One

235 Pages·2013·1.16 MB·English

by  Arden Mari

O
NE
M A
ARI RDEN
"One" Copyright © 2013 by Melinda Yang Cover design by Regina Wamba at
MaeIDesign and Photography, L.L.C
Editing: Becky from Hot Tree Editing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system
without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people
are used fictitiously. Other names, characters and incidents are products of the
author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
T C
ABLE OF ONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Flame
Excerpt from "Flame"
Dedications
About the Author
O M A
THER BOOKS BY ARI RDEN
Young Adult
The Fireborn series
Flame (book one)
Blaze (book two) coming soon
New Adult
One
To anyone who ever thought they couldn't.
You can.
P
R O L O G U E
I follow him.
The dark shadow is hard to see because he blends in so easily like a natural
predator. If I squint my eyes, I can make out the sharp outline. I imagine seeing
the dark rectangular spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose. I imagine his
lips curled in a gentle smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. I watch as he slips
into the house like the phantom he is.
The house doesn't look menacing. It looks normal. A rural colonial home.
Beautiful, grandiose-but something stirs inside. The curtains are closed, but I
imagine there are lights on. I imagine there are people moving, silent as he is.
I need to get in. It goes against every instinct inside me. Grandma says I'm a
survivor, and she's right. I've survived when all I've wanted to do was crumble.
I've stayed when I desperately wanted to run. I've closed my eyes, and gritted my
teeth through it all because I'm a survivor.
Tonight, it ends.
Not letting myself think too much longer, I move. I've never been so grateful
to be small. I easily hide my body in the bushes, inching my way closer to the
back. A house this size should have many entrances, I reason. My rational brain
is trying to think of a plan. My eyes scan the home, trying to notice darker,
shadowed places, and an entryway someone would take pains to hide.
Eventually, I conclude I'm too far away. I need to get closer. My heart is racing
wildly, picking up speed with each step, but I don't give in. I fight for every step.
I swallow my instincts to run, to just accept what my life has become. I push
those urges aside, shoving them to the back of my brain as I mentally chant, find
a way inside, find a way inside…
I'm less than ten feet away behind a parked tractor. I'm so close I can smell the
smoke from a recently extinguished cigarette bud mixed with something husky.
Sweat, maybe. I put a hand to my chest, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. I
don't dare breathe too loud in case they hear me. I know what they do to people
they hear.
Breathing in through my nose, I look up, making sure that only my forehead
and eyes are showing. Much better. I have a good view of the side and the back.
There's a back door, but a large man stands in front of it, leaning his broad back
against one of the columns. My eyes continue to search. I know these men well
enough to know there are many ways in.
Green vines circle the massive home, shrouding it like a cloaked secret. In the
daytime the house is beautiful, sparkling almost. The plants surrounding the
home give it an unearthly glow, as if the people who reside inside are not quite
human. I noticed earlier the curtains are closed, and I suspect windows are
probably sealed shut too even though it's ungodly humid. My eyes roam past the
columns in the front of the building, and past the long rectangular windows to
the polished back porch, gleaming underneath a full moon. My eyebrows meet in
the middle as I focus on a protruding floorboard at a diagonal angle from the
ground. It's been colored to match the porch, and I might have passed it if it
weren't for the shaft of light reflected from the moon being cut at an odd angle. It
must lead to a basement, I reason. It has to.
Doubt quivers, but I plunge ahead anyway. I try to imagine I'm a panther,
stalking a prey. The image makes me feel stronger, a little less cowardly. I've
learned that sometimes survivors have to be cowards. Sometimes they have to
stay small.
I lift the floorboard up and slip inside, stealth as a cat. I land on my feet in a
dark hallway. I hear voices, low murmers I can't decipher. I take a single step
forward and that's when I smell it: something rotting. Something burning. The
smell is so strong, assailing my senses so heavily that my stomach revolts. I
cover my mouth with my hands, gagging into my palms. The sounds are
muffled, but I'm terrified someone might have heard it. Briskly, I move,
positioning my back to the wall, making myself as invisible as possible. I stay in
the shadows. With each step, I take the smell becomes stronger, creating waves
of nausea that roll inside me like a storm.
I reach a door. My stomach gurgles. Move, I command my legs. Walk. My
feet don't cooperate. They want to stay glued to the wooden floor. Maybe they're
reacting to what a part of me already knows.
There's something bad on the other side.
I look at my hands, willing them to touch the knob, to turn it so I can sneak in.
I need to know what's inside this house. Open the door, open the door, open the
door… As if by magic, the knob starts to turn.
I can't move.
I can't breathe.
He steps inside, the shadow in my nightmare.
He looks surprised for a moment, but then it fades as fast as it comes. "Hello,
Julianna," he greets me pleasantly. He closes the door, but not before I see what's
inside, not before I see everything.
I gasp, and my legs won't stay standing anymore. I crumble like a pile of
ashes, falling to the floor without a sound. "What have you done?" I whisper.
His face is impassive, unmoving. "This is none of your concern, Julianna." He
says the words as if we're talking about the weather, about the food inside Max's
Diner. He's talking as if he's a god, and the problems of the mortals don't matter.
"You shouldn't be here."
No, I shouldn't. No one should. I shake my head slowly, the movement almost
painful to make because my body is frozen with dread. "What have you done?" I
repeat again.
"I'm sorry it has come to this," he sighs, and it almost sounds believable.
Almost. "You were always such a good girl. Always so obedient. I'm sorry you
won't be able to leave tonight." He walks toward me. Braidon's face flashes
inside my head.
Survival kicks in. "Please," I squeak. I lower my eyes in a submissive pose,
flickering over his body.
"Julianna." His voice is deceptively gentle. "We can't remain ghosts if
someone sees us, now, can we?" He crouches, and his fingers are tight around
my arms as he forces me up. I keep looking down. I am small. I am small. I am
small.
"Look at me, Julianna." I flinch, but I lock my gaze with his. "I am sorry,
chica, I really am." There's a glimmer in his eyes. It isn't sorrow. He reaches to
his side to grab the gun attached there. His hands touch an empty holster.
The weapon is cool against my palm. My hands are shaking as I aim it into his
stomach. He freezes when he feels the point of the gun. "Move back," I
command. My voice wavers. It doesn't sound strong. I'm not strong. I'm
desperate.
He looks surprised at what I've managed to do, but he does as I instruct,
holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. He cocks an eyebrow. "Very
smooth. You belong with us-"
"Don't," I break in angrily. Don't you dare.