ARC: Crushed

Crushed

Book Two of the Soul Eaters series

Eliza Crewe

Please Note!

This is an Advanced Reading Copy of the book and may not have been through the final editorial and proof-reading process prior to publication. If you perceive any errors with the text - spelling, format, or in rare cases, plot - please feel free to double-check with Strange Chemistry to see if the final version has been amended.

Please publish your review no earlier than 6 weeks before publication, and if posting on social media feel free to include
@strangechem
in the conversation.

Thank you!

Chapter 1

Like most things, fun is better when it’s stolen. A fortunate coincidence, considering that’s probably the only kind I’ll ever have again. Stupid Crusaders with their stupid rules. For a homicidal group, they’re appallingly restrictive.

No, Meda, you can’t leave campus.

No, Meda, you know we have a curfew.

No, Meda, you can’t eat that guy.

But as they’re the only thing standing between me and the demon army that wants me dead, I have no choice but to obey – or at least, like tonight, not get
caught
disobeying.

I flex my fingers and suppress a giddy laugh as I leap the fence into my victim’s backyard. One silent bound and I’m over, landing lightly on the balls of my feet, my knees bending until my bottom almost hits the ground. The unkempt bungalow is old, and sad. It appears to be the type of place that’s swallowed a great many happy children and spat out discontent adults, and the work left it tired. It squats in the moonlight, dark but for the bluish flash of a TV in the living room. It’s 2am.

He didn’t leave a light on for me. But then, I’m hardly expected.

I snake up to the nearest window, cicadas humming an accompaniment to my movements. Hot summer air kisses my skin and I can’t help but relish the freedom from all those rules. All those eyes. But this freedom comes with a price: Jo’s gonna be pissed.

I wince. No one else will know I snuck out, but her stellar bullshit-o-meter always knows when I’m up to no good. Granted, that’s most of the time, but still. She was suspicious today, catching escaped rays of giddy excitement from me as I force-trudged through my dull day. I bet anything she’ll check up on me, and when she does… I cringe, then shake it away. The consequences will come whether I let worry spoil my fun or not

And nothing’s going to spoil my fun.

I let out a long breath, and, as if it knows what’s coming, the Hunger stirs. It writhes and swells, and I don’t care about rules, or Jo, or wrecked friendships.

I’m Hungry.

I peer in the window, and let out an excited gasp when I see
him
, unconscious in his recliner. His face is slack, his mouth hanging open, but I remember that face. I remember how it looked, awake and vicious, lit with a sick light, even though it’s been months. His stained white undershirt stretches over his middle-aged paunch, the dingy white somehow still appearing bright next to his dark skin. I press my hands to the window pane, like a child overcome with avarice for the latest toy.

“Annabel,” I call, singsong, into the night. The silvery light on my hands lets me know the ghost’s beside me before I turn. I haven’t seen her since March, not since that night in the motel with Uri when I made my promise. It’s taken me forever to coordinate my escape, to lull the Crusaders into lowering their guard.

Despite the months that have passed, Annabel is exactly the same, damned to the perpetual sameness of the dead. She was only a little girl when her life ended, when her stepfather, the man in the chair, took it from her. She still wears the nightgown she had on that night; her hair’s still twisted into little braids. I imagine if she were corporeal, the beads at the end of them would clack. They, like her, are silenced forever.

Her eyes are where mine were, on the man sleeping like the innocent he’s not. While I’m all delighted joy, she’s angry revenge, which is pretty adorable on a six-year-old, even a dead one – like a wet kitten.

“It’s time, Annabel.” I say it softly, but not without a knife-sharp edge. It’s not directed at her, but the violence filling me can’t help but seep through every available conduit.

She turns to me and her hard face softens. Her new expression is a combination of gratitude and hope underlain with a crushing sadness. A face that knows it’s had something precious stolen, something that even vengeance can’t return.

I’ll try anyway. I smile at her and the ugliness of what I intend perks her up.

My eyes return to the man in the chair. Colton is his name, though she called him Daddy. I curve my fingers under the crack of the window, and it slides up with the rough scrape of long neglect. Colton sleeps on, but I’m so close now it wouldn’t matter if he did wake. Ten feet and not a thing between us. His life is already in my hands, so close I can taste it. The Hunger roars in my ears, and my fingers tighten on the window frame until it cracks.

It’s been too long since I’ve eaten. Far too long. Damn those Crusaders.

I brace my hands on the windowsill and pop myself up. But just as I jump, I’m flooded with a jolt of extra power. My push ends up being too hard and I smack my head into the windowsill. I bite back a curse and let go, falling into the bushes.

Shit, shit, shit.

Hot power surges under my skin, a pulsing, swelling heat that sends me crouching lower and my eyes flying to the nearby shadows. It can only mean one thing:

Demons. Nearby.

And I’m all alone.

Chapter 2

I wait, but the swell of power doesn’t increase. It stays a steady, low burn. Not demons, just
a
demon. One. I let out a long exhale, and my lips curve in a little smile. Thanks to my Templar-amped demon powers, one demon’s not really a challenge.

I stay low in the bushes, watching for movement, but nothing stirs. Nothing but heavy, hot air, buzzing bugs, and a faint snore – Colton, still asleep – but I know the demon hasn’t left. I can feel him, throbbing under my skin, just as he can surely sense me. What’s his game? He has no reason to assume I’m someone to fear. The chances of him running into me, the only non-demon being in the universe he’d sense this way, are pretty slim. Still, he doesn’t move.

Screw it, I don’t have time to mess around. I have to be back in prison before dawn or my jailors will drag me back. And I’m not leaving till I have a nice long chat with Colton. A little shiver of anticipation tickles my spine.

I slide the window back down, then step from the bushes. “Come out, come out, whoever you are,” I call quietly.

There’s a hesitation, then a rustle to my left, and a body bounds over the fence. It’s a guy, about my age, maybe a year or so older. In the darkness, I can’t make out much of his face except for very white teeth displayed in a wide smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the delectable Meda Melange.” The heavy French accent makes it sound like delec-taaahble. “I thought that was you.” The white smile stretches wider as he strolls forward and I realize I recognize it. Well, really I recognize the French accent first, but the smile confirms it. You don’t forget a guy that hot, even if you didn’t meet him on the most intense day of your life.

Like the last time I saw him, he is dressed entirely in black. As he’s a half-demon and agent of evil, I can only assume it’s his standard uniform. His dark eyes are the kind that should smoulder from the cover of a romance novel, but they aren’t smouldering now – they’re laughing. His name isn’t nearly as memorable as his face, so I just gasp “You!” Rude, maybe, but I figure “half-demon-boy-from-the-demon-dungeon” would really give my ignorance away.

“Happy to see me?” His tone is more suggestive than our relationship – inadvertent prison-mates – really warrants. Still the huskiness makes me shiver.

“Surprised,” I respond. My tone is amiable, but my stance is not. “I thought you were dead.” Last I saw him, he was locked in a cell, a sitting duck for the Crusaders invading the demon headquarters. Leave it to the Crusaders to drop the ball. Ah well, no rest for the wicked and all that. I’ll just have to kill him myself.

Like he’s reading my mind, his eyebrow quirks in challenge, as if to say “You can try.” And that sends my smile stretching because I would love, love, love to. Colton, delightful though our game will be, won’t really be a challenge.

My muscles coil, filling with energy. I take a couple of paces to the left, and he counters with a couple to my right, keeping the distance between us the same. He moves with an athletic playfulness, almost dancing out of the way. Even though I’m far stronger and faster than he is, as a half-demon, he’s still got some super-abilities.

“So how did you escape?”

He shrugs, and, while he’s off-guard, I make a quick feint forward. He slides nimbly to the right.

He’s quick. Real quick.

He grins at my test. It’s clear he’s not taking me seriously. His mistake.

“I was released once the fighting started. I’m sure my boss intended for me to join the fight, a Crusader would have, no doubt.” His eyes spark naughtily. “But that’s the thing about being a bad guy – I rarely feel compelled to do as I should.” He grins. “Hell assumes I’m dead, so for the moment I’m free. I can do anything I want.”

Free? A sigh of pure envy slips out.

“So you see, Meda,” he emphasizes my name, probably to point out that I don’t know his. Ass. “We don’t actually have to fight here.” He straightens out of his half-crouch.

I stay in attack mode. “Maybe I just want to.” I taunt.

He puts a hand to his heart. “Don’t say that, Meda.” With his accent, my name sounds like “Mee-da”. “If you don’t have to kill me, and I don’t have to kill you, what other possible barrier could there be to our friendship?”

I don’t respond and he drops his arm, the teasing expression fading. “There are maybe a hundred creatures in the entire world that could possibly understand us.” He shakes his head. “It seems a pity to waste one.” He cocks his head and grins too big. “And anyway, I knew the minute we met, we were meant to be friends.”

When we met, we were locked in a demon dungeon, awaiting my execution. He either had a great deal of faith in my ability to escape (fair enough, I do rock), or he’s full of shit – sadly, that’s the more likely option. As if he can read my mind, he answers my unasked question.

“I thought you’d pick our side over dying.”

Those were the options I was given, side with the demons or die. I came up with option three – kick ass and take names (alright, so maybe there was some
slight
intervention by the invading Crusader army on my behalf). But I wouldn’t have chosen the demons anyway. One reason I didn’t was because I refused to kill my best friend, Jo.

Ha.

But the other… Uri. His name is a donkey kick to the chest, even after all these months. He was with us when we were captured. He wasn’t when we escaped.

Again, as if he can read my thoughts, the guy says, softly, “I’m sorry about your friend.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts. I’m glad; they aren’t a place I like to dwell. And anyway, if I were honest with myself, I know Uri wouldn’t be able to understand me any better than Jo. When he died, he didn’t even know I’m a half-demon.

This guy – blast, what is his name? – was locked in the cell next to me for disciplinary problems. Apparently he takes orders about as well as I do.

“So anyway, I’m not really on hell’s side.” He shrugs. “Not for the moment, anyway.”

“For the moment?”

“Eh, I’ll probably go back eventually. After three months on my own, it’s a little…” He catches himself before he finishes the sentence, so I do it for him.
Lonely.

He shrugs. “Honestly, I was planning to turn myself in, so when I felt a demon nearby, I figured I might as well do it now. Then I realized it was you, which is way better.” His impish grin is back. “All the camaraderie, none of the torture.”

“Torture?”

He winces, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “The demons will, uh, have some questions about where I’ve been the last few months.”

I study him. He looks sincere, but demons are tricky. I’ve only met one other half-demon (me) and I can attest that they aren’t much better. It’d be better to kill him, but…

I shake myself. I should kill him.

He nods toward the house. “After someone special tonight?” He feigns casual interest, but I can see the light in his eyes, the way he rolls slightly up on his toes as he eyes the house.

Colton. The delicious shiver returns just at the thought of him. Something special indeed.

“Ever tag-team?” he asks.

Ha. No. “I don’t have a lot of friends into human homicide.”

“Aw, come on Meda.” The guy – did it start with an R? An A? It was something foreign – cuts into my thoughts. “I’ll let you eat him,” he offers. “I’m still plugged in.” Plugged in, meaning he’s still getting false-life from hell and doesn’t have to eat the life of humans. Don’t get me wrong, even plugged in demons still like to kill, but as anyone can tell you, doing something because you want to is way better than doing something because you have to.

I, on the other hand, am not plugged and have to eat human life regularly to survive – something the Crusaders are not exactly comfortable with. They nearly starve me in their long slow deliberations on the state of my diet. I’m at the four-and-a-half-week mark and already about to lose my mind.

“Come on,” the handsome half-boy cajoles. His smile stretches, beautifully, wickedly wide. “Please? It’ll be fun.”

It
does
sound fun. What I have planned for Colton is a game, after all. A surge of rash excitement brings my own lips curling up. I have to force down a giddy laugh and my feet tug me gently toward the house. I force the wicked things to stop before they can take a step, however, and bite my lip.

No, I should kill him. He said himself he would eventually go back to the demons.

But he turns long-lashed eyes on me, full of entreaty, as if he were saying: please, please let me come murder the molester with you. How do you say “no” to eyes like those? They are a magical combination of sex and puppy.

Better than it sounds, I promise.

Then he adds something so obvious, I should have thought of it myself. “You can always kill me after.” A smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he makes the suggestion.

He thinks he’s teasing, but I think it’s a fine option. A little fun with someone who doesn’t hate me for it – though he’ll probably hate me for what happens after. Ah, well, you can’t win them all.

I let my smile break full across my face and he smiles brilliantly in return. I get ready to run, nodding toward the house. “First one there gets first blood!”

He grins and we sprint. He doesn’t stand a chance against me, but then, that’s why I made the bet.

As I said – half-demons are tricky.