Tremble

tremble

Celestra Series Book 2

by Addison Moore

http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/

Other books by Addison Moore;

Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1)

Copyright © 2011 by Addison Moore

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds al rights to this work. It is il egal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

Table of Contents

Chapter One - Dream

Chapter Two - Rush

Chapter Three - Screwed

Chapter Four - Party

Chapter Five - Broken

Chapter Six - Misery

Chapter Seven - Healer

Chapter Eight - Going Places

Chapter Nine - L.A.

Chapter Ten - Setback

Chapter Eleven - Carnal

Chapter Twelve - Obedience

Chapter Thirteen - Hide

Chapter Fourteen - Heavy

Chapter Fifteen - Kiss Me

Chapter Sixteen - Spin

Chapter Seventeen - Fake

Chapter Eighteen - Just Breathe

Chapter Nineteen - Hel o

Chapter Twenty - You Again

Chapter Twenty-One - Angel

Chapter Twenty-Two - Back

Chapter Twenty-Three - Caught

Chapter Twenty-Four - Game On

Chapter Twenty-Five - The Plan

Chapter Twenty-Six - Let Me Hold Your Hand

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Candor

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Peril

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Together

Chapter Thirty - Life

Chapter Thirty-One - Strange Love

Chapter Thirty-Two - Blue, I See You

Chapter Thirty-Three – Chloe with the Blue

Dress

Chapter Thirty-Four - Crazy for You

Chapter Thirty-Five - Wicked

Chapter Thirty-Six - Longing

Chapter Thirty-Seven - I See You

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Haunted

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Eye for an Eye

Chapter Forty - Forget You

Chapter Forty-One - Gone

Chapter Forty-Two - I Can Explain

Chapter Forty-Three - Loaded

Chapter Forty-Four - Man Down, Man Up

Chapter Forty-Five - Blind

Chapter Forty-Six - Repeat

Chapter Forty-Seven - Wake

Chapter Forty-Eight - Behave

Chapter Forty-Nine - Stay

Chapter Fifty - L.A. Lady

Chapter Fifty-One - Sublime

Chapter One

Dream

Inevitably, we al die. In your sleep if you’re lucky—unconscious, unaware of what’s transpiring around you—an instant transport to another realm. A beautiful place, if you know the way.

Drowning. There is something mysterious and frightening about the ocean. The unknowable depths—the unsearchable reaches of the indigo marine. It hadn’t occurred to me as I lunged into the water, sinking effortlessly into its cold waiting arms, it could be the last time I’d see the pale blue sky, the hard line of the horizon, the distant rocky shore. With the last breath of wind-blown air already growing stale in my lungs, I propel forward exasperated by its beauty.

This is the dream that masters the night. Chloe is with me. She is long dead, but has become a strange comfort to me in my dreams. We swim like mermaids with our long flowing hair, lips iced with bubbles. I feel Logan’s notable absence. Sometimes he dreams with me, when he is able. It happens now and again if he wil s it, but it depletes him and he’s useless the next day.

I take Chloe’s hand and lead her into the tal emerald forest. She resists, but I win. She fol ows my thirsty desire to fly through the sea, suspended weightless, free from al struggles on the other side of this ancient rain. We lose ourselves in its rich gardens, caught off guard by the occasional eel darting in and out of the rocks just an arm’s length away on the dusty sea floor.

If there were only time for exploration, if I could somehow live out my dreams on the bottom of the ocean—bathing in brine—letting the currents have their way with me. They sway me gently to the exact place I need to be, baptizing me in quiet solace.

I need to learn from the creatures of the deep, learn to swal ow fear, bury it in the watery grave of indifference and swim away.

The light of the outside world shimmers in assurance just beyond the forest of pale green kelp. I focus on the long amber branches—

rubbery formed leaves the shape of tears. We kick our way through pressured waters, every movement unnatural y lethargic. The water around us congeals ever so slightly as if to keep us down beyond our last breath.

An unnatural panic seizes me. I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe. I thrash for Chloe to help me—to shake me out of my dream. In my hysteria I let go and lose her.

A figure of a man, a boy, around my age appears. He comes closer and closer until I see him ful and clear—sharp chiseled features, a soft mane of caramel waves, eyes the color of scarlet. He gives a short-lived smile before pressing his lips against mine and fil s my lungs with a deep wel of glorious air that satisfies me.

Then another breath, warm and deep, fil ing me with an ecstasy I never knew existed.

***

“Skyla. Skyla.”

The lights flip on, and my mother shakes violently at my shoulder. In a brief moment of dread, I think I overslept. It’s the first day of school, my first ever at West Paragon High. I tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, ruminating over different scenarios of what my first day as a junior might look like.

The alarm clock is blocked with her body, so I can’t see the time.

“You awake?” There’s an uncal ed for level of glee in her voice. Her red shaggy hair comes in and out of focus like a blur. I struggle to open my eyes, unable to keep my lids from gluing themselves shut in the harsh light. I give several hard blinks trying to adjust with no avail. I catch a glimpse out the window. It’s pitch black outside, which startles me to attention.

Maybe my stepfather had some cardiac infarction, and he’s dead. Now that would definitely be worth getting up at an ungodly hour.

“What?” I pul up on my elbow stil squinting the world into focus.

“Surprise!” She sings the word in two equal parts and steps aside with a laugh.

Three grotesque creatures dressed in dark cloaks stand in a row. Their heavily disfigured faces stare out at me with hol ow eyes, flesh that drips like candle wax, gaunt features that leave me gasping with a scream locked in my throat.

“Shit!” I mange to hiss, snatching up the covers and backing into the wal .

A swarm of hands col apse over me in unison. Before I realize it, I’m being dragged off the bed and pushed across the room by way of their aggressive prodding.

“Mom!” I yel .

They’re strong—determined. I can’t break free for more than one second before they latch onto me again. “Tad!” I scream for the man I wished dead a minute ago. “They’re Fems!” I yel , as if that should mean anything to my mother. If she were an angel, even the worst one of them, she’d understand the danger I was in.

“Have a good time!” My mom shouts as they jostle me down the stairs.

A mouthful of expletives try to unleash themselves at once, but al my vocal cords can manage is an il -fitted yelp that would embarrass even a smal poodle.

“Mom!” I shril through the air with my primal cry.

How can she just stand there? How can she watch me get snatched from the confines of my own bedroom?

“Wait!” Her voice carries from the top of the stairs.

The front door gapes wide open exposing the night. The frigid air filters in licking at my bare legs, my arms.

Mom barrels down the stairs cinching up her nightgown with one hand.

My arms are secured behind my back, and one of the creatures has a leg hooked around mine. He overextends my knee just enough to inflict pain should I consider bolting.

“You’l need these.” She holds out my leopard print robe and fuzzy pink slippers.

“What the…” Something fastens across my eyes and the world goes black. My mouth is harnessed with a tight fitted cloth.

This strange violent scene, in the entry of our new home, is likely the last physical impression I’l have of my mother, and it leaves me wanting to strangle her.

Chapter Two

Rush

After a lengthy drive, which I spent rol ing around in a trunk, I’m led on a long walk through the cold morning air. I’m almost sure it’s morning.

My eyes are wide open beneath the cloth strapped across my face, as a film of murky light filters in.

Final y my bare feet land on tiled floor, smooth and cold as a glacier. The acoustics change, and I can hear the echo of my erratic breathing.

In a fit of adrenaline I loosen the bindings around my wrists. Like an explosion I grab the Fem whose body has been pressed against mine and claw and spike at it over and over.

A choir of screams ignite al around me as I continue to thrash wildly. The Fem feels so human—soft body, lanky arms, a tangle of thick hair that I easily grab onto.

“Do something!” I hear her scream.

The bandana around my eyes dislodges exposing a very distressed Michel e Mil er. Her dark hair is arranged like a bird’s nest, and a gash of three bloody lines runs across the breadth of her left cheek.

It’s just the bitch squad.

A quivering sigh escapes me.

I’m not being held captive by rabid evil Fems. I’m not in some underground layer with a crazed celestial lunatic ready to drain the lifeblood out of me or force me to procreate with some genetical y power hungry Count. I’m in a locker room watching Michel e smear blood across her face with the back of her arm.

My hands are quickly restrained from behind, this time with duct tape. Emily Morgan steps in front of me and opens the door to a storage closet. It takes a minute for me to register that the gym I’m standing in, judging by the row of upright urinals doesn’t belong to the girls.

“Oh crap,” I mutter.

Lexy jumps over to Michel e after she finishes cutting off the blood supply to my hands.

“Too tight,” I groan. It’s stupid to expect mercy from the bitch squad. That’s about as rational as taking a walk across the ceiling.

“Oh.” Emily places her hand over her mouth in a fit of sarcasm. “Maybe your arms wil fal off.” She gives a swift blow to my stomach by way of her foot and propels me backwards into the closet.

“Welcome to the team.” Sounds like Lexy, but I’m in too much pain to look up. I’ve al but disemboweled Michel e. I should have eviscerated the three of them when I had the chance.

Something soft lands on me fol owed by two sharp darts speared at my head, my robe and fuzzy slippers.

The door slams with a certain finality, fol owed by the push of an object being shoved hard in front of it.

I put in a ful throttle effort to break free, but nothing. It’s so stil , so quiet outside the door.

It’s no use.

I’l have to rely on a band of naked boys to get me out of here.

***

I spil onto the floor, awakened by an unsuspecting janitor. Blinking into the gym I see a bustle of flesh-toned blurs running around with white towels secured at the waist. A burly man with a handlebar mustache yanks me to my feet and begins escorting me outside. I try to avoid looking anywhere but the floor until I clear the threshold of the gym.

“Damn hazing.” The disgruntled janitor swipes a blade through the duct-tape around my wrists before disappearing.

I can’t believe this. Here I am on the first freaking day of school in my robe and fuzzy slippers and, not to be forgotten, my freaking unshaven legs.

Crap, crap, and crap!

Painted on the side of the boy’s gym is an overblown effigy of a three headed snarling dog. Jet black with three viciously opened bright red mouths, yel ow glowing eyes. Something about it reminds me of the Fem Logan kil ed in the forest a few weeks back. Beneath it reads the inscription West Paragon Dawgs.

“I’m a dog?” The words come out inaudible.

I don’t bother gripping the outer reaches of logic. Instead, I make a lightning-quick dash for the administration building.

I plan on making a whole slew of phone cal s, including my mother, their mothers—and the police.

The glass door to the office is held open politely by a boy just leaving. I don’t attempt making eye contact or gauging how shocked he might be to see me running around my worse nightmare right here in the open. I’d take off my robe if I weren’t wearing a see-through tank with no bra and boy shorts that technical y qualify as underwear.

“My name’s Skyla Messenger,” I pant to the woman behind the desk. “I need to cal my mom. I was taken against my wil this morning.”

She’s a slender woman, pale as paper. She gives a thin line of a smile.

“Kidnapped,” she says, almost inaudibly. “You were kidnapped.” She riffles through a smal stack of files on her desk and shoves a pink sheet over to me. “Your schedule.” She twists her lips in an apathetic smile.

“I need to get dressed.” Not to mention I don’t have my face on yet, and I’m afraid to catch my reflection in the glass because I don’t even want to see what the hel my hair is doing. “Please, just cal my mom.”

She shakes her head.

“Skyla, your mother contacted us yesterday and forbid us to do so. Al kidnappings need to have at least one parent’s approval. If you have a problem with it take it up with Ms. Richards. She al ows such stupid shenanigans.” Her eyes avert to the ceiling.

“Who’s Ms. Richards?” I glance down at the schedule. Sixth period P.E. Ms. Richards.