Beautifully Unnatural: A Young Adult Paranormal Boxed Set Read online

  Beautifully Unnatural

  A Four-Novel Boxed Set

  by Four Bestselling Authors

  Amy Miles

  Susan Hatler

  Veronica Blade

  Ciara Knight

  Beautifully Unnatural: A Young Adult Paranormal Boxed Set

  Copyright © 2014 by Amy Miles, Susan Hatler, Veronica Blade, Ciara Knight

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  Beautifully Unnatural Boxed Set Cover Design by Rose Nomura

  Excerpts

  Forbidden

  by

  Amy Miles

  Prologue

  Romania, 1689

  Roseline Dragomir peeks out from her hiding place behind the altar, searching for the man who led her wedding guests to slaughter. From the moment she had been presented to him, she saw evil in her suitor's eyes. His stance was firm, overbearing, and far too possessive for a casual introduction. His skin was frightfully pale, his smile leering, as if she were a meal to savor. She'd tried to warn her father against Vladimir Enescue's marriage proposal, but he was blinded by Vladimir's vast wealth, a castle, and a bloodline to rival any in Romania.

  All her father got, in return, was a sword through his chest.

  Roseline's gaze darts about the room, flitting high over the lifeless faces that stare at the ceiling. She dares not focus on any of them for fear of her nerve crumbling entirely.

  Her fourteen-year-old sister, Adela, trembles in her arms. Tight straw-blonde curls quiver against her face; pink bows sit askew in her hair. Blood and soot smudge the freckles from her heart-shaped face. Roseline must remain strong for her.

  Vladimir's older brother, Lucien, blocks their only exit. His maniacal gaze sweeps the aisles, searching for survivors.

  The rectory at the front of the church was set ablaze during the massacre and acrid smoke now hangs thick in the air. It coils into Roseline's lungs, grating against her throat. Small wisps of smoke rise from the tips of her loosely curled bronze hair. She beats the embers against her white corset, wincing at the blood that clings to her narrow waist and trails down to bare feet. This blood came from her father.

  There is nowhere to go and no one left to help them. She and Adela are the only ones left alive. Roseline's chest rises and falls rapidly, her pulse thumping in her ears as she fights back tears. Her parents are gone. Her beloved brother and friends too. Her new husband has murdered everyone she has ever cared for…except Adela. Roseline vows to do whatever it takes to save her sister.

  The wailing cries of the dying faded away a few minutes ago, only to be replaced by an odd slurping noise. Vladimir's giddy laughter ricochets off the church walls as he celebrates with his brother.

  Roseline cradles her sister, lifting desperate prayers for protection heavenward. Fear seeps into the marrow of her bones, rooting her in place. Where is Vladimir? Why has he not finished them off yet?

  Wide baby-blue eyes stare up at Roseline. Adela's delicate fingers claw at her arms, pleading with Roseline to flee. To make the bad men disappear. Oh, how she wishes this was all just a terrible dream.

  “Roseline,” Vladimir croons. His boots squelch in the lifeblood of her friends and family. From this vantage point, she can see her father's family ring exposed in the aisle. Its eagle crest drips with drying blood.

  Vladimir tsks as he slowly mounts the steps toward the altar. “This is no way to treat your husband, Roseline. Your mother would be shamed by such abhorrent manners.”

  Adela trembles in Roseline's arms as the sound of Vladimir's sword, trailing along the stone floor, draws near. Her pale pink lips quiver as she presses into Roseline's chest.

  Heat from the flames licks Roseline's face while cool moonlight filters through the church windows above. She closes her eyes against the fear that threatens to handicap her mind. They cannot wait much longer. Soon the tapestries will engulf in flames, and then the pews, and then the…bodies.

  An eerie silence hangs over the room. Roseline shivers, fighting to stave off the terror encroaching on her mind. She must be brave for Adela.

  “Come out, my love. It is time,” Vladimir calls, his words disgustingly intimate.

  Roseline shifts, tugging the soiled hem of her dress back from view. Her skin crawls. She peeks out around the edge of the altar. Someone is watching her. She can feel eyes upon her.

  Only a few feet away, Vladimir stands, twirling his bloodied sword. His chin and jaw are painted crimson, staining his pale flesh. A severe nose makes his face appear gaunt, and his crazed eyes far more fearsome than she remembered, but his eyes are not on her.

  Roseline arches her back to look to the rear of the church. Vladimir's older brother posted himself near the exit when the massacre began, slaughtering any who dared to attempt escape. Her brother fell to Lucien's sword, as did so many of her friends who begged for mercy. They were shown none. Now, Lucien is missing.

  She looks up. There, perched in the crossbeams of the rafters, is Lucien. A wide, gruesome grin stretches across his face. A crazed glint darkens his eyes. His lips peel back to reveal bloodstained teeth. His long hair spills over his shoulders, matted with blood. Fingernail claw marks along his arms and face make Roseline shudder. Who lived long enough to rake flesh from his cheeks?

  Adela's hands flail as Roseline cups off her scream, squeezing her sister into submission.

  “Come out, Roseline. It is time to begin our wedding night celebrations.” Vladimir twirls; drops of blood, clinging to his three-quarter-length coat, splatter the altar. Roseline gags. She would rather die than let this monster touch her.

  Adela whimpers behind her hand. Roseline shakes her head, begging her sister to remain silent. Her pulse thunders in her ears as she searches for a weapon. A golden cross lies ahead, trapped under the sacrament plates.

  Her mind screams for her to snatch up the cross and protect her sister, but Lucien is overhead. A rash movement will no doubt bring Adela's end.

  “Stay here,” she whispers, pressing her sister tightly up against the altar. Roseline stands and faces her new husband.

  “Ah, there you are,” Vladimir grins. He steps toward her, bloodied hands outstretched.

  Roseline's legs tremble as she forces one foot in front of the next. The closer she draws to Vladimir, the more unprotected Adela becomes, but what choice does she have?

  “Please-” her voice cracks. She clears her throat, willing strength into her words. “Please do not harm my sister. She is all that remains.”

  Vladimir's fingers slide around her wrist, pulling her to him. Roseline crashes into his broad chest, grimacing at the blood dripping
from the tips of his white-blond hair. His long fingernail trails down her cheek. “You are enchanting,” he whispers.

  Something lurks within his blackened eyes. Lust? Definitely, but there is something more. Something almost bordering affection.

  Adela's scream wrenches Roseline back from Vladimir's gaze. She whips around, tethered to his hand. “No!”

  Lucien appears from behind Adela's shoulder, fingers curling through her hair. Strands of gold part from her scalp as she strains against his hold, only a few feet away. Lucien's dark eyes enflame with blood lust. His nostrils flare as he sniffs Adela's neck.

  Vladimir smirks. “Easy, brother. There will be time for that later.”

  Adela's wide eyes latch onto Roseline. Mewling sounds rise from her throat as she strains against Lucien's grasp. The muscles along her forearms pull taut as she fights to touch Roseline's outstretched hands.

  “It is time, brother,” Lucien growls, his eyes focused on the moonlight streaming through the windows.

  “Time for what?” Roseline whimpers, turning to look at Vladimir.

  He smiles down at her, curling his finger along her cheekbone. “Do not worry. It will all be over soon.”

  Adela's piercing screams tear at her as Lucien waves a blade before her sister's eyes. Adela frantically bucks the arm that snakes around her chest. Her cries give way to wailing pleas.

  “No, please,” Roseline begs, tears spilling from her eyes. “Take me instead. Just let her go.”

  Vladimir's hauntingly handsome face shows no emotion. “The pain will only be for a moment.”

  “Roseli-” Adela's cry gurgles from her throat as the blade slices cleanly through her flesh. A thin red line appears first, and then a shower of blood cascades down her neck, staining her pale pink dress. Her eyes bulge as she fights for breath. Delicate fingers attempt to staunch the outpouring.

  As the life in Adela's eyes begins to fade away, a scream blots out all other sound in the room, wrapping Roseline in a crescendo of torment. Adela's blood spurts onto the gossamer fabric of her wedding dress, adding her lifeblood to that of her family.

  She is completely alone now.

  Lucien holds the dagger out to Vladimir as he steps back, releasing Adela. Roseline's heart falters as her sister pitches forward, out of her sight. Vladimir's face replaces Adela's, only inches from her own.

  Roseline blinks rapidly, trying to focus. Vladimir's words sound muffled in her ears, as if spoken underwater.

  “Tonight is the celebration of our union and your birth. Your sister has given her life so that you may have yours. All ties have been severed to your past now so that you may join me in molding the future.”

  Vladimir wipes the soiled blade on his white dress shirt. Roseline focuses on the blood, unable to tear her gaze away, even as the dagger pierces her heart. Pain ripples through her chest, making it hard to breathe as her knees buckle.

  Her head smacks against the floor; her gaze locks onto the vacant eyes of her fallen sister. Roseline clenches her eyes closed, praying that death will find her quickly. A veil of numbness settles over her.

  A sweet aroma tickles her nose as she teeters on the brink of consciousness. There is a rustling of fabric as something warm brushes along her lips. The scent of Adela's lavender oil disappears under the metallic scent surrounding her. “Drink, dearest.”

  A finger parts her lips. She gags on the thick liquid that floods down her constricted throat. Hauntingly beautiful words fill the air, wrapping tightly around her. She can feel their power as an ancient magic weaves through her being. The pain in her chest begins to recede. Cells begin to mend. The fissure, created by the knife, knits back together.

  A burning begins in her stomach. Her toes curl, fingers clenching into claws, as she clings to the taste. Need gives way to unrelenting hunger. Healing warmth floods through every inch of her body.

  Then…the pain begins.

  *****

  Shaken

  by

  Susan Hatler

  Chapter One

  Thursday, 7:05 a.m.

  Mom,

  I’m late! But, I HAVE to tell you what happened. Short version: I got an A on Mr. McKay’s pop quiz yesterday. You proud? Well, that’s NOT even the exciting part. Guess who was waiting at my locker after class? JOEL TEMPLETON!

  Yes, Joel. Wow. Writing it makes it even more real. JOEL was leaning with his shoulder against my locker, looking totally hot. It made my palms sweaty being so close to him and I must’ve gotten nervous cuz I blurted, “Do you mind? I can’t exactly enter my lock combo with your elbow in the way.”

  I may have a 4.0, but if they gave grades in talking to guys I’d get an F for sure. Why can’t I flirt like a normal sixteen-year-old?

  What is it about being around a hot guy that brings out my sarcastic side?

  Good news: He didn’t tell me off. Instead, his mouth crept into that sexy half-smile thing he does and he said, “I heard you got an A on McKay’s pop-quiz. If I need a tutor, guess I know who to come to.”

  For future note, some quality responses would’ve been: “I’m the world’s best tutor,” “I’m free after school today,” or “Why don’t I tutor you, then we can go see a movie after?”

  What I actually said was: “Just cuz I get math, doesn’t mean I can teach it.”

  Lame! Lame! Lame! For some reason, he didn’t seem annoyed by my response. He just laughed and said, “Catch you later.”

  OMG, I think he might like me. When I see him today at school, I swear I’m going to say something right for a change. Hey, weirder things could happen. Like maybe Joel will turn out to be a teen version of Edmond Dantés. BTW, why don’t heroes like him exist in real life? Every time I read The Count of Monte Cristo, I get chills. I mean, he was banished to a cell for years, lived in isolation for a crime he didn’t commit, and what does he do when he gets out? He goes to find his girl. Now, that’s true love if you ask me—plus he was pretty hot in the movie.

  Uh-oh, doorbell just rang. Who in the world’s coming to our apartment this early in the morning? Gotta run. Will write more soon.

  Love,

  Kylie

  I tossed my journal on my dresser and hurried down the hall as the doorbell rang again. “Dad, can you get that?”

  No answer, so I peeked into his room. Not there. I wandered down the hall and hung a left into the kitchen where I found a sticky note on our fridge right next to a picture of Dad and me from my eighth grade graduation:

  Morning Kiddo,

  Got paged by a patient and had to leave early.

  Love,

  Dad

  The doorbell rang a third time.

  “Coming, coming,” I said, heading to the front door. I peered through the peephole and saw some guy’s profile. His dark hair was slicked back, he wore a corduroy blazer over jeans, and held a beat up briefcase in his left hand. Looked like a cheesy salesman. Figures Dad would leave early for the office today of all days.

  I opened our apartment door, crossing my fingers that Sales Dude would go away quickly because I certainly wasn’t buying. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, there. I’m Mark Hernandez,” he said. His dark eyes studied me. “Are you, by any chance, Kylie Walker?”

  Walker? I blinked. As in, my mom’s maiden name? Um, she died when I was four, Sales Dude. Way to get your facts straight. “Yes, I’m Kylie.”

  Kylie Bates, but no point in correcting him. It’s not like I was going to spend a nickel on whatever he’s pushing.

  His eyes lit up and he exhaled through closed lips. “That’s great. Really great. Is your Mom, Sandy, home?”

  “No.” Not since she died of a brain aneurysm twelve years ago. Whatever salary he was getting, they were paying him too much.

  His thick brows came together. “Can you tell me what time you expect her?”

  “She didn’t say.” True enough. Besides, I’m not that confrontational. My dad can be the one to shoot him down if he comes around again.


  “May I come inside and wait?” he said.

  Okay, that was too pushy. “Uh, I kinda have to get to school.”

  “I see. All right.” He reached into the breast pocket of his untucked button-down shirt and pulled out a business card. “Again, my name is Mark Hernandez and it’s absolutely urgent that I speak with Sandy. Will you have her call me as soon as she gets in?”

  “Sure.” I shoved the card into my jeans pocket to make it look like I’d pass on the message.

  “Even if it’s late.” He stared me down. “It’s really important.”

  “Okay.” Can you say desperate?

  He continued to stand on our doormat for a minute then shifted his feet. “All right then. I guess that’s all for now. Thank you very much for your time.”

  He held his arm out to shake my hand.

  Wow. Worried about impressing the kid? This guy was totally jonesing for a sale. I reached out and placed my hand in his . . . and it suddenly felt like I’d shoved my hand inside an electrical socket.

  Heavy vibrations rattled up my arm, into my neck, and then slammed into my head. Images flashed in my mind as if a slideshow had started playing. The sales guy in an office. A brunette. Her eyes so red and swollen they’d lost their shape. White lights burst between the rapid frames. A big red desk. His pen poised above a yellow pad. Tears rolling down her face. “You have to find her fast,” a female voice echoed in my head like wicked laughter.

  “Aagh!” I jerked my hand away, tripped over the porch mat, and fell back on my butt. The screen in my head went black and the voice faded.

  “Are you okay?” Sales Dude knelt in front of me, his black, caterpillar brows crinkling.

  I panted hard and tried to get a grip. What. Just. Happened?

  “Miss Walker?” He waved a hand in front of my face. “Say something. Are you all right?”

  I shook my head. Must’ve just zoned out for a moment, that’s all. What else could it be?