Burning Emerald

Book 2: Cambion Chronicles

by Jaime Reed

Genres: YA Paranormal; YA Romance

Synopsis

Book 2 of The Cambion Chronicles Dating the most popular guy in school is every girl's fantasy. But to Samara Marshall, he's a dangerous force come to rekindle their tangled past. Only it's not her past. . . Samara faces a challenging senior year. Controlling her inner demon is a struggle, even with help from her Cambion boyfriend, Caleb. But her life takes a turn for the worse when the hottest jock in school begins pursuing her--especially since Malik's anything but what he seems. They share a connection from a forgotten past--a secret that could destroy her and Caleb. As the attraction becomes harder to resist, Samara is now at the mercy of the demon within her. To break free, Sam must fight a battle where she is the enemy and the prize. . .and victory will come at a deadly price. Praise for Living Violet "Sexy and snarky! I dare you not to laugh while reading this fantastic debut." --Kody Keplinger, author of The Duff and Shut Out "Jaime Reed breathes fresh life into paranormal romance." --Lee Nichols, author of the Haunting Emma series

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Teen

Print pages: 322

Sample

When you’re a Cambion, balance is paramount.

Never lose control, never allow emotions to run wild, and never, ever forget who you are and what lives within you. Such discipline requires a sound mind, a thick skin, and a high tolerance for all things weird, because one wrong move and it’s over. No matter how tempting it is at first, in the end there’s nothing more tragic, more excruciating, than losing yourself.

Well, except maybe high school.

I swam against the rough current of swinging backpacks, sharp elbows, and whipping ponytails, all in hopes of reaching the auditorium in one piece. The corridors overflowed with foot traffic, disorganized chatter, and the rowdy boom of slamming lockers. The floor rumbled from the stampede fleeing the fourth class of the day.

The varsity team hooted victory chants to the trophy gods behind the glass case in front of the main office. Teenyboppers huddled together in tight clusters, sharing magazines and gushing over the latest fad. Straight ahead lay the obstacle course of shameless make-out bandits who needed to rent a hotel room and stop blocking the hallway. The only thing missing was the cheesy pop soundtrack and the CW logo in the bottom corner. TV high school looked a lot cleaner though, and I bet it didn’t reek of bleach and dried ketchup.

I hid my face behind my compact mirror while trying to ignore the dagger stares aimed in my direction, especially if the owners of those eyes had a boyfriend nearby. Even Lilith, my “internal roommate,” bristled at the laser beam of hate that shot my way.

My peers had dubbed me the freak of James City High School, not because of the red and white stripe in my hair or my butterball figure, but because of the avid attention from the males who crossed my path. ’Twas the curse of the dreaded possession, I’m afraid.

I wouldn’t have been able to explain what a Cambion was three months ago, or known such a thing as human-demon hybrids existed. But now I knew from firsthand experience what it meant to have a soul of a succubus inside me, draining my energy, and luring unsuspecting males to their death to get more. Nothing much I could do about the long, hungry glances and the not-so-subtle whispers. All I could do was avoid eye contact, stay out of trouble, and pray for June to come quickly. I only had eight months to go.

Flashing lights attacked my retinas as soon as I entered the auditorium. Two murky gray backdrops were stationed in the center of the stage, where hired photographers captured our final year for posterity. Two lines ran at opposite ends of the platform steps and leaked into the aisles.

I trotted down the steep incline where teachers directed students to the photo table. I found my name on the list, grabbed my ticket and one of those cheap plastic combs nurses use to check head lice, and then got in line. A good number of students stood ahead of me, fixing their hair and retouching their makeup. The rest sat in the rows of seats, in no rush to go to class.

Not even a moment after I stood in line, my best friend rested her head on my shoulder, her whole body trembling with laughter. “Girl, did you see what Courtney G. is wearing? It’s what you would call ‘a piping-hot mess.’ ”

I blotted my nose and chin. “Now, now, Mia. Be nice. We all can’t be a fashionista like you.”

“Of course not, but I expect the basic principles of coordination. I mean, really?” Mia shook her head, her whiskey-brown eyes widened in dismay. “Another thing, when are these kids gonna learn that you don’t keep wearing your new clothes the first few weeks of school? You slowly blend it into your existing wardrobe.”

There was the fashion police and there was the one-man Gestapo called Mia Moralez. How she passed dress code with the getups she wore was the magic trick of the century. And today’s eye-popping number was no exception. She showed more breast and thigh than an eight-piece combo meal, yet never got called to the office. How did that work? I envied her bravery and her slim physique, but as of late, I envied her ability to ace pre-cal without breaking a sweat. The girl was a walking Pentium chip with expensive taste.

“Ohmigod! What happened to your face?” She spun me around and pinched my cheeks between her fingers. “Sam, who did this?”

Why do people feel the need to poke and prod at a victim’s injuries? Ducking her curious fingers, I answered, “Stray dodgeball to the dome.” I took a deep breath, knowing I wouldn’t get two feet without telling her the whole story.

Female aggression had reached critical mass today when the girls in third period gym decided to use me for target practice. A simple game of dodgeball had led to a thirty-minute death match, and even the gym teacher had turned a blind eye to the ambush.

Caleb, my main squeeze and fellow Cambion, had experienced his share of rabid females. He’d warned me about our powerful allure and told me to expect hostility from other girls, especially the insecure ones. But oh no, I had to be hardheaded and shrug it off. The daily dose of haterade was bitter and hard to swallow, leaving my thirst for female camaraderie unquenched.

Well, almost.

“Those evil bitches!” Mia shrieked again after hearing my tale of woe. “Of all the days to get a black eye—Picture Day! These are our senior pictures, the ones that are going into the yearbook, for the world to see. Now look at you, a shell of what you once were. Don’t worry, I’ll take ’em down.” She searched around the auditorium as if one of my attackers lurked in the shadows.

And the award for best actress in an over-dramatization goes to ...

It wasn’t that bad, nothing a little concealer couldn’t fix, and the swelling had gone down considerably—a little puffiness near my cheekbone. “Forget it. I can take care of myself,” I assured.

“I know, but they can’t just—”

“Let it go, Mia. I don’t want any more trouble. I want to survive the year without further bloodshed.”

It took a few minutes, but she finally let the subject drop. Folding her arms, she studied me from head to toe. Her long, dark locks rested over her right shoulder in one enormous curl, accenting her exotic, island features. “You’re not gonna wear those contacts for your picture, are you? It would add a little flare to the aesthetics, but it might draw more attention to your shiner.”

I froze mid primp. I knew I’d forgotten to do something when I left the house this morning, but I’d been running late and pretending to be normal took a lot of prep work. For the sake of appearances, I’d had to order a lifetime supply of brown contacts to pass as my old color, thanks to the sentient being living inside me. Lilith’s occupancy made my eyes extremely sensitive, and she hated weird window dressing obstructing her view. To give her peace, I switched up every few days and I took them out as soon as I got home. As far as anyone knew, my emerald-green eyes were fake, not the other way around.

“Well, I wanted to make my mark,” I replied with a bit of sass.

“Suit yourself. I’m out. Catch you later,” she said just as I caught Malik Davis entering the auditorium from over her shoulder. I knew as soon as he saw me, he would try to spark a conversation.

I turned to Mia in a rush of panic. “You’re done?”

“I was the first in line. Had to get it over and done with. It’s hard work to look this good all day.” Mia sauntered away before I could grab her and use her as a shield.

Normally, I wouldn’t be so clingy, but I so didn’t feel like having another run-in with Malik. It was bad enough my black eye would be immortalized in eight-by-ten gloss; I didn’t need him rubbing it in.

Malik Davis, a senior and my new shadow, fueled the wet dreams of every girl in school. As if he needed more attention, Malik had become an overnight celebrity when his truck wrapped around a tree last month and he walked away without a scratch, a heroic tale that he never grew sick of telling. Who wouldn’t want to hang on the arm of the sexy basketball captain who cheated death? Oh yeah, that would be me.

“How you doin’, Shorty?” he drawled in that smooth, magnolia tone that could melt butter. The solid wall of his body brushed my back.

The nickname grated my ears and made my skin crawl. True, the top of my head barely reached to his shoulders, but I wasn’t a garden gnome, and pointing out someone’s faults was not a good way to spark a conversation.

“Great, thanks. And yourself?” I stepped away as the line moved forward.

“It’s a good day, especially after seeing you,” Malik whispered in my ear.

“You give me too much credit. You shouldn’t need a girl to make you happy. If so, you have plenty to choose from.”

“Maybe so, but you’ve got my undivided attention, girl. I don’t know why I never noticed you before; we’ve got a bunch of classes together and all that. But I like light-skinned girls, and your contacts are hot. They look so real.”

Here we go. If I had a quarter for every time someone mentioned my eye color—

“Let me ask you something. What’s a fine sistah like you doing with that white boy? You know he’s using you, right?”

I stopped. “For what?”

His gaze slid down my body at leisure. “What you think?”

I wasn’t even going to dignify that with an answer, but it served to remind me why I couldn’t stand him in the first place. Since tenth grade, Malik had made my mixed race a subject of ridicule, judging my choice of friends, my vocabulary, my taste in music, and now my boyfriend. The words sellout, Oreo, and zebra were commonly used in our brief exchanges. “Fine sistah” had never been included, but was a new moniker, courtesy of my roommate’s influence, no doubt.

“I don’t mean no harm by it,” he said. “I just—”

“Just what, Malik? ’Cause I don’t like your tone.”

“That Caleb guy will never take you seriously, Samara. He’s just gonna take what he wants, then leave.”

“And let me guess, you’re so much better for me, because we all know you would never get with a girl and leave her high and dry,” I bit back.

The photographer’s perky assistant yelled for the next pair to approach the stage, which was Malik and me.

After handing the assistant his ticket, the cause of my growing headache turned to me. “Look, I’m just watching out for you. How could you even stomach being with somebody like that?”

That did it. Evidently, people didn’t get anywhere in life by being polite in this school. Turning on the balls of my feet, I glared up at him. He looked amused, but that didn’t last long.

“Look here, there’s no nice way to put this, so I won’t even try. It’s none of your damn business what I do with my boyfriend. I’m sure it eats you up inside that I’m not sniffing behind you like the rest of the herd, or that you will never in life get to sample any of this luscious I got going on, but seriously, you need to get off my ass, or else I’ll break my foot off in yours.” I strolled to the stage, leaving Malik standing with a stunned look on his face.

The assistant directed me to the stool and ordered me to sit up straight. Malik sat in the station to my left, his stare burning at my profile, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of caring.

There was just something about him that didn’t sit well with me, even more than usual. An air of danger loomed around him, an unnatural aura that gave me the willies. Lilith felt it as well, voicing her disquiet with sharp tingles up my spinal cord, and worrying the network of nerves lining my midsection. While the photographer arranged my chin and shoulders in the right position, I snuck a glance at Malik.

He was good-looking, hotter than my boyfriend, though I would never whisper that to a living soul. It shamed me to admit that I’d had a few fantasies of him, most involving a hot tub and a vat of cookie dough ice cream, but that secret will follow me to the grave. Besides, looks meant nothing if you were an asshole, a self-righteous tool who turned into a skeleton in sharp lighting.

Wait, what the—?

I blinked and spun my stool completely in Malik’s direction. Did I just see what I thought I did? As soon as the camera flashed, his clothes, skin, and all external material vanished, leaving a framework of bones sitting on the stool. The weird X-ray vision only lasted a second, but that was enough to freak me out.

When the photographer finished, Malik rose to his feet and strolled to the opposite side of the stage. He spared me a fleeting glance and smiled with more humor than the occasion called for. A quick glint of gold flickered in his dark brown eyes, then disappeared.

“Face this way, hon. Shoulders straight.” The voice of my own photographer snapped me back to attention.

My heart tapped Morse code against my ribs as I tried in vain to make sense of what I’d just seen. Forcing the worst smile in history, I waited for the camera flash.

Nothing outside of the natural surprised me anymore, but my curiosity would never die. The events of the summer had taught me well never to ignore those feelings, but to embrace them and expect the unexpected. Maybe I wasn’t the only freak getting their learn on at James City High School. Perhaps it was a new power I had acquired that I was just now tapping into, an ability to foresee danger, like in those Final Destination movies. More than likely, it was my overactive mind running wild, something that happened a lot lately.

I only knew that this was a warning of some sort, a whisper too faint too make out the words.

Despite everything that had changed in my life, things stayed the same at Buncha Books, much like how cartoon characters never aged or changed clothes. I found it refreshing.

Fusion jazz pumped through the speakers. A group of girls giggled and read steamy paperbacks from the erotica section. Young entrepreneurs hovered over their laptops, abusing the free Wi-Fi the store provided. Old men who had mistaken the bookstore for a rest home hogged all the sofas while reading the newspaper. Yep, business as usual at Buncha Books, set under a thick aroma of fresh cookies and hot espresso.

Alicia Holloway was on duty with me at the café, perky and animated as ever, which put a damper on my afternoon. Her elfin face, hopeful brown eyes, and twisty braids always reminded me of a black woodland sprite who couldn’t find her way home. She stood by the barista machine, watching a tin of hot milk bubble with foam.

“I’m not judging or anything, but it’s just weird,” she began, concerning the unlikely attraction between Caleb and me. “Isn’t there, like, a rule somewhere about not dating your coworkers?”

“Isn’t there, like, a rule about minding your own business?” I mocked while toweling off my wet hands, taking extra care to dry the gold bracelet on my wrist. I rotated the chain so the nameplate stood face up, and Lilith hummed when she recognized her name engraved on it in elegant script.

Alicia let out a shrill meow and set a row of fixed drinks on the coffee bar. “Somebody forgot to bring their charm to work. I’m just saying, you should be more low-key. People talk, you know.”

I watched her rush to the register to ring up the next customer. “Yeah, like people are talking in school about your tragic romance with Garrett Davenport.”

“What!” she squeaked, dropping the customer’s change. She quickly apologized, then turned to me with alarm. “What did you hear?”

Shifting my lips from left to right, I crooned, “Oh, stuff. Like you and him secretly dating before he died and now all three Courtneys want your head on a platter, that’s all. You’re making enemies in high places. Be careful. Girls in our school are vicious.”

Lifting her chin high, she poured coffee mix and ice in the blender. “I’m not scared of them.”

My gaze wandered to the book floor and I smiled. “Oh, so if, say, Courtney B. rolled up right now, you wouldn’t be scared?”

“Not at all.”

“Good to know, because she’s heading to the counter right now.”

By the time I turned around, Alicia was a ghost with the blender still running. Only the swinging door of the back kitchen told me where she’d disappeared to. After finishing the drink order for her, I took my time going to the register and prayed for patience while in contact with the redheaded diva.

The three Courtneys were renowned in my school for their reign of tyranny, and Courtney B. ruled as the bloodsucking queen of the damned. The recent death of Garrett Davenport had shot the trio to stardom, and they milked the sympathy vote by wearing all black the first week of school. Telling by Courtney B.’s ensemble, the period of mourning was over.

Decked out in designer labels from head to toe, Courtney B. approached the counter with a strut suitable only for the runway. All that was missing were the wind machine and the slow-motion camera. Aside from her being painfully vapid, she owned the unmatched talent of squeezing insults into every conversation. For fear of getting fired, I decided to limit my responses to two words or less.

Her handbag thumped on the counter while she scanned around for the prey that had vanished from sight. Disappointed, she narrowed her icy gray eyes at me. “Hi. You’re in my Spanish class. Sam, right?”

“Sí,” I said, deadpan. I couldn’t believe this chick. We’d shared at least two classes since sixth grade and she still didn’t know my name?

“Is that, like, short for Samantha?”

“No.” I pointed to my name tag.

“Oh. My bad. Anyway, you know that hot guy that works here, Caleb something?” She looked around the store.

Tapping my finger to my lips, I contemplated. “Six-foot-two, brown hair, purple-blue eyes, always smells like cake? Yeah, that would be my boyfriend.” I stressed the last word.

“Oh!” She looked surprised for a moment, appalled even, then swept a cursory glance up my frame. “Well, maybe you can help. I was wondering if you could talk him into deejaying my party on Halloween. He did such a great job at Robbie Ford’s birthday party; I’d love to have him, um, spin for me.” She twirled a lock of hair around her manicured finger.

I should be used to women drooling all over my man, but that would require more patience than I could afford. “I’ll be sure to run it by him, but it would be more businesslike coming from you. You can find him in the music section. That way.” I pointed to the other end of the store using my middle finger, a gesture too blatant to overlook.

Applying loud suction, Courtney slid her tongue over her teeth, perhaps to see if her fangs elongated. “Thanks. Doesn’t seem to be your kind of thing, but I’ll see if I can add you to the guest list too.” With a neck-spraining flip of the hair, she flounced away.

Resting my weight against the counter, I exhaled slowly, absorbing the sting of her verbal attack. This was an interesting turn of events. Courtney’s Halloween bashes were the talk of school, but unlike Robbie Ford’s parties, hers were for the A-list only. Mia would be so jealous if I got an invite before she did. The only downside was subjecting Caleb to that harpy’s whims.

This was a good opportunity for him. Soon he would leave his position here to “scratch” with full force, but his budding deejay career already left us juggling schedules to see each other. Music was the mistress in our union, the only love I didn’t mind sharing with him.

“Is she gone?” A timid voice came from the kitchen.

When I confirmed that she was, Alicia crept out, a wash of relief ran across her face. I shook my head, knowing this doe-eyed sophomore needed more life experience and pessimism to survive high school. The mother hen in me wanted to keep her innocence intact, so my watchful eyes were never far from her.

Seeing her trepidation, I said, “If it gets too bad, you have my number, okay?”

“Thanks.” She gave me a weak smile and went back to the register.

Though I only worked a few five-hour shifts during the weekdays, time seemed to run at a snail’s pace. Alicia tried her best to entertain me with the latest gossip, but it didn’t seem the same with Nadine gone. Nothing was the same with her gone.

I found myself comparing Alicia to Nadine, noting how she took forever to wrap the food when we closed, where it would only take Nadine ten minutes. Alicia chatted and laughed with the customers, whereas they had been considered lucky if they got service, let alone a smile, from Nadine. Alicia was an old friend and I would flip out if something happened to her, but the injustice prevailed.

That fact prevented me from finding closure, and I kept picking that scab until it bled. Time might patch it up, but the open wounds remained untreated and at risk of infection. Even if I’d known all that would happen, would it have made a difference? If Nadine hadn’t died in my arms, Lilith wouldn’t have needed to abandon ship and move into my crib. Maybe Lilith was her farewell gift, a secret she entrusted me to keep.

After shutdown, I clocked out at customer service, then ambled to the break room in an almost dreamlike state. Our monthly book club meeting was tonight, which was reason enough to wallow in sorrow, but seeing where Nadine had once sat deepened my depression another notch.

A part of me expected to see Nadine pass through the door, her blond hair bobbing behind her head in a haphazard bun. The staff’s seating arrangement was an unspoken rule, so I wasn’t the only one who paused at the empty folding chair by the soda machine. Even Linda, the store manager, shifted her eyes to the chair, as if an unholy curse awaited anyone who sat there.

I felt the gentle grip of a hand around my wrist, and that one touch caused my body to relax. Instantly, the doom-and-gloom atmosphere melted away, and in its place laid an intimate cocoon. I knew by heart that hand, and the senses that came with it: the warm sweetness of baked goods and a ton of nerve. Never mind butterflies: a colony of bats flapped inside my stomach, a rush of elation tightened my sternum.

Caleb smiled down at me as he guided me to the seats. He used his free hand to push back his hair only to have it tumble down and cover his face again. I watched the light brown strands fall in a slight curl by his jaw. A blazing amethyst hue filtered through the curtain of locks, a color that projected his mood and his spirit’s needs.

“It’s just a chair, Sam. It’s not haunted,” Caleb said and sat next to me.

“Not the chair, just us,” I mumbled as my mind drifted again to my belated friend.

Nadine’s life energy—the energy that came with Lilith—eventually dissolved, but the memories were k. . .