash—the new alpha of the Taylor reservation pack—got what he wanted, life has been pretty quiet for us. Simple. I’d like it to stay that way.

Yeah. She shuts the water off. Could be.

I grab a fresh towel from the closet and open it up. She steps out of the shower and I wrap it around her, hugging her to me.

Resting her head on my chest, she sighs. Sorry for abandoning you at dinner. Were you worried?

Yes, you just ran off with no goodbye, not a word about where you were going. A little. But I know you can take care of yourself. It’s true. One of her trademark glares and she’d have even the most cunning of bullies cowering at her feet.

You’re always so optimistic, even when your girlfriend killed something last night.

I grab another towel and start drying her hair. You want me to be angry, yell at you?

Yeah. At least then I know what you’re thinking.

Sorry. No can do. I stamp a kiss to the top of her head. But I’ll tell you what—if you go get some clothes on, I’ll make us some breakfast and then tell you what I’m thinking.

Sounds like a deal to me. She scampers off and five minutes later, she follows the scent of bacon and eggs all the way into the kitchen. Selecting her favorite kitty mug, she picks up the coffee carafe. Two drops splash into the mug. Empty. Arching an eyebrow at me, she replaces the carafe in its spot. Up all night, were we?

I flip over the bacon rashers. Yep. Who can sleep when their partner is off gallivanting through the town all night?

She sets down her mug and pads over to me. A finger traces the dark half-circles under each of my eyes. We should figure out a system. One howl, it’s all good; two for trouble?

Or I should charge after you like Kat does for me.

She chuckles, lays a hand over my heart. Maybe we should employ our friend as a full-time wolf chaser.

He’d love that. I snort. He totally would.

Probably better than what’s happening in his house.

Like my father, Kat’s is laying it on thick—forbidding him from seeing us and Kat from doing anything he really wants to do. And Kat, like I was, is outraged. True. I take half of the rashers out of the pan, leaving the rest to cook to Cass’ liking—break-a-tooth crunchy.

She crouches to check on the grilling hash browns. Mm. This all smells so good. As she straightens, a clump of her hair falls across her face. Her blonde locks have grown, stopping just below her shoulder blades. She catches me staring. What? Do I have blood in my hair or something? Twisting to see, she claws at the ends of her hair.

No. I grin and turn off the burner. Just seeing if you got more beautiful.

She smiles cockily. And what’s your conclusion?

You do every day. There, that’s what I’m thinking.

Color heats up her cheeks as she scoops coffee grains into the percolator. You’re not so bad yourself.

Oy, be nice to the chef if you want breakfast.

Stamping a kiss to my cheek, she reaches across me for the cream.

Better. Are you excited to start college next week? I transfer the eggs and hash browns to two separate plates.

More nervous than anything, I think. She drums her fingers on the countertop as she waits for the carafe to fill. Starting new—starting over.

You’ll be great. The star of your photography classes, I’m sure. Next, I transfer the bacon to a third plate.

You have to say that; you’re my boyfriend.

No, I don’t. I could lie and say you’ll suck—would that make you feel better?

No. Pouting, she pours us both coffees.

Didn’t think so.

Cass pulls out a chair and sits, wincing as she does.

Sore?

A nod. My muscles.

Who—or whatever it was last night—must’ve put up a damn good fight. I cart the three plates over to the dining-slash-kitchen table, placing them in the center. Eat up.

I’m starved. After quickly piling her plate with a heaping of everything, she begins gulping it down.

I hurry to secure my breakfast before she reaches for more. Your appetite has grown tons in the past few weeks. It’s all the energy we use shifting back and forth, plus hunting.

Helping herself to seconds, she says, Well, I’m one of you now. One of the guys. She snorts a laugh and shoves a rasher of bacon into her mouth.

Sometimes, it’s like eating with an animal, but I would never tell her how it scares me. How I have to cook for four—sometimes six—when it’s just us two. She certainly can out-eat me any day she chooses. The hitch with there never having been a female Yee Naaldlooshii—skinwalker—is that there’s no guide, no For Dummies manual on what to expect. I feel lost, not knowing if this behavior is normal. We just have to take it one day at a time, navigate the choppy waters together.

Scraping the last bite into her mouth, she rises. I’ll call Miley; see if she can test a sample.

Good. I know Cass won’t rest until she knows for sure, and neither will I.

She rinses her plate, and then deposits it in the dish rack. Her eyes flash with recognition as she pauses to watch the rain tap, tap on the window.

Remind you of something? I say, coming up behind her.

Yeah, the tapping. A raven. She turns to face me, the crinkle returning to the spot between her brows. When you were attacked by your old pack buddies, there was this new one—a raven—that tapped on the car window. It was a curious little thing. And then I asked him to save you and he did. He shifted and pulled them off you.

A chill wiggles its way up my spine, bringing with it a sense of unease. Why have you never told me this?

She rolls her shoulders into a shrug. Kat was there. Thought he would’ve told you for sure. Anyway, I kinda forgot about it ’til now. Turning back to stare out of the window, she says, I wonder where he is? If he’s safe.

Why does it matter?

He might be good, like us.

She really believes this; I can see it in her eyes. If I come across him, I’ll bring him home for dinner. ’Kay?

She nods, satisfied, and ambles into the bedroom with her cell phone.

A minute later, she emerges. Miles said she’ll swing by to collect my dress and do a blood typing.

Cool, I say and drop the remaining dishes into the still-filled sink, needing a distraction again. I don’t like the thought of this raven boy hanging around. We’ve been fooled before—scarred before—by allegiance. I don’t particularly want to go through that ordeal again.

We might not survive.

Cassie

Fear. Uncertainty. Wonder. Those three things are thrumming through me, pounding in my ears and coating my tongue with acid. All words that escape my mouth are wrong; I can’t explain how it feels to not remember, for chunks of my memory and hours of my night to have been erased. Erased? No, forgotten.

How do you forget whether you killed a person or not the night before?

I feel stupid. My mind is tossing around probable answers, though none of them line up perfectly. I’m jittery, like an adrenaline junkie desperate for another hit. Will my hands ever stop trembling?

Seb pops in and out of the bedroom as we wait for my friend, offering me more food and words of support, but I ignore him. But when he approaches me for the umpteenth time, I give in, seeking comfort and a distraction. Anything to keep my brain from dissecting what memories I do have of last night. He takes my shaking hands in his, squeezes them.

I’m glad you’re okay.

I’m not, I wish I could say, but it’s not until Miley arrives soon after, escorted into the room by Seb, that I find words again. I take the mug of chamomile Seb offers me, nestle it in my lap as Miles slinks up to my side of the bed. Her reassuring smile chips fragments of my uncertainty away.

Hey, she says.

Hey. A squeak. I clear my throat.

So, I heard we have a problem.

Yep. I sink down further into the pillows, guilt weighing heavily on me.

Instead of placating me, she says, Let’s get this sorted out then, eh? She tugs on a pair of disposable gloves and pulls out a jumbo sealable bag from her purse. Now, where’s the dress?

Bathroom.

As she scampers off to bag the only evidence left of my potentially horrific night, I set aside the mug and slip under the covers. Drowsiness overcomes me moments later, and I’m tossed into a restless sleep.

***

I wake to the sound of Kat excitedly babbling away elsewhere in the house. The door to the bedroom is shut and the blinds drawn. My problems momentarily forgotten, I throw back the comforter and slither over to the edge of the bed until my toes skim the floorboards. I pause by the door, my fingers on the handle, when I hear my name come up and then Miley’s, followed by a mighty Shhh! from my boyfriend.

To have super hearing—the hearing of a wolf—is not as awesome as some might think. The uncertainty I’d felt earlier returns, but I force myself to turn the handle and step into the hallway. What I hear next has me quickening my pace.

You think she’d eat all this?

I know it’s a taunt meant to be heard, and I’m not surprised that both of them are waiting in the kitchen with two bakery boxes of goodies.

Knew that would getcha outta bed, Kat says with smirk.

You know, don’t you? I say to him, and then cut Seb down with a glare. Do secrets mean nothing anymore?

You already told Miley. I figured Kat may as well know, seeing as he’s the third member of this pack—not that we are a pack. I just meant he’s on our side.

Seb refuses to call it as it is, preferring to lie to himself rather than label us the Aeston pack.

Wait, wait, wait. I was demoted? Cass is the beta? Kat scuffs his shoe on the tiles and sighs. Well, damn.

There’s no ranking because this—

Isn’t a pack. Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Sebby.

I cut in before there’s a verbal brawl. Um, what’s in the boxes?

Oh, yeah, almost forgot about ’em. Kat pinches open the lid on his, and Seb does the same.

Pastries and a birthday cake.

You guys are the best. I close the gap between us and sling an arm around each of their necks.

The rest of the day is spent pigging out on cake and watching crappy movies. While it didn’t relieve a modicum of burden from my shoulders, it lifted my spirits enough to enjoy the time with my two favorite boys.

And who knows? Maybe the blood will be animal and all of my stressing will be for nothing. For now, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

***

That night as Seb and I crawl into bed, a steady downpour persists. It’s such a beautiful sound, soothing, especially after the day I’ve had. If I allow the pitter-patter to erase all incoming thoughts, I can almost forget my troubles.

Almost. But it’s good enough for tonight. Nothing is ever a one-hundred-percent guarantee, though it’s nice to just not think for a bit. Numb the mind.

Seb slips an arm around my waist and draws me closer. Presses a kiss below my ear. He’s good at helping me forget, too. Our life has become a massive vat of never minds, let’s not talk about its, and it never happeneds since the evil that shall remain nameless left us alone. Our scars—physical and mental—transformed into fresh, raw ones that haven’t been so easy to heal. Add into the convoluted mix the fact that I’m now a half-breed monster and you’ve got yourself a royal mess worthy of a Guinness record.

This is not a life, but it’s living.

We’ve just got to keep picking ourselves up and getting on with it.

Five months ago, if you’d told me I’d be where I am now—dating a gorgeous hunk who’s a mythical creature, and being said creature myself—I would’ve laughed in your face. Or had my uncle escort you to a nice padded cell. Possibly both at the same time. Because, even now, it all seems absurd. An alternate reality I can’t escape from.

I’m beginning to think that’s what life is—impossibilities and infinities, warped senses and corrupt morals. I killed something last night. Not knowing what is gnawing at my insides. Soon, there will be nothing left for Seb to love. Just a pile of bones and rotting tissue.

My bloodstained dress is tucked away in a sealable bag, in Miley’s capable hands, and we’ll have answers soon. The anticipation, the agony, is killing me. What if I obliterated someone’s father, mother, brother, or sister?

Brushing his lips across the back of my neck, Seb interrupts my caustic thoughts. You’re quiet. You okay?

Mm. Just thinking.

Stop thinking. Sleep. He nuzzles my neck, sending a warm buzz through me.

I don’t think I can. I’d stopped listening to the pitter-patter, and my mind is vibrant with thoughts as a consequence.

Relax, he says. Tune out your thoughts.

I tune my ears into the sound of the rain.

***

My chair falls backwards, cracking against the slate tiles, and the newspaper flutters to my feet. I don’t remember getting up. An automatic response to the hatred thrumming through my veins? My thoughts are broken, unhinged, and sagging in the middle.

They killed Eve—

They’re killing more—

Can we stop them?

Seb asks me something, but the question evades me. All sounds are a hum in my ears. My skin is buzzing and prickling, the wolf stretching and curling inside of me, wanting out. Chewing at my stomach along with the guilt. I can’t yet control it.

I run.

Out of the back door and across the yard. I’m on all paws by the time I reach the tiny picket fence. I leap over it, into Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy’s yard, and barrel through their peach and apple trees. My ears pick up the sound of cars on the road, but I risk crossing the painted yellow lines anyway. I’m faster and stronger than any man-made toy. An angry snort rises from my nose.

I’ll find Ash.

And kill him.

I’ll make him pay for everything I’ve lost, and then we’ll finally be safe.

Padding through the forest, careful with my steps, I raise my muzzle into the air. At first, all I can smell is pine and deer, but then—

I catch a whiff of something sour. Like soil and copper. I recoil from the stench as it invades my nostrils and fills my lungs. Yuck. What is that?

But my hasty retreat alerts the red-eyed bear of my presence, sending it rumbling towards me.

I remember those wicked eyes. They bring only pain and torment, and he’s going to suffer for his crimes. My lips pull back into a snarl and then I lunge, aiming for his jugular. A claw whacks me away. Soaring through the air, I smack into the ground. He’s not done with me yet. I’m not finished with him, either. Gathering myself up, I shake off the fall and charge at him. I sink my teeth into his leg. He roars. I bite harder. Rip a chunk off. Spit it out. Rip. Spit. Rip. Spit. Blood is pooling by my paws. Why isn’t he fighting back?

Another claw swings down, missing me by a hair’s breadth. I circle him and slam my shoulder into his hip with all of my strength. The force jars my bones and makes my teeth rattle. His legs give out and he topples over. I nudge him again. He ploughs