Soul Screamers

      MY SOUL TO TAKE

      MY SOUL TO SAVE

       Coming soon …

      MY SOUL TO STEAL

      Visit www.miraink.co.uk

      To Amy, Michelle and Josh. My memories of you from high school make the nonfantasy elements of Kaylee’s life feel so real to me …

      ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      Thanks most of all to No.1, who takes over so many real-life duties so I can live and work in my own little world.

      Thanks to Rinda Elliott, for one honest opinion after another, to the Deadline Dames, for camaraderie, and to Jocelynn Drake and Kim Haynes, for friendships I grow more grateful for every year.

      Thanks, as always, to my agent, Miriam Kriss, for making things happen.

      And thank you to my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, and to Elizabeth Mazer and everyone else behind the scenes. Without your patience and enthusiasm, this book would never have made it on to the shelf.

      1

      THE WHOLE THING STARTED with a wasted jock and a totaled car. Or so I thought. But as usual, the truth was a bit more complicated… .

      “So, HOW DOES IT FEEL to be free again?” Nash leaned against my car, flashing that smile I couldn’t resist. The one that made his dimples stand out and his eyes shine, and made me melt like chocolate in the sun, in spite of the mid-December chill.

      I sucked in a deep, cold breath. “Like I’m seeing the sun for the first time in a month.” I pushed my car door closed and twisted the key in the lock. I didn’t like parking on the street; it didn’t seem like a very safe place to leave my most valuable possession. Not that my car was expensive, or anything. It was more than a decade old, and hardly anything to oooh over. But it was mine, and it was paid for, and unlike some of my more financially fortunate classmates, I’d never be able to afford another one, should some idiot veer too close to the curb.

      But Scott Carter’s driveway was full long before we’d arrived, and the street was lined with cars, most much nicer than mine. Of course, they all probably had more than liability coverage… .

      Fortunately, the party was in a very good section of our little Dallas suburb, where the lawn manicures cost more than my father made in six months.

      “Relax, Kaylee.” Nash pulled me close as we walked. “You look like you’d rather gouge your own eyes out than hang for a couple of hours with some friends.”

      “They’re your friends, not mine,” I insisted as we passed the third convertible on our way to the well-lit house at the end of the cul-de-sac, already thumping with some bass-heavy song I couldn’t yet identify.

      “They’d be yours if you’d get to know them.”

      I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure the glitter-and-gloss throng is waiting for me to give them a chance.”

      Nash shrugged. “They know all they need to know about you—you’re smart, pretty, and crazy in love with me,” he teased, squeezing me tighter.

      I laughed. “Who started that vicious rumor?” I’d never said it, because as addictive as Nash was—as special as he made me feel—I wasn’t going to toss off words like love and forever until I was sure. Until I was sure he was sure. Forever can be a very long time for bean sidhes, and so far his track record looked more like the fifty-yard dash than the Boston marathon. I’d been burned before by guys without much staying power.

      When I looked up, I found Nash watching me, his hazel eyes swirling with streaks of green and brown in the orange glow from the streetlights. I almost felt sorry for all the humans who wouldn’t be able to see that—to read emotion in another’s eyes.

      That was a bean sidhe thing, and easily my favorite part of my recently discovered heritage.

      “All I’m saying is it would be nice to get to hang out with my friends and my girlfriend at the same time.”

      I rolled my eyes again. “Oh, fine. I’ll play nice with the pretty people.” At least Emma would be there to keep me company—she’d started going out with one of Nash’s teammates while I was grounded. And the truth was that most of Nash’s friends weren’t that bad. Their girlfriends were another story.

       Speaking of bloodthirsty hyenas …

      A car door slammed in the driveway ahead and my cousin, Sophie, stood next to Scott Carter’s metallic-blue convertible, her huge green eyes shadowed dramatically by the streetlight overhead. “Nash!” She smiled at him, ignoring me in spite of the fact that we’d shared a home for the past thirteen of her fifteen years, until my dad had moved back from Ireland in late September.

      Or maybe because of that.

      “Can you give me a hand?” As we stepped onto the driveway, she rounded the end of her boyfriend’s car in a slinky, sleeveless pink top and designer jeans, a case of beer clutched awkwardly to her chest. Two more cases sat at her feet, and I glanced around to see if any of the neighbors were watching my fifteen-year-old cousin show off an armload of alcoholic beverages. But the neighbors were probably all out, spending their Saturday evening at the theater, or the ballet, or in some restaurant I couldn’t even afford to park near.

      And most of their kids were at Scott’s house, waiting for us to come in with the beer.

      Nash let go of me to take the case from Sophie, then grabbed another one from the ground. Sophie beamed at him, then shot a haughty sneer at my plain jacket before turning on one