Read Larkstorm (The Sensitives #1) Page 12


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  It’s early. The room is still except for the faint sound of breathing. From a tiny gap in the drapery, sunlight pushes back the darkness, conquering it once again.

  My eyes follow the steady beam of light to the boy lying next to me. His beautiful face is joyous in victory.

  I lean over him; my long, chestnut hair creates a curtain around us. I skim my lips over his. Beck doesn’t wake, but his mouth moves into a relaxed smile.

  A knock on the door jars me from my blissful state.

  “Rise and shine, Lark. It’s time for your less— ”

  An ear-piercing scream shatters my tranquil state. Mrs. Channing stands at the door, gaping at us. Her knuckles turn white as she grabs the doorjamb to steady herself. Rage rolls across her face.

  “Wait!” I try to say. “This isn’t what it looks like!” But the words don’t come.

  Within seconds, I see Bethina, Henry, Eloise and a few other faces behind her, peering into the room.

  Beck, fully alert now, covers me with the thin sheet and shields me from the hallway of people. I know this doesn’t look good, his clothes and shoes scattered across the floor, me in a tiny nightgown and us both in bed together. I sink into the pillows, trying to hide.

  Mrs. Channing hurls herself across the room. “What have you done?” With surprising strength, she yanks Beck from the bed. He’s only wearing underwear, and scoops his pants up off the ground.

  “Beck, how could you?” Mrs. Channing’s rosy complexion is drained of color as Beck yanks on his pants. Behind them, Bethina rocks on her feet, eyes wide.

  Mrs. Channing turns on Henry and unleashes her fury. “This is all your fault! You did this! You told him!”

  “He asked.”

  “How could you?” Mrs. Channing is wild. “Don’t answer that. I know where your loyalties lie.”

  “Margo, Lark is my niece. I feel every bit as protective of her as you do of Beck.” There’s no color in Henry’s face and his eyes have changed to black. When he squares his shoulders toward Mrs. Channing, his image blurs around the edges and wavers.

  “And what of Malin? Did your sister put you up to this?” Her words spew at Henry as she rushes at me.

  “Why would she? She doesn’t want Lark to suffer as she has.” He lifts his hand and Mrs. Channing’s body shakes. “You will not harm her.”

  Beck towers over his mother and throws himself between us.

  He’s not frightened. In fact, he seems confident.

  My gaze bounces between the two of them—serene Beck and hysterical Mrs. Channing. The scene makes no sense. We’ve always slept in the same room on our previous visits, granted not in the same bed and wearing next to nothing, but still. She’s over-reacting.

  Without warning, Mrs. Channing beats her fists against Beck’s bare chest. Her cries break the stunned silence of the others.

  “You knew! Beck, you stupid, foolish boy! How could you?”

  With one hand, Beck grasps his mother’s fists. “Mom, stop. You need to calm down.”

  A ripple of energy floats through the room. Despite the mess in front of me, I feel buoyant.

  In the doorway, Bethina gathers herself. “Beck, did you willingly do this?”

  “Of course! I needed to and this is the only way.” Beck folds his arms across his chest and plants his feet as if daring anyone to challenging him.

  My vision swivels between Bethina, Beck and Mrs. Channing. It’s as if I’m watching a scene I’m not involved in. My foggy mind doesn’t understand what it’s seeing.

  Soft chanting fills the hallway. Beside Mr. Channing, Eloise sways to the rhythm, her eyes closed. They’re doing a spell. But why? The question repeats itself in my mind, taunting me, and forces me back to the present.

  A rush of air. I snap back into my body.

  Mrs. Channing charges into her husband’s arms. “Malin put them up to this. To punish us. We should never have let her daughter in. Never!”

  Her emotions assault me. Each rise in her voice sinks deeper into me. Each cry sends a crawling sensation racing down my spine. It’s irritating.

  I narrow my eyes and focus on her small frame. Mrs. Channing’s body tenses as my thoughts bore into her.

  “What are you talking about? My mother hasn’t done anything.” The angry edge in my voice is unmistakable. “Nothing!”

  Bethina gives Beck a hard look. “Tell her, Beck.” Her voice quiet, but forceful. “Tell Lark what you’ve done.”

  Beck hesitates.

  Bethina, unwilling to wait for him, pushes past Beck and grabs my shoulder.

  “Did you know?” She shakes me hard, snapping my head back. It’s too much like what Eamon did the day of the battle.

  The crawling sensation moves up my arms. I grit my teeth and press my lips tight. I’m not going to let Bethina, or anyone, boss me around.

  “Tell me, Lark. You tell me right now,” she demands.

  I stiffen. The tiny spiders gather in my center, spinning. I bare my teeth at Bethina and a guttural sound escapes my lips—a growl.

  A shadow crosses Bethina’s face before she recovers. “That won’t work here, young lady.”

  The spiders stop. A slow, building hum replaces them and the fog resettles around my brain.

  Beck’s authoritative voice interrupts us. “Bethina—stop. You’re hurting her.”

  Satisfied with whatever she’s done, Bethina releases me and takes a step back.

  Through my mind-haze, I watch Beck move toward me, hands outstretched and facing upward. His light spreads throughout me and I move to meet him.

  He touches my arm. “Lark?”

  I smile at him. His face is serene, not a bit of worry. I lick my lips. My mouth moves to answer him. “Yes?”

  Beck strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. “When we kissed, it broke the encasing.”

  Even with my mind fuzzy, the memory of our first real kiss—not the fleeting, barely brushing of the lips we shared at school, but the sweetly passionate one on the beach—dances through my mind and is followed by the recollection of my heart unlocking. I knew what was happening but didn’t think Beck did.

  Confused, I ask, “You knew?”

  Beck ignores me and instead directs his comments to Bethina and the others. “Lark knew nothing. I did this. I knowingly broke the encasing.”

  A murmur from the hallway.

  “I wanted her to be herself, not some sanitized version you all created. Not a shell who couldn’t speak her mind. I wanted her to be the way she was.”

  Pain strikes my temples. I rub the spot and concentrate on the words churning around me. The ceaseless chanting deafens my ears and causes me to feel unbalanced. Incense wafts into the room, and stings my nose.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  No one hears me.

  “Bethina,” I say louder, “what does that mean?”

  The chanting pummels me. I cover my ears. The noise is unbearable. It comes not just from the hallway, but also drifts in the window. An intense throbbing pain forces me to my knees. I rock forward in agony.

  “Please, someone, make it stop!” I plead.

  Bethina raises her hand and the chanting ceases. The pain ebbs, but the haze around my brain lingers. Everything seems distant and slow.

  “It means your darkness is no longer contained. Beck knew if he kissed you, it would break the encasing.”

  She places her hand on Mrs. Channing’s back. “Margo, forgive me. I should have never sent him after her. I didn’t believe they’d behave this way.”

  Mrs. Channing’s eyes are cold and hard. “You were wrong about that, weren’t you? And now look.” She glares at me. “Look at them. There’s no denying what they’ve done.”

  For the first time, I notice a faint yellow glow around Beck. His eyes are illuminated, his wavy hair disarrayed, and the beauty of his face unmatched by any other. Mrs. Channing crosses the room more rapidly than my
mind will register and grabs my elbow. Her nails dig into my exposed arms as she shoves me toward the mirror.

  “Look at yourself.”

  When I see my reflection, I gasp. The same yellow glow surrounds me. My eyes are bright like Beck’s.

  I turn to him. “What else did you do?”

  He lifts my hand. With his finger, he traces the familiar pattern on the back of it and then kisses me. I attempt to resist but his soft lips move over mine, daring me to not give in.

  My body folds into his as he draws me up. My feet dangle from the ground. A rush of heat floods my body and I eagerly return his kiss with more intensity than any kiss from the night before.

  He lowers me to the ground and slides one hand down my back and the other around my neck. Instinctively, I move closer and wrap my arms tighter around him. I don’t want to ever let go. There is nothing in this room but the two of us.

  A sharp throat clearing breaks the spell. Beck kisses me hard and extracts himself from my embrace. I lean against him breathless, my face turned upward.

  His glowing eyes observe me. “Last night, when you said you loved me, it permanently bound us. You’re stuck with me forever.”

  I stumble backward as if his words shoved me away. My foggy brain spins. He bound us? Permanently?

  The severity of the situation slams into me. “No!”

  The room pitches beneath me, but I don’t fall. Strong arms hold me. Beck’s arms. The chanting resumes, thunderous this time.

  “We can’t be.” I look at Bethina, but her face is blank and tells me nothing. “We’re not old enough. It’s impossible.”

  Mrs. Channing buries her face in her husband’s shirt. In the corner, Eloise shakes her head and turns her back on me.

  “Beck, go to your own room for a bit. Give us some time to sort this out.” Mr. Channing gives an order, not a suggestion.

  Beck stands his ground. “No,” he says firmly. “Lark is my mate. I’m bound to her and there is no way I’m leaving her alone with you.”

  My mind strains to process this mess. Beck is mine forever. Mine. No one can separate us and no one can keep him from me ever again. My joyous heart leaps at the thought. This must have been his plan all along.

  But he didn’t tell me.

  Through the layers of haze it becomes clear. I wouldn’t have consented. He knew that. My happiness disintegrates. We can’t be permanently bound—I‘ll kill him. I’ll smother out his light or just kill him outright.

  No wonder the Channings and the other Light witches are furious.

  “Beck,” I cry, “how could you be so selfish?” Despair replaces my elation as my eyes dart around the room, searching for Eamon. No one has attacked us yet. A fragile relief fills my heart. Unlike my father, Beck’s important to the Light witches—they won’t hurt him. He’ll be safe; they’ll forgive him. He only needs to worry about me attacking him.

  Beck’s face falls. “Selfish? I did it for you, for us. I’m going to help you stay balanced—so we can be together.”

  “Did you give any consideration to the Dark magic stuck in you?”

  “It’ll be fine. I’ve always had it and look at me. ”

  “No, you won’t. It’s never worked for anyone else. It’s not going to work for us.”

  He reaches for my hand again, but I jerk away. He draws his eyebrows together. “I want you to be yourself. Who you truly are. That’s the girl I love and would give up fifty years of my life for.”

  “And what about me?” I cry, anger boiling under the surface. “How do you think I’m going to feel knowing I killed you? Did you think about that?” I cross my arms, furious. “I’d rather live without you than be bound to you and kill you.”

  Beck glares at Bethina. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “Tell me what?” I snap.

  “Shush, Beck. I don’t think this is the time.”

  He ignores her. “That once you’re mature, you won’t remember loving me. It won’t bother you one bit to kill me.”

  For the second time, the blackness reaches for me. I’m turning into a monster and no one can stop it. I won’t remember loving Beck. I won’t remember last night. I won’t remember being me. They think I’ll go mad like Caitlyn.

  Unable to hold myself up any longer, I sink to the ground. “Then why? Why did you do this?”

  “Because when I die, and no one seems to dispute that fact, I’ll die happy, because I loved the most amazing girl in the world and she loved me too.”

  He kneels beside me and whispers so only I can hear. “If I can’t have you forever, at least let me have that.”

   

  34

   

  A beat, then two. No one says anything. Nothing moves. Time has stopped.

  It’s like being trapped in Annalise’s heavy air again, only this time, I’m not afraid for myself. Instead, fear for Beck overwhelms me.

  The humming in my head grows loud again. Unbearable. I squeeze the balls of my hands against my ears. But the noise is insistent and the vibrations rattle my teeth. It’s coming from inside me.

  A gentle touch on my arm. I grasp my head harder, afraid that if I let go, I may start screaming. Two strong hands pull on my own and tear my hands away. A whooshing noise surrounds me and I rock backward, dizzy from the attack on my equilibrium.

  “Lark, can you hear me?” Beck’s words sound muffled.

  The humming rattles me. I can’t think. I twist my wrists to get away from him. I need to get out of this room. Away from this noise. But the more I twist, the stronger his grip becomes.

  “Lark, I need you to listen. You need to focus. Can you do that?”

  I hear his words, but the need to flee is intense. I continue to struggle.

  “You have to clear your mind and think of the lake. Think of the music and how happy you felt. Please, Birdie. Please try.”

  Through the persistent, agonizing din, Beck’s pleas reach me and I stop fighting. The hum slows enough for me to focus my thoughts. The feeling of Beck’s cheek on my head, the memory of his deep voice singing to me, floods back. The noise vanishes.

  I open my eyes. At first, I only see Beck beaming at me. But then, from the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Channing, Eloise—everyone except Beck and Bethina—rocking and chanting. But I can’t hear them.

  “What happened?” I direct my question to Beck. No one pays us attention.

  “They’re trying to contain your magic because you can’t be encased anymore. I won’t allow it.” He grins, pleased. “Benefit of being bound to me.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” The silent chanters’ bodies move in unison.

  “We cast a spell on them. I was able to soothe you enough to get you to focus and together we shielded ourselves. They have no idea.” The figures join hands and quiver slightly.

  “How? I don’t know how to do any spells.”

  “All you needed to do was think of something that made you happy. I harnessed your emotions and did the rest.”

  I tilt my head and let Beck’s answer sink in. Like when I found my necklace—I can do magic, or least aid in magic-making. Interesting.

  “What about Bethina?” She’s silent and still.

  “I’m fine, Lark.” Her voice surprises me. “Beck didn’t cast on me.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know you could hear me.”

  “I can hear the two of you clear as day.” She crosses her arms. “Plotting away and making a bigger mess for yourselves. You.” She points at Beck. “I expect this kind of behavior from. But you,” she turns her attention toward me, “I expect more from you, Lark.”

  “Me?” I whine, still upset about her earlier attack on me. “Really? I’m the Dark witch, remember? Aren’t I supposed to be all unpredictable and erratic and evil?”

  “You may be Dark but you like rules,” Bethina snaps. “Now, put some clothes on, young lady.”

  I glance down at my sheer cotton gown. Heat spreads across my face. I hurry ov
er to my trunk and take out a new dress. Knowing only Beck and Bethina can see me, I strip naked. Beck grins and then politely turns his eyes down before Bethina smacks him on the back of the head.

  As I lower the dress over my arms, Bethina says, “I think you should wear something warmer, Lark. Why don’t you put on some pants and a sweater?”

  “Why?” My arms are bent over my head, waiting.

  “Because you’re not staying here.”

  “Of course she is. Lark is staying until October sixth. It’s been arranged. We’ll leave then,” Beck says.

  “No, Beck.” Bethina’s mouth is hard. “You’re both going. If you want to save yourselves, you need to leave now. Immediately.”

  I ignore Bethina’s wardrobe advice and finish pulling on the dress. I loop my arm through Beck’s. He leans his full weight on me. I’m steadying him for once.

  My mind is now sharp and free from the haze. “What’s going on?”

  “They sent Beck after you last night so we could hold discussions. About what to do with you.” Bethina’s composed demeanor cracks. “Lark, they decided last night to permanently imprison you. But now…”

  “What?” Beck and I cry in unison.

  “You’ve gone and made things worse. So much worse.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “You’ve bound yourselves. And the only way to undo a binding is death.” She stops, unable to go on.

  I understand before Beck does. The splinter group. We signed our death warrant when we bound ourselves.

  My voice is urgent and scared. “You think they’re going to kill Beck?”

  “I don’t think it matters which of you they kill,” Bethina whispers. It’s little more than a sigh. She points at me. “You are Dark. And you,” she says as she nods toward Beck, “are bound to a Dark witch. They killed Lark’s father for that.”

  I’m unable to move. They want to kill us? These Light witches want to kill me? And Beck? I know Eamon feels that way, but the others? It doesn’t make any sense, Beck’s going to be their leader. He should be safe.

  Waves of desperation crash into me. Each one grows larger and larger, until my body, unsure whether to run or fight, is completely paralyzed. Frozen, I’m forced to watch Beck spring into action. His movements are a blur. He throws a sweater at me.

  My arms are numb, too heavy to lift. The sweater falls to the ground. Bethina picks it up and forces it over my head. I offer no resistance. My body and mind are in a fog. Pants are pulled over my legs and Beck forces my feet into my boots.

  Around the room, the silent chanters continue their spell. My gaze rests on Henry and Eloise. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

  Bethina understands. “Not them, Lark. They voted against it.”

  I bob my groggy head to show I understand. My friends fought for me.

  I’m no good like this—unable to move. With concentration, I focus my energy and wrest strength from those around me. It builds stronger and stronger until I slam the paralysis out of my way. The urge to fight replaces it.

  “The others?”

  “Eamon hasn’t wasted his time here. He has a solid core of followers ready to do his bidding,” Bethina answers.

  Images of Eamon and his growing entourage flash through my mind. Every day, they were there, taunting me during lessons, watching me during my free time, singing that damn song.

  “How long?” I ask.

  Bethina shrugs. “If you keep acting like a zombie, not long. Beck can’t hold them by himself.”

  That registers. Beck needs me. Burning builds inside my heart. The tingling along my spine grows. Outside, the sky dims and rain pelts the window. At the lawn’s edge, trees bend in half under the gusting wind.

  I will fight. I need to fight.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “There’s an escort of Dark witches waiting outside the dome.”

  If we can get away before the spell wears off, perhaps we can avoid an attack from the Dark witches. For Henry and Eloise’s sake.

  Panic builds in my chest again. “And Beck? Can Mother keep me from hurting him?”

  Bethina dips her head. Tears glisten in her eyes. “I don’t know. If there were some other way...”

  Beck’s light touches me. “It’s a risk I’ll take.” He kisses my forehead. “We need to go now. I don’t know how much longer our spell will hold.”

  “But you can’t come with me!” I stare at him in disbelief. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

  Beck glances at Bethina, waiting for her to interject. When she doesn’t, he says, “Henry told me about the protection spell. They can’t harm one of us without hurting the other.” He squeezes my hand. “She can’t hurt me.”

  The storm slams into the house. It rocks and the hallway pictures rattle. “It’s me you need to be afraid of! Not my mother. Me!”

  His face crumples. “I can’t stay here, Lark. They’ll kill me.”

  From across the room, Bethina speaks. “When you bound yourselves, you broke the protection spell, Beck.” Her strained voice shows the emotional toll. “Malin may strike you down upon first sight.”

  What have we done? My hands quiver. Magic flows into my body, filling each crevice with a tingling sensation. I lift my hand to strike out at the chanters. I’ll destroy each and every one of them before they have a chance to hurt Beck.

  He wraps his arms around me, blocking them from my sight. “It’s not their fault. Don’t punish them for what I did.”

  The air around us shimmers and goes still. The witches continue their silent chant but now they seem more animated.

  We’ve run out of choices.

  “We have to go.” Beck takes my hand. He leads me through the mass of people clogging the doorway. I follow, still upset with him, still irate at our situation and still unsure what to do next. This would be so much easier if it were just about me. But now, Beck’s made himself a target too. And unlike me, he has to worry about his own people turning on him, as well as the Dark witches.

  Beck wastes no time getting us down the stairs and out the front door. Despite being early morning, it’s black as night. The rain comes down sideways, stinging my skin like a thousand angry wasps. An unearthly howl envelops us.

  “Can you stop this?” Beck points at the storm.

  “No. I don’t know how.”

  Over the howl, I hear chanting. My eyes widen, and I gape at Beck and Bethina.

  They hear it too.

  Lightning cracks the sky in a long jagged streak. Every part of my body tells me to stay and fight. If we run now, we’re going to have to keep running. These so-called Light witches—this splinter group—will hunt us until they destroy us. That’s been made clear.

  “We should end this now,” I scream into the storm.

  “No. You need to go.” Bethina shoves me off the porch and onto the lawn. In front of me, all I see is rain. The tree line has completely disappeared. I hesitate and take a step back toward the house. Confusion consumes me—I’m so lost. All I need is to be strong and resist the growing desire to strike out, but it’s so tempting.

  Energy pricks at me. I clench my fist before slowly uncurling my fingers.

  “Lark, stop. I won’t let you.” Beck grabs my hand “That’s not who you are.”

  Warmness and clarity flow through me. Beck’s right. If I harm them, hurt any of them intentionally, then I’m everything they said I was—evil, out-of-control, a monster. And that’s exactly what I’m fighting against.

  I cup my hands over my eyes like a visor to keep the rain out, but it doesn’t work.

  “Where?” I shout.

  In response, Beck grabs my hand and starts into the storm. I can’t see anything except a small glow off to my side. I squint to identify the strange object.

  Another light appears next to it.

  “Run!” I scream.

  From the East Lawn, a growing group of Light witches descend on us. At the front, leading the onslaught, is Eamon. We??
?re easy targets on the open lawn, even in the torrential rain.

  I chase after Beck but trail him by a good ten feet. Behind me, Bethina fumbles through the rain. The soggy lawn offers no traction and I slip, landing on my hands and knees. Bethina reaches me before I can pick myself up.

  “Get Beck. Tell him to come here. I need him,” she orders.

  “But we can’t stop! They’re nearly here!” The air around us shakes and twitches.

  Bethina sticks out her hand as if to catch something. “There is no more time! You’re not going to make it. Get Beck. Now!” She retreats toward the East Lawn.

  Through the heavy rain, I see Beck’s figure running toward me.

  “What’s wrong?” he shouts. As he nears me, the air trembles again. Beck sprints and throws himself in front of me as if his body were a shield.

  Lightning lights the sky and touches down near the East Lawn. A wail permeates the howling wind. Beck’s face is a mixture of awe and terror.

  “Bethina needs you!” I yell over the noise.

  “Can you do that again? Can you find your fear and do that again?” Beck’s eyes flash in the night.

  I hesitate. If I use magic, will I be able to stop? It doesn’t matter, I have no choice. “I don’t know if I can direct it, but I think I can make the lightning strike again.”

  The air shimmers once more and Beck spins. He throws out his hands in a stop motion.

  “Good. You do that, Birdie. Send off a bolt or two while you run to the edge. Aim for Eamon.”

  His eyes linger on me as if trying to memorize my face. “Bethina and I will keep the spells from striking you.”

  “What about the two of you?”

  “We’ll catch up.” He kisses me quickly and runs off toward Bethina.

  I have no choice but to run for the barrier. Through the pelting rain, I search for any sign of weakness in the dome, but there’s only an unbroken line. Behind me, the air churns but nothing strikes me. Beck and Bethina must be incredibly strong to hold off the crush of witches.

  When I near the tree line, a nagging feeling chews at me.

  I abruptly stop my full-speed run.

  Beck needs to escape Summer Hill. If he’s left behind, Eamon may kill him.

  Panic and anger tear at me. I won’t let him sacrifice himself for me, if that’s what he has planned. I whip around so I’m facing the battle head on. Hundreds of whizzing lights illuminate Bethina and Beck. The attack comes from all directions. But they seem untouched—for now.

  As I watch their choreographed movements, the anger builds until lightning rips the sky apart. If I can hold off the witches long enough, Beck can run. He’ll be with me.

  A bolt touches down and a line of fire spreads from the hit, unhindered by the rain.

  Beck turns to flee, but Bethina holds his arm and points toward something I can’t see. Beck begins spell-casting again.

  I need another strike. Something bigger to give him more time. I focus my thoughts and call on every feeling of anger and hatred I’ve ever had.

  These witches want to kill Beck. I narrow my eyes and…

  An ear-piercing screech drowns out the roar of battle. The dome shakes and collapses. Snow pours in from all directions, mingling with the rain, and brings an icy chill with it. Dark witches pour through the opening, aiming their magic at the advancing Light witches.

  Terrified, I spin back toward Bethina and Beck—away from the edges of the dome and into the thick of the battle. Bright pulses of energy whiz past me in all directions. Unsure where to go, I stand in place, frozen. I’m trapped.

  A rough yank on my arm brings me back to my senses.

  “Lark, c’mon! You need to get out of here!” Kyra shouts over the thunder. I blink at my friend, trying to figure out how she came to be standing next to me.

  “You have to move! They’re going to hurt you!” She pulls on my arm harder.

  I’m torn. I want to run and save myself. I want to take the chance my mother and her group won’t destroy whatever small part of goodness exists in me. But Beck’s here and I can’t leave him to face this on his own. Not when I know what happened to my father. I can’t let history repeat itself.

  Through the pounding rain and snow, I see Eamon and his group closing in on Beck. He and Bethina are grossly outnumbered. I can’t let this happen. I need to keep Beck safe.

  I fling my hand out before me and another bolt scars the sky before striking the ground near the house. I squint into the rain, trying to see how close the bolt hit.

  Bethina’s body lies crumpled on the ground. Beck cradles her in his lap. The air around me shakes and twitches.

  A ring of fire slowly spreads around Beck and Bethina.

  My scream pierces the air. “No!”

  I did this. My out-of-control magic hit Bethina. I did this, not Eamon, not the Dark witches. Me. Rage fills me and shakes every nerve ending.

  How could I let this happen? How?

  Lightning strikes again, this time closer to the house. The fire snakes near the front porch, its hungry tongue searching for a meal.

  “Lark!” Annalise’s icy voice is urgent. Frantic even. “You need to come with us.”

  The scene in front of me holds me captive. Beck presses Bethina’s limp form close to his heart and sways back and forth. Dark witches swarm past him, ignoring him and laying waste to Summer Hill. An explosion from deep inside the house rocks me back on my heels. Orange flames engulf the upper floor and screams fill the air as Light witches run from the advancing Dark army.

  This is all my fault.

  Without warning, Beck’s eyes land on me. Two glowing orbs full of horror. A thousand knives pierce me and rip at my heart. Beck’s emotions overtake my own.

  He knew what I was capable of. He knew, but he didn’t believe.

  Our eyes lock, and in my head, I hear his trembling voice. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault. He cries over and over again.

  With concentration, I shut my mind to him. His distraught wails fade to silence. For the first time in my life, I force Beck out. The gold in his eyes glows brighter, daring me to look away. They show the hurt his words won’t.

  I fall to my knees, sobbing. The rain stings my face but I don’t care—the physical pain is nothing but a nuisance compared to the ache in my heart. I pitch myself onto my hands and scream. The storm swallows the sound and lashes me harder.

  Two feet appear near my head and a hand extends down toward me. Kyra.

  “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you manipulating me,” I shriek.

  She recoils. “I can’t manipulate you, Lark. No one can, except him.”

  Him. Beck. My Dark heart, a vibrating mass of destruction, whirls under the strain of the relentless stabbing pressure.

  “I can’t leave Beck.” I scream. “They’ll kill him.”

  Annalise grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet. She peers into my eyes. “What did you two do?”

  “We bound ourselves.”

  Annalise shakes her head and a rush of air passes through her lips. “I can’t worry about him right now. Only you.”

  “But–”

  “Stop arguing and do as you’re told.”

  I hesitate. Henry said I had to go with them. Bethina said it. But, every fiber of my body screams at me to run as fast as I can.

  And yet I don’t.

  Kyra stands in front of me, hands on her hips. “If he’s near you, you’re going to kill him. And who knows what Malin will do now that you’re permanently bound. At least this way he has a chance. We have orders to kill Eamon. Beck will be safer here.”

  They want me to leave Beck. My heart fractures. How will it beat without him? I can’t leave him. I can’t walk away from him like this.

  But I can’t be with him. I’m too dangerous.

  The one thing no one has ever questioned is that I will try to kill him. My love isn’t enough to protect Beck. Just like love wasn’t enough for my mother to protect my father
. Just like it wasn’t enough to protect Bethina. Beck will die if he’s near me.

  If my mother’s army succeeds and kills Eamon, Beck’s safer with the Light witches, among his own people, far away from me. They may not harm him, but I will.

  Lark? Beck’s voice overruns my control. Wait for me.

  Tears mix with the snow and rain, and roll down my face. I don’t want to hurt you. I try to sound firm—I want the hard edge of my voice to hold him from me. I need him to stay away.

  Wait, he pleads.

  I blink. Bethina’s body lies motionless on the ground. Beck is no longer cradling her. He’s running toward me.

  Yes. This is what we need to do. We need to fix this together. If I can just feel his arms around me, this will all be better. Mother is going to have Eamon killed and he’ll no longer be a threat to us. Everything will be better.

  The rain slows to a drizzle and the snow stops.

  I can see clearly now—Eamon and the advancing witches, Beck running toward Kyra, Annalise, and me. Toward the girl who will kill him. Toward the one person who will, without a doubt, destroy him.

  Toward me.

  My heart seizes. I’ve known this all along. He can’t come with me. I’ll never feel his arms again. I can’t be with him. The only thing we have is hope that his own people will forgive him.

  I clutch my pendant and allow my heart to fill with love. I need him to feel how I love him. My words tangle with my sobs. I love you. I will never stop loving you.

  The pendant falls to the ground as my wet hand slides into Annalise’s. Kyra stands next to me and links her arm through my empty one. She beams at me.

  Lark —No. Don’t do this. Wait. You don’t need to do this.

  I whip my head to gaze back over my shoulder. Beck has stopped running and is only twenty feet away from us. You can’t save me from myself.

  Kyra holds my hand tightly. “We have to go. Please, Lark. We’re running out of time.”

  But my eyes are trained on Beck. His chest heaves with each breath, his fists clenched at his side, but he doesn’t step any closer to us. Rain streams over his forehead and down his cheeks—I can’t see his tears, but I know they’re there.

  “You have to leave him. Unless you want Malin to kill him.” Annalise hisses into my ear. I begin to protest, but Annalise stops me. “Then leave him. His own parents would never allow harm to come to him.”

  A slight shake of my head sends Beck’s emotions coursing through me, as his face crumples with despair.

  “Let’s go.” My voice quivers as I turn away from him. I need to do this fast, before I fall apart. Before I make a decision that goes against everything I’ve been fighting for—staying me. Not completely Dark, not Light either. Just Lark, a girl worth fighting for.

  Without a glance back, I feel Beck’s distraught eyes pierce through me.

  I love you. I love you. I love you. His voice ricochets through my mind.

  Annalise’s fingers curl around mine and I spin into a black void.

  My heart shreds. The pieces scatter to the wind.

  I’m Dark.

  But Beck’s light still shines.

  Acknowledgements

  I could pretend Larkstorm is solely a product of my own abilities, but that would be a lie. Each word you read on these pages is the result of many people’s hard work. Most readers don’t realize the blood-letting books go through. If I could show you all twenty-three versions of Larkstorm…well, it wouldn’t be pretty. Lots and lots of red ink.

  The first person to read the first draft of Larkstorm was Veronique Launier. She told me it was a good story, but not great. She made my pages bleed. I may have cried a little, but I’m so glad she didn’t hold back.

  I can’t write an acknowledgment page without thanking my Write Nighters: Kathy Bradey, Summayah Dawd, Laurie Devore, Deborah Driza, Sarah Enni, Rachael Kirkendall, Stephanie Kuehn, Cory Jackson, Veronique Launier, Kara Mufasa, Vahini Naidoo, Veronica Roth, Jennifer Walkup, Kaitlin Ward, and Margo West.

  Without all of you, I’m not sure I could handle the ups and downs of publishing. I believe most of you read Larkstorm at least once, if not a few times. And with each set of notes, it became a real book. Long live geoducks and pedowolves.

  A special note about Jenn Walkup—I think she’s read this book more than anyone else. She’s also held my hand more than anyone else. Basically, she’s an amazing writing buddy.

  The ladies of LitBitches—thank you for the cheerleading and letting me be part of your individual publication journeys.

  I have the best agent-mates ever. Jaime Reed (you’re always ready to help with anything I need. Thank you), Dan Haring (I probably shouldn’t thank you since you are a constant distraction for me on Twitter…grrr!) and Sarah Fine (my cheerleader, confidant and line-editing guru).

  Those who follow me on twitter may have heard of #evilintern. She has a real name and it’s Rebecca Yeager. Becky has the honor of being Lark and Beck’s first super-fan. She’s also two-parts vicious editorial ninja and one-part amazing finder of random internet distractions.

  I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Terra Layton and her detailed notes. Her suggestions brought a new layer of depth to the story and I’m eternally grateful.

  Everyone knows a picture speaks a thousand words. Sarah Marino, the book designer of Larkstorm, created a beautiful image that surpassed my expectations.

  A HUGE thank you to everyone at Nancy Coffey Literary and Media Management for letting me be part of your amazing agency. Nancy Coffey and Jo Volpe, without your support I wouldn’t be realizing my dream. Sara Kendall, Good God, where do I start? You took something I believed was very good and helped sculpt it into something amazing. You pushed me to consider new options and variables. I am forever in your debt.

  I can’t imagine a better partner on this journey than my agent, Kathleen Ortiz. Without her encouragement, Larkstorm would be hidden depths of my computer. When I’d all but given up on the book, she told me she still believed in it. That’s all I needed—for someone to still believe. She picked me up, let me lick my wounds, and then kicked me in the ass and told me to get to work.

  Last but not least, I have to thank my husband David. Despite his crazy travel schedule, he always made time for me to write. There were days he’d step off a plane from Asia, head directly to coach our son’s soccer game, and then, even though he wanted to crawl into bed and sleep, tell me to go write. Force me actually. He always puts me first and treats me like I’m the most important person in his world. I hope he knows he’s the most important person in mine.

 
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