Larkstorm (29 page)

“What about the two of you?”

“We’ll catch up.” He kisses me quickly and runs off toward Bethina.

I have no choice but to run for the barrier. Through the pelting rain, I search for any sign of weakness in the dome, but there’s only an unbroken line. Behind me, the air churns but nothing strikes me. Beck and Bethina must be incredibly strong to hold off the crush of witches.

When I near the tree line, a nagging feeling chews at me.

I abruptly stop my full-speed run.

Beck needs to escape Summer Hill. If he’s left behind, Eamon may kill him.

Panic and anger tear at me. I won’t let him sacrifice himself for me, if that’s what he has planned. I whip around so I’m facing the battle head on. Hundreds of whizzing lights illuminate Bethina and Beck. The attack comes from all directions. But they seem untouched
—
for now.

As I watch their choreographed movements, the anger builds until lightning rips the sky apart. If I can hold off the witches long enough, Beck can run. He’ll be with me.

A bolt touches down and a line of fire spreads from the hit, unhindered by the rain.

Beck turns to flee, but Bethina holds his arm and points toward something I can’t see. Beck begins spell-casting again.

I need another strike. Something bigger to give him more time. I focus my thoughts and call on every feeling of anger and hatred I’ve ever had.

These witches want to kill Beck. I narrow my eyes and…

An ear-piercing screech drowns out the roar of battle. The dome shakes and collapses. Snow pours in from all directions, mingling with the rain, and brings an icy chill with it. Dark witches pour through the opening, aiming their magic at the advancing Light witches.

Terrified, I spin back toward Bethina and Beck
—
away from the edges of the dome and into the thick of the battle. Bright pulses of energy whiz past me in all directions. Unsure where to go, I stand in place, frozen. I’m trapped.

A rough yank on my arm brings me back to my senses.

“Lark, c’mon! You need to get out of here!” Kyra shouts over the thunder. I blink at my friend, trying to figure out how she came to be standing next to me.

“You have to move! They’re going to hurt you!” She pulls on my arm harder.

I’m torn. I want to run and save myself. I want to take the chance my mother and her group won’t destroy whatever small part of goodness exists in me. But Beck’s here and I can’t leave him to face this on his own. Not when I know what happened to my father. I can’t let history repeat itself.

Through the pounding rain and snow, I see Eamon and his group closing in on Beck. He and Bethina are grossly outnumbered. I can’t let this happen. I need to keep Beck safe.

I fling my hand out before me and another bolt scars the sky before striking the ground near the house. I squint into the rain, trying to see how close the bolt hit.

Bethina’s body lies crumpled on the ground. Beck cradles her in his lap. The air around me shakes and twitches.

A ring of fire slowly spreads around Beck and Bethina.

My scream pierces the air. “No!”

I did this. My out-of-control magic hit Bethina. I did this, not Eamon, not the Dark witches. Me. Rage fills me and shakes every nerve ending.

How could I let this happen? How?

Lightning strikes again, this time closer to the house. The fire snakes near the front porch, its hungry tongue searching for a meal.

“Lark!” Annalise’s icy voice is urgent. Frantic even. “You need to come with us.”

The scene in front of me holds me captive. Beck presses Bethina’s limp form close to his heart and sways back and forth. Dark witches swarm past him, ignoring him and laying waste to Summer Hill. An explosion from deep inside the house rocks me back on my heels. Orange flames engulf the upper floor and screams fill the air as Light witches run from the advancing Dark army.

This is all my fault.

Without warning, Beck’s eyes land on me. Two glowing orbs full of horror. A thousand knives pierce me and rip at my heart. Beck’s emotions overtake my own.

He knew what I was capable of. He knew, but he didn’t believe.

Our eyes lock, and in my head, I hear his trembling voice.
It isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault.
He cries over and over again.

With concentration, I shut my mind to him. His distraught wails fade to silence. For the first time in my life, I force Beck out. The gold in his eyes glows brighter, daring me to look away. They show the hurt his words won’t.

I fall to my knees, sobbing. The rain stings my face but I don’t care
—
the physical pain is nothing but a nuisance compared to the ache in my heart. I pitch myself onto my hands and scream. The storm swallows the sound and lashes me harder.

Two feet appear near my head and a hand extends down toward me. Kyra.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t want you manipulating me,” I shriek.

She recoils. “I can’t manipulate you, Lark. No one can, except him.”

Him. Beck. My Dark heart, a vibrating mass of destruction, whirls under the strain of the relentless stabbing pressure.

“I can’t leave Beck.” I scream. “They’ll kill him.”

Annalise grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet. She peers into my eyes. “What did you two do?”

“We bound ourselves.”

Annalise shakes her head and a rush of air passes through her lips. “I can’t worry about him right now. Only you.”

“But
–
”

“Stop arguing and do as you’re told.”

I hesitate. Henry said I had to go with them. Bethina said it. But, every fiber of my body screams at me to run as fast as I can.

And yet I don’t.

Kyra stands in front of me, hands on her hips. “If he’s near you, you’re going to kill him. And who knows what Malin will do now that you’re permanently bound. At least this way he has a chance. We have orders to kill Eamon. Beck will be safer here.”

They want me to leave Beck. My heart fractures. How will it beat without him? I can’t leave him. I can’t walk away from him like this.

But I can’t be with him. I’m too dangerous.

The one thing no one has ever questioned is that I will try to kill him. My love isn’t enough to protect Beck. Just like love wasn’t enough for my mother to protect my father. Just like it wasn’t enough to protect Bethina. Beck will die if he’s near me.

If my mother’s army succeeds and kills Eamon, Beck’s safer with the Light witches, among his own people, far
a
way from me. They may not harm him, but I will.

Lark
? Beck’s voice overruns my control.
Wait for me.

Tears mix with the snow and rain, and roll down my face.
I don’t want to hurt you.
I try to sound firm
—
I want the hard edge of my voice to hold him from me. I need him to stay away.

Wait,
he pleads.

I blink. Bethina’s body lies motionless on the ground. Beck is no longer cradling her. He’s running toward me.

Yes. This is what we need to do. We need to fix this together. If I can just feel his arms around me, this will all be better. Mother is going to have Eamon killed and he’ll no longer be a threat to us. Everything will be better.

The rain slows to a drizzle and the snow stops.

I can see clearly now
—
Eamon and the advancing witches, Beck running toward Kyra, Annalise, and me. Toward the girl who will kill him. Toward the one person who will, without a doubt, destroy him.

Toward me.

My heart seizes. I’ve known this all along. He can’t come with me. I’ll never feel his arms again. I can’t be with him. The only thing we have is hope
that
his own people will forgive him.

I clutch my pendant and allow my heart to fill with love. I need him to feel how I love him. My words tangle with my sobs.
I love you. I will never stop loving you.

The pendant falls to the ground as my wet hand slides into Annalise’s. Kyra stands next to me and links her arm through my empty one. She beams at me.

Lark
—
No. Don’t do this. Wait. You don’t need to do this.

I whip my head to gaze back over my shoulder. Beck has stopped running and is only twenty feet away from us.
You can’t save me from myself.

Kyra holds my hand tightly. “We have to go. Please, Lark. We’re running out of time.”

But my eyes are trained on Beck. His chest heaves with each breath, his fists clenched at his side, but he doesn’t step any closer to us. Rain streams over his forehead and down his cheeks
—
I can’t see his tears, but I know they’re there.

“You have to leave him. Unless you
want
Malin to kill him.” Annalise hisses into my ear. I begin to protest, but Annalise stops me. “Then leave him. His own parents would never allow harm to come to him.”

A slight shake of my head sends Beck’s emotions coursing through me, as his face crumples with despair.

“Let’s go.” My voice quivers as I turn away from him. I need to do this fast, before I fall apart. Before I make a decision that goes against everything I’ve been fighting for
—
staying me. Not completely Dark, not Light either. Just Lark, a girl worth fighting for.

Without a glance back, I feel Beck’s distraught eyes pierce through me.

I love you. I love you. I love you.
His voice ricochets through my mind
.

Annalise’s fingers curl around mine and I spin into a black void.

My heart shreds. The pieces scatter to the wind.

I’m Dark.

But Beck’s light still shines.

Acknowledgements

I could pretend
Larkstorm
is solely a product of my own abilities, but that would be a lie. Each word you read on these pages is the result of many people’s hard work. Most readers don’t realize the blood-letting books go through. If I could show you all twenty-three versions of
Larkstorm
…well, it wouldn’t be pretty. Lots and lots of red ink.

The first person to read the first draft of
Larkstorm
was
Veronique Launier
. She told me it was a good story, but not great. She made my pages bleed. I may have cried a little, but I’m so glad she didn’t hold back.

I can’t write an acknowledgment page without thanking my Write Nighters:
Kathy Bradey, Summayah Dawd, Laurie Devore,
Deborah Driza, Sarah Enni, Rachael Kirkenda
ll, Stephanie Ku
ehn, Cory Jackson, Veronique Launier, Kara Mufasa,
Vahini Naidoo, Veronica Roth, Jennifer Walkup, Kaitlin Ward, and Margo West.

Without all of you, I’m not sure I could handle t
he ups and downs of publishing.
I believe most of you read
Larkstorm
at least once, if not a few times. And with each set of notes, it became a real book.
Long live geoducks and pedowolves.

A special note about Jenn Walkup
—
I think she’s read this book more than anyone else. She’s also held my hand more than anyone else. Basically, she’s an amazing writing buddy.

The ladies of LitBitches
—
thank you for the cheerleading and letting me be part of your individual publication journeys.

I have the best agent-mates
ever.
Jaime Reed (you’re always ready to help with anything I need. Thank you), Dan Haring (I probably shouldn’t thank you since you are a constant distraction for me on Twitter…grrr!) and Sarah Fine (m
y cheerleader, confid
a
nt and line-editing guru
).

Those who follow me on twitter may have heard of #evilintern. She has a real name and it’s Rebecca Yeager. Becky has the honor of being Lark and Beck’s first super-fan. She’s also two-parts vicious editorial ninja and one-part amazing finder of random internet distractions.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Terra Layton and her detailed notes. Her suggestions brought a new layer of depth to the story and I’m eternally grateful.

Everyone knows a picture speaks a thousand words. Sarah Marino, the book designer of
Larkstorm
, created a beautiful image that surpassed my expectations.

A HUGE t
hank you to everyone at Nancy Coffey Literary and Media Management for letting me be part of your amazing agency. Nancy
Coffey
and Jo
Volpe
,
without
your
support I wouldn’
t
be realizing
my dream. Sara Kend
a
ll, Good God, where do I start? You took something I believed was very good and helped sculpt it into something amazing. You pushed me to consider new options and variables. I am forever in your debt.

I can’t imagine a better partner on this journey than my agent, Kathleen Ortiz.
Without her encouragement,
Larkstorm
would be hidden depths of my computer. When I’d all but given up on the book, she told me she still believed in it. That’s all I needed
—
for someone to still believe. She picked me up, let me lick my wounds, and then kicked me in the ass and told me to get to work.

Last but not least, I have to thank my husband David. Despite his crazy travel schedule, he always made time for me to write. There were
days
he’d step off a plane from Asia, head directly to coach our son’s soccer game, and then, even though he wanted to crawl into bed and sleep, tell me to go write. Force me actually. He always puts me first and treats me like I’m the most important person in his world. I hope he knows he’s the most important person in mine.