Forsaken

by J. L. Weil

  “Your eyes. They no longer change colors,” he commented.

  I lifted my chin, keeping my expression neutral. “That’s right. I finally embraced who I am.”

  “Charlotte,” Dash rumbled under his breath, his eyes occasionally shifting to me.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I have this under control. Get Star.”

  Ryker framed Star’s cheeks. “Hey, look at me.”

  “Kiss her,” I said.

  Ryker glanced up at me. “She’s not Sleeping Beauty.”

  “And I’m not Cinderella. Kiss her. She needs something to remind her of her humanity.”

  His gold eyes returned to Star’s. He sighed before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. Star didn’t so much as move a muscle. She just stood there, letting Ryker kiss her, and I felt foolish for suggesting such a fairytale gesture.

  He pulled away and stared down into her dainty features. She blinked. The dead glaze remained in her eyes, and I wanted to scream. Then, as defeat tore at me, bits of life flickered in her. She focused on her surroundings, eventually landing on Ryker.

  With no words spoken, Star launched into his arms.

  My heart melted in the most romantic moment of the year, but I could savor the warm feeling later. Hardening my resolve, I turned stony eyes to my father, the blade still pressed against his throat. “You’re wrong,” I said with blazing fervor. “I can kill you.” And I knew what I had to do. It caused my recently warmed heart to turn as cold as ice. This was the only way to stop the disease from spreading inside my father. His need for power and immortality festered within him. Destroying the tower wouldn’t stop him. As he’d said, he would only rebuild. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I took a deep breath, steeling myself. You can do this. You have to do this. There is no other way. The dagger against his throat wobbled, tears gathering in my eyes.

  “I’m your father,” he stated with conviction.

  I shook my head. “No. He died in the mist.”

  Dash grabbed my hand. “Charlotte?” he whispered.

  “I-I’ll do it,” I stammered, straightening my shoulders, and taking another breath. He understood what I planned to do, but I couldn’t seem to get myself to move.

  Dash took the blade from my hand. “I can’t let you do this,” he confessed. My shoulders slumped. Dash assumed my position in front of my father. “I’ll make it quick. I promise,” he said to me, waiting for my permission, but I was rendered immobile. Could I really ask Dash to kill my father?

  Something inside me shattered. I wanted to crash to the floor, but I drew strength from the man beside me. He wouldn’t let me fall apart.

  Panicked, my father shook his head. “Charlotte, you can’t do this. Think of your mother.”

  “I’m sorry. It has to be done.”

  He held up his hands to ward us off. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

  I spread out my arms, a fresh bout of tears cascading down my cheeks. “Wouldn’t I?”

  I wanted him dead. I wanted him to pay.

  God save his soul.

  Epilogue

  Dash

  “I told you I would kill you,” I reminded Charlotte’s father.

  Charlotte was the strongest person I knew, and she had made the toughest choice of her life. Her father’s eyes widened a second before I thrust the dagger into his chest.

  His face contorted as silence descended.

  “No!” Ember yelled, breaking the stillness of the battle surrounding us. She fought her way through the swarms of warriors and zombies to reach her fallen father, as he sank to his knees, clutching his chest. Ember dropped to the ground beside him.

  Stepping away, I gave her space, and turned, gathering up the girl I needed more than air to breathe. Tears were streaming down her chalky white cheeks. I tucked her small frame against my body, wishing I could take her pain. She was shaking, her breathing so shallow I feared it would stop.

  From the moment I killed her father, the fighting around us ceased. Upon seeing their leader fall, the Night’s Guards dropped their weapons, and harnessed their abilities. No one seemed to know what to do next.

  Ember pushed to her feet, standing over her father’s body and glaring at me with evident pain and a desire for revenge. “This isn’t over,” she spat. “I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? It might not be today, but someday, when you’re least expecting it, I’ll be there.”

  I said nothing. How could I? If I had been in her shoes, I would have done way worse. I kept my body in front of Charlotte’s, shielding her just in case, but Ember ran.

  For Charlotte’s sake I let her go, but make no mistake, if Ember ever tried to hurt her sister, I would be there, and I wouldn’t let her run a second time. Ember might very well hunt us down, and I would deal with her then, but for now, I would do everything in my power to give Charlotte a life worth living.

  I would love her fiercely.

  I would protect her with my life.

  I would make her happy again.

  My arms tightened around her as I led her away from the violence. There was nothing left for her to do.

  “Is he really gone? He won’t wake up immortal?” Her speech was choppy, and the raw emotion there cut straight through me like a saw.

  “He’s really gone. I’m sorry, Freckles. If there had been another way…”

  Nothing I could say would take the pain away. Her father might not have been an honorable man or even a decent man, but he had still been her father. She had loved him and had hoped he might become a better person.

  In the end, he was his own worst enemy.

  She choked back sobs, wrapping herself around me. “Take me home.”

  Home.

  The word echoed in my head.

  Where would we make our home?

  Far from the white city, I thought. I didn’t want her to be reminded daily of what happened here—all the pain and heartache.

  No more running. No more fighting. No more hiding.

  We were free.

  Weeks had passed since the epic battle, and there had been no sign of Ember, but I didn’t delude myself. Someday our paths would cross again.

  Charlotte and I had settled into our new life just outside of Hurst—close enough to see Star and Ryker, but just far enough away from the crowd of the city. Neither of us felt ready to throw ourselves into a community.

  We’d both had enough adventure to last a lifetime, but our journey wasn’t over.

  Charlotte was working, making good on her promise to the Forsaken. She spent her days helping those who needed to be detached from the mist’s clutches, and waking those still under the spell of Ceraspan.

  It became our mission with Star and Ryker by our side—and the ranger—to awaken the masses.

  We had purpose.

  We were making a difference.

  “I love you,” Charlotte whispered, coming up to hug me.

  My arms tightened around her, and I kissed her wet lips softly. “Not nearly as much as I love you.”

  A hint of a smile touched her rainbow eyes. “I’ve seen our future, you know.”

  “Is that so?”

  She nodded while I brushed the curls off her face. “How do you feel about being a dad?”

  The color fled from my face. “Like now?”

  Her fingers looped behind my neck. “Someday, but you have to marry me first.”

  She had me going for a second there. Me? A father? Yeah, the world wasn’t ready for that yet.

  I couldn’t erase what had happened. She had lost friends. Her father was dead, killed in a war that could have been avoided. Gone forever.

  And the rest of us had to live with the consequences of our actions, but we got to live.

  Without her father, the Institute fell apart.

  No more lab. No more tests. No more Night’s Guards.

  Others would try to rise and take his place, but they would have to deal with us.

  A tide of emotion rolled through me. Happines
s. Regret. Sorrow. But most of all love and hope.

  Charlotte had calmed the storm within me.

  She’d found a way to fill all the cracks in my heart. Chipped away at my hard exterior, and found my soft, gooey center.

  I’d never be the Slayer again.

  I would spend the rest of my days showing her how much she had changed me, and what she meant to me. Thanks to her, we’d get that chance. Charlotte was special. Neither of us knew just how different she really would be since her transformation, but the bond that was created between us was unbreakable. Being tied to one girl for the rest of my life would have had me running for the hills a year ago. Now the only running I was doing was toward the girl of my dreams.

  The world was still a screwed up place, and we were far from how things were before the mist. We still had so much to do, so much to rebuild, but at least we had ousted the rotten seed.

  We had won.

  THE END

  I hope you enjoyed Charlotte and Dash’s journey. In this series, I ventured into a new genre and found a great love for dystopian novels. Mixing the fairytale elements into this world was a blast. I enjoyed every second I spent writing these books. It’s always hard for me to say goodbye to characters. Charlotte and Dash were born from an idea formed by my sister and me, which makes these books even more special to me. But I am excited for the unwritten stories that are to come.

  Thank you for reading and supporting me! It means everything to me.

  xoxo,

  Jennifer

  If you loved Charlotte and Dash’s story and are looking for your next series to fall in love with, check out book one in the Dragon Descendants. Stealing Tranquility is equally as sparky and sexy. Continue below for a sneak peek.

  STEALING TRANQUILITY – Four dragons. One headstrong female. And loads of trouble.

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  STEALING TRANQUILITY

  Book One in the Dragon Descendants Series

  Chapter 1

  My feet pounded the pavement as I ran down the street. A warm pizza box bounced in my hands while my Converse crunched pebbles, empty soda cans, and discarded fast food wrappers. I probably shouldn’t be running. It wasn’t my forte. Any second, I was positive I would do a face-plant, and end up losing my first meal in days.

  “Come back, you little thief!”

  Thief? Okay, so technically I did steal a pizza, but in my defense, I was starving, and this was about survival.

  The cook chasing me was bound to run out of steam soon. I hoped. The last thing I needed was to get caught.

  Pushing myself, I bolted down Elm Avenue like my hair was on fire, dodging a couple walking their dog. I turned the corner and a gust of wind slapped me in the face. Damn. If this took much longer, my pizza would be cold.

  “I’m calling the cops!” he yelled.

  Go for it. Good luck finding me. I would take my chances and called bs on his threat.

  I knew the difference between right and wrong, and stealing was wrong, but sometimes, you needed to break the law to live, or starve to death. And I wasn’t ready to die.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d stolen a meal, and honestly, I doubted it would be my last. When I came across the restaurant earlier, I had stopped and glanced longingly at the filled booths, seeing the happy faces as the patrons stuffed their bellies full of garlic breadsticks, and deep-dish pizza. At that moment, I would have killed for a hot slice of sausage with extra cheese, loaded with tomato sauce. My stomach rumbled (angry with me), telling me I needed to find food sooner than later.

  That’s when the plan had been born. Over the last few weeks, I’d become quite skilled at being invisible, and taking what I wanted. Wallets. Clothes. And pizza.

  I had scampered down the pizzeria’s alley, seeing the back door slightly ajar. From inside, I’d heard voices and the smells of baked dough, zesty tomato sauce, and Italian herbs. Peeking around the door, I had spotted an open box with a fresh-out-of-the-oven pizza sitting on the end of a metal counter. All I had thought was Jackpot!

  My triumph had been short-lived, unfortunately.

  Looking left and right, I had tiptoed inside, keeping below the counter. There had been a guy opening one of the many ovens and another spinning a ball of dough in the air. Both of them had seemed too occupied to notice me. Quickly, I snatched the box and backed out the way I had come in.

  “Hey!” a voice had called behind me.

  I hadn’t bothered to look, and just started running, the pizza box tucked under my arm. It hadn’t been a very thought-out decision, but rarely any of mine were. Stealing wasn’t something I wanted on my record.

  Hell. I didn’t want a record at all.

  At just a few months shy of eighteen, I would be shoved into a foster home or juvie, and I’d rather live on the streets. My legs burned, and my lungs ached from the chill, but I pressed on, glancing over my shoulder to judge how much distance I had gained. Not enough.

  For a cook, the guy was persistent—not that I knew a lot of cooks, just what I’d seen on TV, but most of them didn’t strike me as a long-distance running type of guys.

  Just my luck that this chef would be the exception.

  Taking the next right, I cut the corner sharply, and the bottom of my worn-out shoes skidded over loose rock. My hands flailed in the air as I lost my balance. Shit. This was it. The face-plant was imminent.

  By an act of God, I managed to stay on my feet, keep the pizza in my hand, and regain my composure. Smooth move, Olivia. I took off down Oglesby Street.

  “I better not see your face again!” the cook screamed, finally giving up. He stood panting at the corner.

  Yes! Victory is mine.

  A smile crossed my lips when I hooked a left around the corner, but I didn’t ease up on my pace for another five minutes and refrained from jumping in the air. Being homeless stunk, and I wasn’t just talking about my body odor. Being homeless in Chicago was plain insanity.

  An icy breeze whipped through my hoodie, sending a thousand tiny pinpricks over my flesh. I huddled up against a brick wall, the smell of pizza stirring up hunger pangs that assaulted my belly.

  I crouched in a corner behind a dumpster in an empty alley near the local college, digging into the pizza box with a sigh of pleasure. I savored the taste of sweet basil tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese, burning it to memory. This was a moment I didn’t want to forget.

  I swallowed, positive I’d died and gone to heaven.

  When was the last time I had pizza?

  Months?

  I couldn’t be certain. Hell, I didn’t even know what time it was, what day, or if I would survive the night. What I did know was I was going to feast like a king and then find somewhere warm to stay before I froze to death. The boogers in my nose already had ice crystals forming on them.

  On nights like this, it was hard to forget how my life had ended up so pitifully. It was never supposed to be like this, not for me, but fate had a way of throwing you curveballs.

  Like the day I found out Mom was killed in a car crash. After she passed, her loser husband—not my father—had decided he no longer wanted a kid, especially an angry and lost one. Denny had his own life, his own plans, and those didn’t include me. Not that I cared. He was an asshat. I didn’t need him. That had been my mantra since the stepfather-of-the-year had kicked me out two months ago. I’d been on my own ever since.


  My real father split when I was a baby. Mom sure knew how to pick them.

  Good riddance.

  I didn’t need a daddy figure anyway.

  My mother had been beautiful, silky honey hair that shone in the sunlight, curves that turned men’s heads, and aqua eyes that glittered like the ocean. Everyone had said we looked like sisters, twins even, but our personalities couldn’t have been more different. For all her flaws, I loved her immensely. We had been partners, best friends, and I missed her something fierce. She might have been flighty in love, but as a mother, she was everything a girl could ask for.

  I was determined to not be so unlucky in love, which was why I planned to never fall into it. I was protecting my heart. Mine had bled enough.

  After Mom’s accident, my life as I knew it was over, but I never imagined it would be this bad. I blamed my stepfather for everything. He didn’t even really qualify as one. The two of us never saw eye-to-eye. Mom had an older sister, but I knew very little about her and even less about my real father and his family. It was just me, myself, and I.

  Those first few weeks after Mom passed were the worst. I’d never felt so alone in my life, and if it hadn’t been for my best friend, Staci, I don’t think I would have gotten through it. Staci and I were friends at first sight. Her personality matched her wild wardrobe, which looked like Katy Perry’s stylist had sex with Marilyn Manson’s makeup artist and Staci was the result. Her pink short hair, heavy eyeliner, black nail polish, pink boots, and tight jeans completed her everyday look, and yet she managed to appear adorable.

  Staci had begged me to come stay with her, and as much as I wanted to, I knew her mom couldn’t afford to care for me. She had her hands full, working two jobs to support Staci, and her younger brother, Aiden. I refused to burden my best friend. If I could get a job and contribute, that would be another story, which was what I would do first thing Monday morning—job hunt.