Awakened (Paranormal romance, YA fantasy) (The Guardian Legacy) Read online

  AWAKENED

  (Prequel to the Guardian Legacy series)

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  EDNAH WALTERS

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  Firetrail Publishing

  Logan, Utah

  TESTIMONIALS:

  AWAKENED is the total package. It is a book about family ties and secrets, loyalty and camaraderie of friends, and budding romance, not to mention some really wicked fight scenes. If you are looking for a new Young Adult series to start, definitely consider giving AWAKENED a try...Night Owl Review (Picked as a top pick YA urban fantasy)

  Awakened was a refreshing new YA story that will forever stay on my shelves. I can definitely see myself re-reading in the near future. Now, all I have to do is wait for the next book in this... Leilanilovesbooks Reviews

  How would I describe Awakened: A tapestry of sweet complexity. extravagant series!...lovelivlife Reviews

  While so many books about angels & demons tend to be so alike that they run together, Walters book stands out. She gives you the perfect balance of detail & subtlety to keep you glued to every word....Book junkies

  Awakened, is an exquisite stepping stone into a powerful and finely written series. The concept's refreshing originality has the potential to mesmerize a reader from start to finish....Lafemmereaders

  Awakened is a unique take on the story of Nephilim, the descendants of angels and their human mates....An Avid Readers' musing

  Awakened has everything someone could ask for in a book. Suspense, action, heart-pounding/nail biting moments, hot guardians and a kick-ass female lead character....Melissa Silva, the Bookshelf

  Reproducing this book without permission

  from the author or the publisher is an infringement

  of its copyright. This book is a work of fiction. The names

  characters, places, and incidents are products of the

  author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Any resemblance to any actual events or persons,

  living or dead, actual events, locale or

  organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Firetrail Publishing

  P.O. Box 3444 Logan,

  UT 84323

  Awakened. Copyright © 2013 Ednah Walters

  All rights reserved.

  .

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information e-mail address: [email protected].

  Cover design by Ednah Walters

  Published by Firetrail Publishing

  Second edition: April 22nd 2013

  DEDICATION:

  This book is dedicated to my parents. Walter and Jane, who were always there for me. My husband, Mike, my daughters and son, who continue to carry on the tradition with love and understanding.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  Thanks go to three wonderful ladies, Katherine Warwick (a.k.a. Jennifer Laurens), Dawn Brown and Teresa Bellew who were honest with their critiques, generous with their praises and never let me quit. I couldn’t have asked for truer friends and supporters on this journey.

  A shout-out to May Novak for those brainstorming moments, endless hours spent reading and editing, and her patience when I needed to vent. Thank you for tying the ribbon on the package.

  I owe Suzanne Lazear, Hasmi Ferguson and Gilliam Grey many, many thanks for their encouragement and suggestions. And the two teens, Merab McFarland (U.S.A) and Jessamine Carmody (Australia) for taking time to give me their feedback, you girls rock!

  I’m especially thankful that Leticia Gomez came into my life at just the right moment. Your enthusiasm and hard work made this possible. I’ll never forget the call.

  And last, but not least, thanks to my husband Mike and my children, Margaret, Merab, Elijah, Joyce and Jannah, for their infinite patience. I do knot know where I would be without you guys.

  AWAKENED

  (Prequel to the Guardian Legacy series)

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  EDNAH WALTERS

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  Also in the series:

  BETRAYED (book 1)

  HUNTED (book 2)

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  Firetrail Publishing

  Logan, Utah

  1. THE VOICES

  Lil?

  I stepped out of the shower and glanced across the kitchenette and the plaid sofas to my grandfather’s bedroom door. It was ajar, part of his bed visible. My hands tightened on the towel I’d wrapped around me.

  “Grampa?”

  I’m not your grandfather. We need to talk.

  My heart skipped a beat as the eerie words echoed inside my head. A spirit? Panic shot through me. I reached for the six-sided star amulet I wore around my neck, the green stone at the core cool and reassuring against my palm. I swallowed, closed my eyes tight and held my breath. If I ignored him, he’d go away. They always did.

  I know you can hear me, Lil. Say something.

  My eyes snapped open. How did he know my name? Goose bumps spread across my skin and my chest hurt from holding my breath for too long. I sucked in air, my eyes darting around the trailer, my grip tightening around the amulet. Grandma had given it to me for protection against bad spirits, mulòs, as my people called them. It hadn’t failed me yet.

  I don’t want to hurt you, Lil.

  He read my thoughts too? The fear streaming through me intensified. My breathing grew choppy, my heart threatening to jump from my chest. Of course, he couldn’t have read my thoughts. Or could he? It didn’t matter. I refused to lose it. I had to do something, speak up for myself, but my vocals had seized up and my legs shook so hard I’d crumble on the trailer floor if I dared to move them. Why was this happening to me now? Most of the time, the voices were whispery, creepy, and the words jumbled up. And they always went away. Always. This one was so clear and persistent.

  Lil?

  “Go away,” I yelled and ducked inside my room, slammed the door and pressed my back against it. I was shaking, and fear made me woozy. I shook my head to clear it.

  I need your help.

  “How could I possibly help you?” I yelled again.

  Meet me at the raven tree and I’ll explain.

  Meet with him? Was he nuts? I squeezed my eyes tight, blew my cheeks out as I exhaled. If only I’d talked to Grampa about hearing spirits.

  He might have explained the rules, whether I could meet with one or not. Until two weeks ago, when I turned sixteen, I never believed in spirits or that Grampa could communicate with them. He’d told me about this ability so many times, a gift from his gypsy ancestors. I’d humored him and mumbled, “Cool.” But this wasn’t a gift or cool. Now that I could hear the voices, a curse couldn’t begin to describe it.

  I soaked in the familiar things in my room and willed my heart to slow down to a normal rhythm. My gaze clung to pictures on my walls of people I’d met over the years and places I’d lived in or visited. Some of me and Grampa, laughing. I wanted to go back to those times. Things were normal then, and I wasn’t a freak. When was Grampa coming back? I needed him. Only he would go job-hunting on a Sunday.

  My eyes fell on the picture of my mother, framed and placed on its special place on the computer desk by my bed. I took tentative steps away from the door, snatched the photograph up and sat on the edge my bed. I touched the cold glass surface with fingers that still shook. Mom’s dark hair tumbled down to her shoulders, her porcelain skin unblemished, and her green eyes twinkled with merriment.

  “Did you hear voices, too?”
Her smile indicated she couldn’t have. How I wished she was here now. Sadness wrapped around my throat, and each breath I took hurt. “I won’t cry. I won’t….I won’t….”

  A tear slipped down my cheek. Annoyed, I swiped at it.

  Tears wouldn’t bring Mom back or make me normal. Besides, I had Grampa. When I was a child and woke from nightmares, he rocked me back to sleep. When I fell from a tree and thought I’d broken my leg…when kids made fun of my hair….

  Are you coming, Lil?

  I gritted my teeth. Could someone kick a spirit? I hope so because I swear, if he continued to haunt me, I’d meet him just to knee him where it hurt the most.

  I yanked clothes from the drawer above my bed and paused as another thought occurred to me. Could he see me? I glanced around. My bedroom was puny, the curse of living in a trailer. I couldn’t stretch my legs without hitting the chair or the wooden wall. It once had a bunk bed, but Grampa modified it. I now had a full bed with drawers under it and cupboards where the top bunker once occupied. The remaining space was just enough for a closet and a computer desk.

  Still, I opened the closet door and peered inside. There was no place to hide unless he squeezed between layers of sweaters, jeans and colorful gypsy skirts. Whatever form he took, he’d better not be watching me or else. I froze and strained to listen. Was that a chuckle?

  I gripped the towel with one hand and struggled to put my panties on without exposing too much skin. Sweatpants and a large T-shirt followed. I rummaged through my jewelry box for charm bracelets and piled them on. A distant cousin of Grandma’s gave them to me and swore no bad spirits could harm me when I wore them. I hoped that was true now more than ever. I grabbed a hoodie and crept from my room to the window in the kitchenette.

  I sat on the table and glared at the grove that shaded the left side of the Deerland Park. The raven tree, he’d called it. A slash of green in the middle of brilliant fall colors, the weeping willow looked out of place and so ordinary, except for the ravens. They looked like black, shapeless objects, quiet and spooky. I wasn’t going to meet him. No way. I blinked when the birds took off in a flurry of movements as though something had spooked them.

  The spirit.

  I swallowed past a knot in my throat and a shudder shook my body. Just my luck Grampa decided to relocate to this creepy valley. When we arrived here two days ago and he said we’d stay here for a while, I was thrilled. Cache Valley was gorgeous. Sun-kissed orange, yellow, and red leaves were everywhere—on the trees and bushes along the road, on the ground and the slopes of the mountains. The jagged edges of the tall ridges covered with clouds formed a wall around the secluded valley. It was as though God had made a mound of earth and then pressed his palm into it to create a little paradise. Yeah, some paradise.

  I looked toward the entrance of the park for Grampa’s familiar blue truck. There was no sign of him. I was alone, and the decision to meet the spirit or not rested on me. The idea filled me with terror. I reached up to grip the amulet again, and the bracelets on my wrists jingled.

  Please come, Lil. I need you. I’ve been holed up in this valley for days hoping to make contact with one of you. Now that I have, I can’t give up.

  His voice wasn’t creepy anymore. He sounded so lost and forlorn. How could I resist his plea for help?

  I can talk for hours, you know, and I’ve been told I’m very good at spinning a tale. The ravens, of course, don’t appreciate my talents but you…I don’t think you can get me out of your head. He chuckled. Oh, and my sister says I sing like an angel. She might be biased but you can confirm it. So-oo? What kind of music do you like? I do a mean rendition of—

  “Shut up.” I covered my ears and ground my teeth, whatever sympathy I’d felt for him disappearing.

  Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? My headache was back, this time worse than before. It always started before the voices and took forever to go away. Pain meds never helped, either.

  Does that mean you’re coming?

  Like I had a choice. I scrunched my face and dropped my hands from my ears. One last glare at the willow and I slid off the kitchenette table, my heart starting an unsteady beat. “Fine. You win.”

  Hurry.

  I didn’t know anything about helping a spirit, even an annoying one, but I would try. If I couldn’t help him, I’d listen. Grampa and I moved from place to place so often, and I changed schools every year, so I knew how it felt to be lonely, to need someone to talk to. It was the price we paid for being part gypsy. And in my case, part whatever my father was—whoever he was.

  Before I could change my mind, I scribbled a note to Grampa telling him where I’d gone and why. Just in case this spirit had another agenda that included me not coming back. Tucking my wet braid away from my face, I opened the creaky aluminum door and stepped down from the trailer. A prickling feeling on the back of my neck told me I was being watched. I swallowed and looked around.

  Across the street, Kylie sat under a tree, iPod headphones in her ears. Her eyes were closed, so she couldn’t be the one watching me. I met Kylie Jensen when we arrived at the RV Park on Friday. In the last two days, I’d seen her around her home with two other girls or her family, and not once did she come near my trailer. Any hopes of us being friends were dwindling away fast. With her heavy Goth make-up and black, spiky hair, Kylie was an oddball among her family members.

  On the other hand, who was I to call her an oddball? My multi-colored red hair defied description. Not to mention my slanted green eyes, golden coloring and five-foot-nine height. Most of the time, people stared at me and wondered what I am. When I said gypsy, eyes often drifted to my hair. Even I wondered where I got my crazy red colors.

  I pushed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and headed south past the other trailers. The park was alive with children playing under their parent’s watchful eyes. The smell of grilled hotdogs and burgers filled the air. I fought nausea, and despite the cool fall weather, sweat pooled under my armpit. I passed the last line of trailers.

  The area between the compound and the line of trees was overgrown with wild grass and weeds, the ground uneven. The closer I got to the trees, the harder my heart thumped. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

  Was I wrong to come here alone? I looked over my shoulder at the trailers. Grampa wasn’t back, but people were still outside. If the ghost turned out to be spiteful, I could scream. Still, fear twisted my insides into a knot.

  Ten feet from the tree, I stopped. No eerie pale mass floated through the gold and orange leaves that fluttered to the ground. No transparent being, or whatever form spirits took, stood behind the droopy branches. I glanced around, my pulse an erratic rhythm at the base of my neck, but I didn’t see anything. And darkness was approaching fast. Not confidence-inspiring.

  Over here, the voice said in my head.

  I jerked around to look, my breath caught in my throat, but there was no one there. A shiver shook my body, and the sharp edges of my amulet dug into the palm of my hand as I clutched it with trembling fingers. Swallowing, I moved toward the tree.

  “Where are you?” I called out, proud that my voice sounded calm and strong.

  Up here.

  I moved under the tree, looked up and blinked. Holy smokes.

  ***

  A guy about my age stared down at me with piercing eyes. I couldn’t tell their color, but with his flawless golden skin, chiseled cheekbones and sculptured lips, he could grace any teen magazine cover. Or maybe not. His arched eyebrows and shoulder-length raven hair gave him an aura of someone who couldn’t be bothered with something as mundane as a photo shoot. And the way he was perched on a branch, an arm resting on his bent knee and his back against the trunk, he looked solid. Even his skin glowed with life and contrasted with his black shirt and pants.

  “About time,” he said in the now familiar, annoying voice. “What took you?”

  My eyes widened. “Are you the ghost?”

  “Ghost? Me?” Dimples flashed
on his cheeks and his lips parted to show a perfect row of sparkling teeth. Then he doubled over with laughter.

  I clenched my jaw. This was a terrible mistake. I didn’t know how he projected his voice into my head, but this arrogant guy couldn’t need help from me. I turn on my heel to escape my stupidity.

  “Whoa. Where are you going?”

  I glared at him. “Home. I didn’t come here to be laughed at.”

  He gave an apologetic shrug though the corners of his lips still twitched. “Did you really think I was a ghost?”

  Heat crawled up my cheeks. “Yeah. I heard your voice in my head. What else was I supposed to think?”

  He frowned as though my response puzzled him. “That I used telepathy. Don’t you?”

  “No.” I knew what telepathy was, but why should I use it? It wasn’t real, just a trick illusionists used to prey on their audiences. When Grampa worked for Stramboni Circus, he’d pretend to read people’s thoughts. And he’d make every trick seem real—stop a dove in mid-flight and make it fly again, he’d disappear from the stage and reappear somewhere else in the tent. Tricks of the trade he called them, yet the other performers could never figure out how he did it.

  I studied the guy. “Are you Kalderasha?”

  His right eyebrow lifted. “Are you serious? First I was a ghost, now I’m a gypsy?” He sounded insulted.

  Annoyance at his attitude coursed through me. I put my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes. “Anyone should be proud to be a Kalderasha. We’re healers, alchemists, rune smiths and….” Why did I bother to brag to him? “Never mind. Who are you? And what did you mean you need my help?”