by Clara Kensie
I looked around the Connellys’ darkened guest room and saw visions of dozens of people who’d slept in this room over the years, most of them Tristan and Ember’s friends, but also many from decades past. I pulled the fog in closer.
I missed our little cell.
I missed Tristan.
Was he craving me as much as I was craving him?
My question was answered a few seconds later. My door creaked open, and for the first time in eight years, I didn’t jump. I smiled instead. “Come to kiss me good-night?”
“More than that.” Tristan crept under the covers and took me in his arms. “Every night while I was lying on that concrete floor, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed with you and sleep with you in my arms,” he said.
I lay my head on his broad shoulder, ran my hand over his chest. “Won’t your parents be upset?”
“My telepathic father already warned me that he’ll know if we do something we shouldn’t. This is still the Borderline,” he said, tracing my collarbone with his finger. “Well. I think we can lower it now.” I tingled as he ran his fingers slowly down to my waist, then a bit lower.
He pulled me close, caressing me gently.
Tessa.
Hmm.
You can hear me?
Mmm hmm.
We aren’t speaking out loud.
Oh. ...Oh!
I think we’ve been doing this for a while now.
Can you do this with anyone else?
Nope. Only you.
Another power. Wow. I love you, Tristan, I said silently, just to test it, to make sure it was real.
“I love you too,” he said aloud. So happy you’re here with me.
It was real, and so was our love.
His breathing slowed, but I couldn’t calm my mind down enough to follow him into sleep. I couldn’t get used to the idea that until we found Jillian and Logan, this house was my home.
For the past eight years, all I’d wanted was to go back to the way things used to be, in our big red brick house in Virginia. But even when we lived in Virginia, my parents had been blackmailing and killing people. I couldn’t wish for the way things used to be back then, or at any point in my life.
I couldn’t look to the past for comfort.
I still wasn’t used to believing I had a future.
My only option was to live for the present. And the present was living here, with Tristan and his family. There would be no more running. Ever.
I snuggled into Tristan, so tired my bones ached. I had a long journey to get here, but it wasn’t over yet. I needed to mourn the loss of my parents, or at least, the parents I’d thought I had, but never really did.
I had to learn how to balance my newfound psionic ability and the fog.
I had to adjust to life in Lilybrook, with the Connellys.
I had to stop thinking every day could be my last day alive.
Most importantly, I had to find my brother and sister.
I didn’t know what tomorrow held for me. What I did know was for tonight, for this moment, I was safe in the arms of the boy I loved.
* * * * *
Thank you for reading this
Harlequin TEEN digital-first serial novel.
Tessa and Tristan have found each other.
Now they will fight to find Tessa’s brother and sister.
Look for the sequel to Tessa and Tristan’s story,
RUN TO YOU parts Four, Five and Six,
as Clara Kensie’s popular serial
continues in June 2014!
Acknowledgments
Writing can be a solitary endeavor, and when I first wrote Run to You, that’s exactly what it was. I wrote the story for myself, and I never intended to show it to anyone. But thanks to my friend Mary Wasmer Kay, you are now holding this book in your hands. I will be forever grateful to Mary for encouraging me to let go of my fears and follow my dream. The girl with wildflower eyes is thankful, too.
Upon my very first step along my journey from hobbyist writer to published author, my solitary activity became exactly the opposite. The writing community is incredibly supportive, and I am blessed to have gained so many wonderful colleagues and friends.
The ladies of Chicago-North RWA inspire me with their passion and talent. Erica O’Rourke, Hanna Martine, Lynne Hartzer, Eliza Evans, Ryann Murphy, Marilyn Brant, and The Mighty Aphrodites have become more than writing mates or critique partners. They are true friends.
Martina Boone, my esteemed critique partner and potential distant cousin, gives me invaluable advice on both writing and life.
Maya Rock’s astute observations and keen editorial eye made this book shine.
My editor extraordinaire, Natashya Wilson, saw something special in Run to You and turned my dream into a reality. Her enthusiastic emails make me smile. I am beyond proud to be a Harlequin Teen author.
My rock star agent, Laura Bradford, continually blows me away with her savvy brilliance, and I am honored to be one of her clients.
My parents—all four of them—Judi and Richard, and Chuck and Bonnie, have always given me unwavering love and support.
My biggest supporters, my husband, Glen; son, Jack; and daughter, Kellyanne, put up with my long hours in the writing cave with good humor, and they don’t care that the house is always messy and that dinner is usually prepackaged frozen meals. I love them more than my heart can hold.
And finally, my deepest gratitude goes to you, my lovely readers. I adore each and every one of you.
Playlist for Run to You
“Wildflowers” — Tom Petty
“Closer” — Tegan and Sara
“Heavy Feet” — Local Natives
“High Above a Grey Green Sea” — Colin Stetson
“Heart in Your Heartbreak” — The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
“In Your Eyes” — Peter Gabriel
“Run” — Ellen and the Escapades
“Things that Scare Me” — Neko Case
“Demons” — Guster
“Porcelain” — Moby
“Secrets” — OneRepublic
“Dance With the Devil” — Breaking Benjamin
“Pretty Girl (The Way)” — Sugarcult
“Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” — Marilyn Manson (cover)
“Undisclosed Desires” — Muse
“Wicked Game” — Gemma Hayes (cover)
Q & A with Clara Kensie
What inspired you to write Run to You?
For Run to You, I wanted to combine a breathtaking romance with elements of danger and darkness. I wanted my characters to have psychic abilities because I thought it would be fun. I wanted my hero and heroine to be teenagers because I read mostly young adult books. And also because teens rock.
I was pulling out of a parking spot at a grocery store when a series of “what ifs” hit me, one-two-three: What if a girl was the only member of her family without a psychic ability? And what if they were being hunted by a telepathic killer? And what if they moved from place to place and had different identities in each one? Thus Tessa was born. I gave her Tristan, the boyfriend I wanted to have when I was in high school—someone supportive and smart and charismatic, with maaaayyyybe a little bit of a dangerous side to make him exciting. And then I wrote their story.
Are your characters based on anyone you know?
My husband likes to think he is the inspiration for Tristan. They both play tennis, and they both have blue eyes and brown hair that turns gold in the sun. So I can see where he gets that idea, and I’m not going to tell him otherwise.
Tessa is me, when I was in high school. Though I didn’t like to cook or jog (still don’t), I do like to paint, and I gave Tessa my habit of sliding my hands into my sle
eves when I’m nervous or scared. We both hate green peppers, and we have the same hair—not quite blonde, not quite brown, not quite curly, not quite straight. When I was in high school, I was a lot like Tessa in that I may have had talents, but I didn’t recognize them. I craved confidence but didn’t have any. And like Tessa, I eventually found strength in myself that I never knew I had.
Ember, Tristan’s little sister, is based on my daughter. She loves animals and music and she dyes her hair crazy colors. Ember only has a tiny part in this book, but you’ll see a lot more of her in the sequel.
Do you have a secret favorite character?
Oh, boy. Tough one. Tessa and Tristan are my ultimate favorites, but of the other characters...I’d have to say Andy, Tessa’s dad. He cherishes his wife and children. He’s flawed. I love the relationship he has with Tessa.
Do you have any psychic abilities?
Not on a regular basis, but like Tristan’s mom, Deirdre, sometimes I have precognitive dreams. An example: In the town where I grew up, there was a big empty field with a retention pond. One night in middle school I had a dream that I lived in a blue house on the edge of that retention pond. When I was a high school sophomore, a new subdivision was built on that field, with a blue house on the edge of that retention pond. You guessed it—we moved into that blue house. Pretty cool, right?
And a few years ago, I had a premonition while I was awake. Late one night, I was driving home down a dark road when I had a flash of a car careening behind me, headlights on high-beam, and crashing into me. When I looked in my rearview mirror there was nothing there—just solid darkness—but I was freaked out enough that I pulled over. A few seconds later, a car did come speeding down the road, headlights on high-beam, out of control. It would have hit me if I hadn’t pulled over. That incident was my inspiration for Tristan’s warning premonitions.
But if I could have any psychic ability, I wouldn’t object to being psychokinetic. Laundry folding itself? Dishes putting themselves away? Yes, please! And I also could have stopped that careening car.
Where would you hide if you were on the run like Tessa’s family?
If I told you that, they would find me!
What advice do you have for aspiring authors?
First and foremost, read. When you read something you like, figure out why you like it. If you read something you don’t like, figure out why you don’t like it.
Join a writers’ group. I belong to the Romance Writers of America, and there are lots of other groups out there. Participate. Go to meetings. Learn. Network. Make friends.
Find critique partners and beta readers who will be honest with you—even if what they say is hard to hear—and consider their feedback with an open mind.
Learn everything you can about the craft of writing and the publishing industry. But don’t spend so much time learning that you never actually, you know, write.
And finally, the most important advice of all: Don’t. Give. Up.
Read on for an excerpt from another
fabulous and unforgettable Harlequin TEEN digital-first novel:
ANOTHER LITTLE PIECE OF MY HEART
by Tracey Martin
Available now!
About the Author
Clara Kensie grew up reading every book she could find and using her diary to write stories about a girl with psychic powers who solved mysteries. She purposely did not hide her diary, hoping someone would read it and assume she was writing about herself. Since then, she’s swapped her diary for a computer and admits her characters are fictional, but otherwise she hasn’t changed one bit.
The complexities of family, friendship and love have always intrigued Clara. Wanting to study human nature, in college she triple-majored in psychology, sociology and social services, then threw in a criminal justice minor for good measure. She interned at a group home for troubled teen girls. She visited prisons. Today Clara lives outside Chicago with her husband, their two kids and their troublemaking cat, appropriately named The King of Chaos. She writes twisty mysteries and chilling thrillers for young adults (but it’s the romance that will take your breath away). When she’s not torturing her characters, she’s on Twitter and Tumblr, reading YA lit or looking for her keys.
A family on the run from a deadly past, and a first love that will transcend secrets, lies and danger…
If you loved the romantic thriller Run to You Part Three: Third Charm by Clara Kensie, don’t miss the first two parts
in this serial tale: Run to You Part One: First Sight and Run to You Part Two: Second Glance, available in ebook format.
Order your copies today!
Be sure to also catch these other great Harlequin TEEN titles, available now:
Stir Me Up by Sabrina Elkins
Bitter Sweet Love by Jennifer L. Armentrout
Another Little Piece of My Heart by Tracey Martin
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HarlequinBlog.com
What if your devastating break-up became this summer’s hit single? In this rock-and-roll retelling of Jane Austen’s Persuasion, music can either bring you together or tear you apart.
At her dying mother’s request, Claire dumped Jared, the only boy she ever loved. Left with a broken family and a broken heart, Claire was furious when she discovered that her biggest regret had become Jared’s big break. While Jared catapulted into rock-star status, another piece of Claire’s heart crumbled every time his song played on the radio.
Now, Claire is trying to keep her head down and make it through a tense trip to the beach with her family. But when Jared shows up and old feelings reignite, Claire realizes that perhaps the past isn’t so over and done after all....
I meander through the rest of the store on my way to the registers: there’s six aisles of food and paper goods, plus the dairy and frozen-food cases and another half aisle devoted to books, magazines and beach toys.
I don’t pay much attention to magazines usually, but one photo snags my eye. Jared’s made the cover of Entertainment Weekly. I scowl at his smiling face.
Even after all this time, a hollowness opens in my gut when I see his picture. It’s not because I miss him. All the lies he sings about me have made it clear that dumping him was the best decision I ever made, despite what it felt like at the time. But there’s something else I miss—the happiness. We were insanely happy together, and I haven’t felt that sort of happiness since.
The cover photo is a good one. Jared looks hot with strands of hair falling over his face and a half smile stuck to his lips. Never mind that the critics love his album; I’m convinced that half of Jared’s popularity is simply because he’s good-looking.
Lost in these thoughts, I’m only vaguely aware of footsteps approaching until someone addresses me.
“Hey, ‘scuse me,” says a guy. “You work here, right? Can you tell me where’s the sunblock?”
Oh yeah, the blazer. Guess I do work here now.
“Uh.” I spin around, certain I saw it during my self-guided tour. Before I can conjure where, though, all words vanish from my mouth. Possibly from my brain.
I’m looking past the guy who was speaking to the person behind him. A person with the same pair of beautiful blue eyes that I’ve just been scowling at. I blink, and my brain argues with me because I totally cannot be seeing what I think I’m seeing. My heart lurches.
Then those blue eyes lock on to my gaze, opening wide with recognition, and an expression of panic spreads across their owner’s familiar face.
I stare. I can’t help it. How is it possible that almost exactly two years to the day after I made
the hardest decision of my life, I’m here locking eyes with Jared in an aisle of a tiny grocery store in a town I’d never heard of in a state I’d never been to until yesterday?
Is it a wild coincidence, or did the alien gods think it would be funny to give me a metaphorical ass kicking? I sure know which of the two it feels like.
Jared’s face suggests he’s pondering the same question. He’s got his sunglasses perched on his head, his hair pulled back in a ponytail. I remember every pore in his chin. I can tell he hasn’t shaved since yesterday morning—that’s how well I remember. He still wears that plain silver band on his right thumb, and that black leather cord around his neck. Only now the cord has a small leaf on it. Once, he wore a silver Buddha, a charm I gave him for his birthday. Guess he got rid of it when I got rid of him.
I jab my nails into my palms until the pain clears my head.
“Sunblock?” I repeat. I wait for the floor to swallow me up. For the ceiling to part and a thousand angels to point and snicker. Any of it seems about as likely as this.
The guy who asked the question glances between me and Jared. He thinks he’s had an epiphany.
“He’s not who you think he is.” The guy punches Jared in the arm. “They just look alike.”
It’s not a bad attempt on the guy’s part. If I was merely some crazy fan girl, maybe it would even work. But I’m not. I’m inhaling Jared even now. I spent enough time with my face pressed into that soft spot of skin where his neck meets his shoulder, enough time wrapped in his sweatshirts or my face buried in his pillow that his Jared-scent is unmistakable. I’m having a hard time breathing because of it.
It’s the shock, I tell myself. It’s only the shock of running into him this way. It’ll pass. My lungs will reinflate.
“Sorry, I’m new. I think I saw it—”