Stolen

Praise for
MELISSA DE LA CRUZ

for
FROZEN:

“Like
Lord of the Rings
in reverse . . . an original and thrilling escape that will break your heart and make it soar at the same time.”

—Alyson Noël,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Immortals and Soul Seekers series

“Everything I love in a book . . . Humor, suspense, twists, and above all, originality. Highly recommended.”

—James Dashner,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Maze Runner

“It's a thought-provoking novel, part epic-fantasy, and part social commentary . . . you'll clamor for book 2.”

—
Entertainment Weekly

“An exciting and imaginative story that is two parts vision quest and one part adventure . . . The well-paced action is taut, the characters diverse and finely drawn.”

—
New York Journal of Books

“Romance, magic, and excitement drive the pace of this genre-defying adventure.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Fans of
The Hunger Games
will no doubt enjoy sinking their teeth into this exciting book.”

—
School Library Journal

for
BLUE BLOODS:

“De la Cruz's Blue Bloods introduces a conception of vampires far different from traditional stake-fleeing demons, coupling sly humor . . . with the gauzier trappings of being fanged and fabulous . . . teens will savor the thrilling sense of being initiated into an exclusive secret society.”

—
Booklist,
starred review

“De la Cruz combines American history, vampires and a crew of rich New York City kids, delivering a page-turning debut in Blue Bloods.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Schuyler Van Alen is #9 on the Top 25 Vampires of all time.”

—
Entertainment Weekly

for
WITCHES OF EAST END:

“Centuries after the practice of magic was forbidden, Freya, Ingrid, and their mom struggle to restrain their witchy ways as chaos builds in their Long Island town. A bubbling cauldron of mystery and romance, the novel shares the fanciful plotting of Blue Bloods, the author's teen vampire series . . . [B]reezy fun.”

—
People

“A magical and romantic page-turner . . .
Witches of East End
is certain to attract new adult readers . . . The pacing is masterful, and while the witchcraft is entertaining, it's ultimately a love triangle that makes the story compelling. De la Cruz has created a family of empathetic women who are both magically gifted and humanly flawed.”

—
Washington Post

“For anyone who was frustrated watching Samantha suppress her magic on
Bewitched,
Ms. de la Cruz brings some satisfaction. In her first novel for adults, the author . . . lets her repressed sorceresses rip.”

—
New York Times

“What happens when a family of Long Island witches is forbidden to practice magic? This tale of powerful women, from the author of the addictive Blue Bloods series, mixes mystery, a battle of good versus evil and a dash of Norse mythology into a page-turning parable of inner strength.”

—
Self

“
Witches of East End
has all the ingredients you'd expect from one of Melissa's bestselling YA novels—intrigue, mystery and plenty of romance. But with the novel falling under the ‘adult' categorization, Melissa's able to make her love scenes even more . . . magical.”

—MTV.com

“De la Cruz has, with
Witches,
once again managed to enliven and embellish upon history and mythology with a clever interweaving of past and present, both real and imagined . . . [It] casts a spell.”

—
Los Angeles Times

“De la Cruz is a formidable storyteller with a narrative voice strong enough to handle the fruits of her imagination. Even readers who generally avoid witches and whatnot stand to be won over by the time the cliffhanger-with-a-twist-ending hits.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Fantasy for well-read adults.”

—
Kirkus Reviews

“A sexy, magical romp, sure to bring de la Cruz a legion of new fans.”

—Kelley Armstrong,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Otherworld series

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

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penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

Copyright © 2014 by Melissa de la Cruz and Michael Johnston.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-698-17170-1

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

For Mattie, who will light the world on fire one day
and
for Josey, whose imagination soars as high as a drakon

Men say they know many things;
But lo! they have taken wings,—
The arts and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
The wind that blows
Is all that any body knows.

—HENRY DAVID THOREAU

Come hell

—THE DECEMBERISTS, “THIS IS WHY WE FIGHT”

THE FIRE
AND THE THIEF

T
HROUGH THE FIRE, THROUG
H THE SMOKE
and flame, she saw the boy and the girl huddled in the corner.
Twins.
She hadn't known there would be two children. Which one? The boy looked afraid, but his sister stared back boldly. The girl had sapphire eyes and a swirl on her shoulder. A weaver.

It was the girl.

A decision was made.

She was the one.

The one they had come to steal.

Part the First:

THE ARCHIMEDES PALIMPSEST

You drop a coin into the sea, and shout out, “Please come back to me”

—STARS, “THE NIGHT STARTS HERE”

Chapter 1

F
IRE IN HER THROAT.
F
IRE IN HER LUNGS
and chest. Nat breathed and the drakon breathed. She exhaled and the drakon exhaled. The drakon roared its fury and the flame was everywhere, a blaze as bright as the noonday sun.

Natasha Kestal was a drakonrydder. She was
Anastasia Dekesthalias, the Resurrection of the Flame.
But neither words nor names could capture the incredible floating, flying, gut-twisting, hair-raising sensation that filled her entire being. Being a drakonrydder was only part of it. Nat
was
the drakon. She was a piece of the creature's soul, a limb that had been torn from its body as surely as a wing or a claw, but now, reunited, they were one as they glided through the clouds, skimming across the water, the wind in her face and hair, its fire burning in her throat. The drakon's fury, its rage, was
her
rage, and she breathed that rage upon the drone ships that flew the flag of the Remaining States of America, setting the entire ocean aflame.

Not everything was so simple. The battle in the Pacific had been only the first victory, as the enemy's might was far more formidable and vast than she or the Council of Vallonis had anticipated. Since the first battle, armadas hidden around points of the globe had tracked and assaulted every possible gateway to the Blue. They'd come with their guns and their rockets, following her with radar and satellite, sending drone aircrafts to track her position and battle cruisers to fire their missiles into the drakon's hide.
Like wasps stinging a hound's coat,
Nat thought.
But if stung enough, the hound will fall.

It was her job to keep that from happening. But her drakon had suffered many injuries already and it had been a while since they had been able to truly rest.

All the oceans were the same—the frothy waters toxic and black—with the Tasman Sea as blighted as the rest. The gate of Arem had closed, but navy spies discovered the new doorway located north of New Crete that the people of Vallonis were using to rescue their sick brothers and sisters from the dying world. Nat had been patrolling the skies at dawn when she spotted the hulking supercarriers steaming their way to the island.

She urged her drakon downward and they dove through walls of smoke and ash, bursting through flame; a Valkyrie and her mount. The wind from its wings created white-crested waves that sent the fleet's smaller vessels tumbling in the tide, capsizing the drone ships and filling their hulls with black water that pulled them down into the murky depths, all while Nat and her drakon rose upward on a plume of hot air, disappearing into the dark skies and preparing for another volley.

Higher,
she urged.
Faster. Fly ahead of their bullets.

Drakon Mainas flapped its leathery wings, the air gusting like a hurricane, each mighty wing beat scattering the clouds and creating a vortex, a hole through which she could glimpse the remnants of the latest fleet, the gleaming cruisers and destroyers of the RSA, floundering and nearly obliterated in one breath of the drakon's flame.

One more and they are done.

Nat inhaled. She felt the hot air churning in her lungs, the fire building, heat swirling, rising.
Make this blast the greatest yet—a heat so intense, it will roast their ships into dust.
The fire pulsed in her veins; it climbed up her throat. She let the flame grow until she couldn't control it anymore. The drakon's black and ashy scales glowed hot, red and orange. Nat screamed and a violent blue fireball erupted from its mouth, intense and white-hot in the center, onto the remaining drones.

Now all the ships were burning, their hulls blackened, and they were sinking into the ocean, steam rising and hissing as they slipped into the dark waters. Scorched. Defeated.

Nat felt a fierce swell of joy and triumph, but she had survived enough of these campaigns to know it wasn't over quite yet.

Up,
she said to her drakon.
Into the sky, our hunt continues.

Higher and higher they climbed, rising up until they were above the clouds, above the gray mist. Nat hovered, listening for the engines of the remaining aircraft—the gray drones that swarmed the air above the coast of New Pangaea.

Like the humming snore of a great, sleeping beast,
she thought.
Or . . .

A flock of sleek warbirds ripped through the clouds, their engines screaming, targeting mechanisms whirling, heading straight for them. Only seconds away, a few drakon-lengths at the most.

Dive! Now!

The drakon tucked its mighty wings to its back and fell straight out of the sky, toward the rocky cliffs along the shore. They sailed down into a wedge-shaped valley, passing so close to the stone that Nat thought she saw animals scurrying across the rocks, running away from the great rush of wind that preceded the drakon. But the buzzing drones still followed close behind, and she could see their black-tipped noses from the corner of her eye.
Faster,
she urged her drakon. Down and down they fell, breaking stones and branches, sending rocks and leaves spiraling into the air, coming to a halt a hairsbreadth above the river at the valley's base.

The drakon beat its wings right before they struck the water, and they rose once more, flying in a wide arc before angling up toward the lip of the gorge.

The unexpected move sent a few of their pursuers crashing into the water or the rocks, but others maneuvered faster and continued to trail behind them, spitting out gunfire, and Nat had to dodge the bullets that streaked toward her. She brandished her sword, holding it aloft to direct the drakon's flame, while the bullets bounced harmlessly against her shield.

Get us out of here. Find cover.

There!
Nat spied a granite pillar, a tower of rock where they could hide. Soon the drakon was already turning toward it, diving again to an open chasm. The drakon landed on the far side of the rock, talons gripping the stone, breaking chunks from the granite. They hung there, hiding, blending into the dark, listening closely as the roar of the drones' engines filled the canyon.

Shrieking like banshees, wailing like lost souls, the unpiloted drones dove into the valley.
Now. Let's fill this canyon with flame.

Nat inhaled deeply and the drakon stretched its neck, reaching around the stone to unleash an epic roar, breathing fire into the gorge and turning the rocky crevice into an inferno. One by one the drones flew into the canyon, their engines whizzing, buzzing like enormous insects, searching for Nat, only to find themselves trapped in a heat intense enough to warp their wings and melt their engines. Three crashed into the walls of the cliff while the last one merely sputtered and fell to the valley floor.

It's over. We did it.
The canyon was engulfed in drakonfire, and Nat marveled at its beauty, how it swirled around her, dancing. The fire fell like warm rain on her shoulders, as soothing as a cocoon.

She let the flames dim. The battle was finished, or so she believed; she'd been through enough of these to know when it was over.

But just as she exhaled in relief, a lone gray drone soared above the cavern, its dark wings wide as the valley, nose as long as the highest tree was tall, dropping bombs from its belly. It was a grayhawk, the deadliest aircraft in the RSA's arsenal, as large and fearsome as the drakon itself—stealthy and silent, a death machine in the sky.

She could feel the drakon's fear. Like her, it was afraid of iron, of the steel in their bullets and shells. Like her, it was afraid of the grayhawk.

Climb!

They rose from the canyon, wings beating. Nat's heels digging into the drakon's side, urging it upward, explosions and smoke chasing them from the gorge as they burst out into the sky, flames nipping at their tail.

Come and get us.
Nat waited for the grayhawk to find them in the clouds and smoke, meaning to meet it head-on, to torch it like she had the others.

Come and I will show you what it means to burn.

She waited, but there was nothing but dark smoke that hurt her eyes.

Nat blinked and suddenly she was staring into a black expanse that wasn't ocean or sky, but asphalt—a road with cars racing across its surface. She wiped the tears from her eyes, thinking she was hallucinating, but the vision of the racetrack persisted.

And there, inside one of the cars, was Wes, his face tight with tension, his mouth set in a frown, dark circles under his eyes.

Ryan Wesson.

How long had it been since they had seen each other?

Too long.

He was driving and didn't see her as he maneuvered his car across the track, nearly colliding with another driver but swerving gracefully just in time. Then he looked up, and his brown eyes widened in acknowledgment as they met her green ones.

Nat?

She could hear his voice in her head, and her heart ached and the fire burned white-hot inside her.

Wes!
she cried. What was she looking at? Where was he?

But just as quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone. The track and its cars vanished into the mist.

There was only the fat belly of the grayhawk hovering above, its rockets pointed straight at her, and so Nat flew up to meet it, her throat filling with flame, ready to exhale.