ARC: Crushed Read Online Free PDF Page A

a world of wonderfully wicked things there. Beautiful eyes, deep and dark, like caves full of nightmares. “Let’s go find another one.”
    I lean into the words until only a few inches separate our faces. The Hunger burbles happily at his suggestion of more. It’s content, but never, ever satisfied.
    Why shouldn’t I go with Armand? We could play in the dark, doing what we do best. Why follow Jo home, to sit in my prison? It seems a ridiculous idea, given how the night calls.
    I smile at Armand and his eyes shine.
    A hard banging makes Armand jump, but I’m too relaxed.
    “You done yet?” Jo demands through the door. Her voice radiates fury – and yet she waited for me. The realization hits me like a splash of cold water. “Meda, come on. ”
    I turn back to Armand, and see he’s looking toward the door as well. His lips compress into a thin line. He catches me noticing, and his mouth relaxes, his lips restored to their plump sensuousness. They’re a little damp, the slight shine almost mesmerizing. Then they bend into a smile. He knows what I’m thinking, but I don’t care.
    “Meda!” Jo calls, like an ice bucket. “Come on, Meda. I’m…” long pause. The taut desperation creeps back in. “Let’s go home.”
    It’s no home to me. What waits there but a strait-jacket of restriction?
    “Please, Meda,” Jo says. Her voice is heavy, and I wish I could share with her my life-sucked effervescence. I wish I could tie her worries to my happy balloons and send them floating away. Friends should be able to do that. I can’t, but there is something I can do, one worry I can lift away. Armand’s eyes are on my neck watching the way I toy with my necklace. The metal feels slick from the blood on my hands.
    “Bye Armand,” I say, releasing him and drifting toward the door. “It’s been fun.”
    He grabs my hand. I tug, but not hard enough to pull it away, though of course I could. He couldn’t hold me if I wanted to go. His grip tightens for a half-second, but then he gives a wry smile and lets go.
    “ Au revoir , Meda,” he says, and backs out of line-of-sight of the door.
    A nagging nibble tugs at a balloon string, and I pause. “Don’t tell anyone you saw me.” It’s a threat, but I’m too mellow to force any heat into my words. Somehow I don’t think I need to, that he already knows me well enough to understand my threat isn’t empty. “Or I’ll come find you.” I turn my back to him and put my hand on the knob.
    “Is that a promise?” he murmurs, his accent drawing the softly-spoken syllables together.
    I don’t answer and I don’t turn around.
    But I do smile.
     
    When I emerge, Jo’s waiting. She gives me a withering look, then pulls a package of baby wipes from her bag and tosses (hurls) them at me to clean up with – how like Jo to come prepared – then climbs stiffly onto her motorcycle. I’m definitely not forgiven for sneaking out, but because we’re in a hurry, Jo’s forced to bite back her bitch-out for later. Her rage is confined to huffy looks and moody lane-shifts.
    Unlike booze-drunk, the soul-drunk only increases my reflexes – the better with which to go on murderous rampages, my dear – so it’s safe enough for me to drive my own motorcycle. The hot air skims over my skin, the songs of the night sing in my ears, the stars are so bright I can almost feel them for the suns they are, shining down, bathing me in warmth.
    I replay the night in my head, pulling out each detail to savor in Technicolor detail. The expression in Colton’s eyes when he knew it was the end, the rush of power as I controlled him, the rush of justice when I crushed him.
    And Armand. His eyes hot on my skin; his smile, so wicked. The way we moved in concert. How different it felt to share it with someone who understands. I’ve only ever shared my… gifts with my victims.
    Needless to say, they don’t really appreciate them
    I keep hoping the clever sun will pop over the horizon, calling