The Forsaken Saga Complete Box Set (Books 1-4)

by Sophia Sharp

  That revelation strikes me like a thunderbolt.

  Content. Have I ever been content before? Had I ever felt truly happy?

  No.

  Even the time I treasured in the pool, where my mind stopped thinking and all I knew was the motion of my body, I hadn’t been content. I’d only been… numb.

  “Yes,” I smile. I dial Katy’s number. “Yes, I think that’s a great idea.”

  ***

  Spencer and I meet Katy outside Edge, a popular campus bar-slash-lounge. They’re lax with ID’s, so it’s not long before the three of us are set up with drinks, laughing and enjoying our final night together.

  It turns out Katy spend the day—and most of last night—visiting some of her old flames. She apologized for missing my calls, and asked if they were urgent since I had made so many. I tell her “no.”

  Spencer pays our tab at the end and we head outside. He hugs Katy goodbye, telling her it’s a shame that she didn’t come by his place, too. I hit his arm. He surprises me—and Katy, obviously—by turning and kissing me right there on the street.

  When I’m released, my legs are wobbly and I’m a little breathless. I see a knowing smile spread on Katy’s face.

  Spencer takes off on his bike. Katy and I walk the long way home. We don’t talk about Andrew. I feel like everything with him is very far behind me now.

  Better to simply forget.

  Katy and I stay up late sitting on the couch, talking. Both of us are trying to make the most of our last hours together. The movers are coming tomorrow, and Katy will be gone by the time the sun goes down.

  I tell her everything about Spencer. She deserves to know. I tell her of his music, his workshop, his books. She listens to me ramble on with a sweet smile on her face. Then she asks me about the sex.

  I blush a little, but everything I’ve said has been building to the point. I tell her about what happened today. About how amazing he made me feel. She says she’s glad he turned out to be right for me, and that she is sure it will last.

  Then we go to sleep, our hearts filled with sadness for the friendship we share, but also with hope for the chance of love that our future brings.

  ***

  I wake up the next morning to the blaring of my alarm. Drowsy, I feel around the nightstand for my phone, find it, hit snooze… then throw it halfway across the room.

  Seconds later—well, actually ten minutes, but it doesn’t feel that way to my sleep-deprived mind—the phone starts screaming again.

  I had the brilliant idea of setting the most obnoxious alarm I could find last night. To make sure I actually got out of bed.

  Right now, there’s nothing I regret more.

  I groan and swing my legs over the edge, then stagger across the room and pick up my phone. I turn around to find Katy sitting up on her bunk.

  “Ugh, what time is it?” she grumbles.

  “Eleven,” I say. “We got five hours of beauty sleep. Come on, the moving truck’s going to be here soon.”

  I start the coffee maker while Katy dresses. I pour myself a cup, throw some ice in it to cool it quickly, and chug it black. The bitterness makes me gag. But it also makes me feel more awake. I make another cup, adding cream and sugar this time, and sip it hot while I wait for the caffeine to hit my bloodstream.

  It’s overcast outside. It also looks cold. I come to the window and open it to let the air in. There’s a smell of an impending rainstorm in the air. The perfect weather for a perfect day, I think sourly.

  Katy comes out of the shower, and we share breakfast in silence. It’s ironic how well the weather matches our moods. We said all we had to say last night. Today, it’s about facing the music.

  Katy sighs when her phone buzzes, bringing both of us out of our trance. “The truck’s here,” she says.

  “Looks like we gotta get started,” I remark.

  “No sense putting it off.” Katy smiles weakly. “Thanks for offering to help.”

  I frown at her in mock-displeasure. “Are you kidding? Just because I don’t want you to leave doesn’t mean I’m going to throw a tantrum and sabotage the move.”

  That earns a little laugh from her. I’m glad. There’s too much gloom in the apartment.

  She picks up the phone. “Hi. Yeah. Yeah, you’re at the right place. I’ll come down and open the doors.” She hangs up and looks at me. “The guy said he’ll leave the truck open while he goes for lunch. He’ll give me the key after.”

  “He’s not going to help?”

  Katy shrugs. “Apparently it’s just a rental service. He drops the truck off, gives me the keys, and leaves. I have to drive it home.”

  “Okay.” I stand up. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  An hour or two later, I sit down on the edge of my bed and sigh, looking around the room. Katy has been downstairs for a while, insisting on organizing the truck herself before taking off.

  The quiet of her absence is already echoing through our room.

  Skinny arms suddenly come around my shoulders, enveloping me in a hug. “You’re amazing,” Katy whispers. “And I’m going to miss you so much when I’m gone.”

  I feel tears building behind my eyes. There goes my calm. “I’m going to miss you, too,” I mumble. “Thank you for everything.”

  She nudges my shoulder and smiles. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

  “You taught me a lot,” I say. “About life. Boys. All the important stuff.”

  “Pssh, don’t make me blush,” Katy says, looking away. She rubs at her eyes.

  “Hey, what were you doing out there for so long, anyway?” I ask. “When I left you, most of the stuff in the truck seemed to be in good order.”

  “Oh.” Katy suddenly looks very coy. “I got a phone call from… an acquaintance of ours. Asking about you.”

  I bunch up my brows. “Who?”

  She smiles. “Who do you think?”

  “Spencer?”

  “The one and only!”

  “Wait, he called you… about me?” I frown. “Why?”

  Katy bites her lip. “He made me promise not to tell.”

  I laugh. “Now I have to know.”

  She considers it for a moment… and nods. “Okay. But only to get your mind off Andrew. And you can’t rat me out to Spencer. Deal? You have to act all surprised when he asks.”

  “Asks what?”

  “Well, you know how Spencer has his apartment, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He called me…” Katy pauses, “…to ask if I thought it would be a good idea for him to offer you the spare bedroom once I’m gone!”

  “What?” I’m shocked. “Why?”

  “Well, he knows your rent will double without me. But he doesn’t want his offer to seem like charity. He asked for my advice.”

  I’m dying from anticipation. “What did you tell him?”

  She beams at me. “I told him it was a great idea!”

  “What? Katy, no—”

  “Why not?” she interrupts. “He has the place. He obviously digs you. I can tell you’re into him. You can even think of it as a temporary thing until the school sets you up with another dorm of your own.”

  “Moving in together is a pretty big step,” I tell her cautiously. “We’re not even officially dating!”

  Katy laughs. “And what makes it official? A Facebook status? Come on, worst comes to worst, it’ll give you some flexibility to figure out another living arrangement.” She winks. “But I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I promise.

  “See that you do,” Katy says. “I feel awful making you bear the burden of having to pay for our place on your own.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I say. “Your parents made you go home.”

  “No. If I hadn’t… Well, you know… I’d be here for the rest of the year.”

  “That was an accident.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Don’t feed me that. I’m entirely responsib
le.”

  “Katy—”

  “I’m not going to take no for an answer. I doubt Spencer will, either.” Katy’s eyes twinkle. “Besides, with me gone, who are you going to count on to add some excitement to your life?”

  “I’ve got Pickles, for one…” I say, only half-serious. Katy laughs. Then I remember something else. “Hey, didn’t Spencer say he was allergic to cats? Remember, the first time we all met?”

  “Nah,” Katy shakes her head. “He was just bullshitting to get out of here faster. Trust me. I’d know.” She stands up and looks around the room. “Where is the little guy, anyway? I want to say goodbye.”

  I point at the bathroom door. I’d locked him in there to make sure he didn’t escape while we carried Katy’s things down the stairs.

  Katy opens it and lets Pickles out. She picks him up and snuggles him close to her face, whispering goodbyes into his fur.

  I lean against one bedpost and watch them, trying not to let my growing excitement show. Spencer called Katy about me? He wants me to move in with him?

  I wonder how he’ll break the news. If I agree to it, we might just set the record for the fastest time between the start of a relationship and living together. He’s been around since the beginning of the year, but it’s only in these last few days that we’ve actually gotten to know each other.

  I walk downstairs with Katy. We’re both teary and emotional when she hugs me one last time and climbs into the truck. I wave until the vehicle disappears around a corner at the end of the street. Then, I run to the lobby window on the twelfth floor, pick out her truck in traffic, and follow it until I can’t see it anymore.

  I feel an uncomfortable chill run down my spine. I turn around. But, I’m the only one here. Maybe it’s the sensation of truly being alone that’s settling in.

  I take the elevator to the seventh floor and unlock my dorm. I walk inside and look around the empty apartment.

  It’s just me, I think to myself. Again.

  Pickles struts across the room and settles down by the sofa. I take his cue and sit down. He rubs against my leg then lies on my feet.

  I lean back and grapple with the emotions running through my head. I’m sad but excited, confused yet angry—

  My phone buzzes with a text. I pull it from my pocket and see a message from Spencer.

  Him: Meet me at the café in an hour. I have something I want to ask you.

  A nervous energy builds inside. He’s really going to do it. He’s going to ask me to move in with him.

  I already know I will say, “Yes.”

  The move has the potential to be earthshattering. The question is: Will it be the best thing to ever happen to me?

  Or the greatest disaster of my life?

  About the Book:

  This book was inspired by true events, so it’s very personal to me.

  I entered college as a freshman in September 2010. While I wouldn’t say Paige’s story is my own, elements of every single scene that made it into this book directly come from experiences I had the first few months.

  You can’t believe how long I’ve been waiting to share this story with everyone. It’s not done yet. You still haven’t read the best parts!

  One day, after the conclusion of this series, I hope to show everyone exactly what I mean by “true events”... and tell you how things ended up for all the characters from this book in real life.

  Scarlett

  October 15, 2013

  Extra Bonus:

  Change of Heart 1

  by Scarlett Edwards

  Book Description:

  Persevere.

  That's how I've gotten through nineteen years of life. It's what I do every single day—no matter how badly the odds are stacked against me.

  Persevere, and survive.

  Those are my two guiding words. I never knew either of my parents. I have no family and no home. The only person I could ever rely on was myself. In this cruel world, that's about as much as I could ask for.

  Love? Hah. Don't talk to me about love. I stopped believing in it the day my first boyfriend ripped out my heart three years ago.

  That's why love is the last thing on my mind when I leave a packed college bar with a captivating stranger. Yet everything changes when I'm awakened in the middle of the night by a pounding at the door. Suddenly, an arrangement meant for just one night threatens to become something much deeper.

  All expectations are thrown to the wind as I'm tangled in a dangerous world unlike anything I can believe. The man I met has secrets swirling around him like a dark cape. I'm about to become his biggest one...

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  CHANGE OF HEART, Part 1

  Second Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Edwards Publishing, Ltd.

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Gail Lennon.

  Cover design by Scarlett Edwards.

  Interior design by Scarlett Edwards.

  Published by Edwards Publishing, Ltd.

  Edwards Publishing

  477 Peace Portal Drive

  Suite 107-154

  Blaine, WA 98230

  The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means---including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise---without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s work is appreciated.

  Chapter One

  I’m pissed. Seriously, I’m pissed.

  I push my way to the bar at the end of the smoky room, not caring how many people I have to shoulder though to get there. Cries of “Bitch!” and “Watch where you’re going!” trail after me. I filter them out.

  Right now, I have only one thing on my mind: a drink. A strong one. After six months of abstinence, I’m long overdue. And right now, I need something particularly potent to take my mind off the disaster of tonight.

  I get to the bar, and place my hands wide on the sticky counter. I feel like taking up space. I know I should probably be grossed out by the semi-dry paste of liquor that clings to my fingers, but I’m way beyond caring about that now. I make eye contact with the bartender and nod him over. He’s busy serving somebody else. He raises his hand in acknowledgement, letting me know he’ll attend to me soon.

  But soon can’t come soon enough. As I wait, irritation about everything that has happened tonight flaring within me, I find my eyes moving over his body. I can’t help it. Even though he’s facing away from me now, I can make out the outline of his strong shoulders and lean, cut arms from beneath a black V-neck tee shirt. He’s not bad looking, with close-cropped dark hair and a jeweled stud in one ear. When he finally turns away from his customers and walks over to me, the features of his face become clearer in the dark. He’s clean-shaven, with a strong, square jaw and hard, black eyes that seem to pierce the hazy air. He flashes an easy smile, revealing perfectly-white-but-slightly-crooked teeth. Despite my mood, I can’t help but give a little sigh. I’m a sucker for those types of imperfections.

  “And what can I get you, pretty lady?” he asks.

  His southern accent catches me off-guard. It’s completely out of place in the small-time Oregon college bar. It’s not at all what I would expect from someone who looks like him. I recover quickly, and spit out the first drink that comes to mind. “A Dry Manhattan. On the rocks.”

  “A Dry Manhattan,” he repeats with a smirk. “On the rocks. That’s a pretty strong drink for a lady your size.”

  I roll my eyes. Strike one, I think, you’re out. “I’m tougher than I look.” He perks a curious eyebrow at me in a way that is probably meant to be flirtatious. If he
hadn’t made the comment, I might have even smiled back. But I don’t. I’m in no mood for small talk. Not now.

  The bartender catches my ill humor, shrugs, and reaches over to right a clean mixing glass from his side of the bar. Bending down, he scoops a handle of ice into it, then sets the half-filled glass on the counter in front of me.

  “You have your ID on you?”

  “My ID?” I repeat, incredulous. This is the last thing I need right now. “You’re not serious.”

  “Serious as can be. You see the sign.” He points to the side, where the words, “NO WRISTBAND – NO DRINKING!” are scrawled in thick black Sharpie on a bright yellow sheet of paper. He makes a point of looking down at my wrists. Both are empty.

  “I’ll just pretend you let yours slip off that delicate little arm of yours,” he continues, “not that you couldn’t get one when you came in. But I’ll still need to see your ID before I can serve you.”

  I narrow my lips in displeasure. The wristband rule is a vestige from the time this bar was still sponsored by the college administration. Anybody was allowed in, but only those students of drinking age would get their wristbands at the door. I always thought the rule was ridiculous. It is super easy to swap with someone, or have a friend buy you drinks. Never before have I heard of the student bartenders caring enough to check IDs.

  To prove my point, I look behind me. The space in front of the bar has transformed into an impromptu dance floor, with some indie DJ pumping out his personal remixes of top 40 tunes from the corner. There are drunk coeds and frat boys everywhere. There must be at least five girls within ten paces of me who are obviously underage and sloshed out of their minds.

  “Well?” He picks up the glass he set down in front of me and hovers it over the sink. “You have it, or not?” He tilts the glass ever-so-slightly, threatening to dump the ice cubes down the drain.