Vivid Avowed (The Evelyn Maynard Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Vivid Avowed

  The Evelyn Maynard Trilogy - Part Three

  Kaydence Snow

  Copyright © 2019 by Katarina Smythe

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The events described are fictitious; any similarities to actual events and persons are coincidental.

  Cover design by Mila Book Covers

  Editing by Kirstin Andrews

  kaydencesnow.com

  Created with Vellum

  For anyone who has ever felt alone

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Check out another book!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kaydence Snow

  Prologue

  Sneaking around Bradford Hills Institute at night with Davis always sent a thrill of rebellious exhilaration through Joyce. Doing anything with Davis had an edge of adrenaline to it.

  He was the model student during the day—even friendly with some of the lecturers—but at night, he was a bad boy. And he spent most of his nights with Joyce. That made her feel special, as if she were the only one who knew who he really was, the only one who saw his dangerous side.

  “Where are we going?” George was keeping pace with them, walking slightly behind as the trio navigated a dark curved path by nothing but moonlight.

  Davis hushed him. “Keep your voice down. We’re going to the construction site.”

  “Oh.” George’s steps faltered. “Aren’t students banned from there?”

  Joyce detangled herself from Davis to loop her arm through George’s. “Yeah, but that’s what makes it fun.” She grinned and pulled him along. “It’s not like we’re gonna do anything bad—just have a few drinks and check it out. It’s totally safe, I promise.”

  Construction on what would be the new admin building had begun several weeks ago. During daylight hours, the area was teeming with contractors, buzzing with the noise of power tools and manual labor. At night, it was pretty much abandoned. Joyce and Davis had snuck in there a few times already, having sex up against the rough concrete of the structural walls and smoking pot, feeling on top of the world.

  When Davis had suggested they invite George, Joyce had been surprised. She had Variant Studies with the smart, shy seventeen-year-old and had chatted with him a handful of times—they’d even done a group project together once—but she couldn’t recall Davis ever speaking to him. George didn’t really speak to anyone. His mind-reading ability made it difficult for him to be around people, and most students steered clear, worried he might expose their deepest secrets.

  It was really sweet of Davis to notice the kid needed some friends. Joyce had agreed readily and invited him herself.

  Davis placed the six-pack of beer he was carrying on the ground and held the chain-link gate wide enough for them to squeeze through.

  They climbed to the third floor on staircases without railings and sat with their legs hanging off the edge of the building. The faint lights of the town twinkled past the treetops as they drank their beers and chatted about classes, gossiped about their classmates.

  George kept pretty quiet at first, but the beer and easy conversation soon loosened him up.

  “Hey, Georgie.” Davis had started using the silly nickname as soon as they’d picked George up at his res hall, and he hadn’t dropped it since. “You know, Joyce here is a bit special—like you.”

  “Really?” George’s eyes flicked between the couple as Davis slung an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. “You have an ability? I thought you were a Vital.”

  “Yeah, I am.” Joyce nodded but eyed Davis. He had that look in his eyes—the one he always got just before he pulled something really daring. Usually it was fun, but sometimes . . .

  Davis was the only one she’d told about her Vital status, about the way she sometimes glowed, but he wasn’t in her Bond; there had been no spark between them when they touched. His ability hadn’t even manifested yet—a sore subject for him.

  “Wait, how did you know I’m a Vital?” Joyce asked.

  George tapped the side of his head. “Heard you think it once or twice.”

  “Right.” Joyce laughed. “I almost forgot.”

  “She’s not just any Vital.” Davis leaned forward, tipping them almost dangerously over the ledge. “She’s a special kind of Vital. She can do things other Vitals can’t.”

  “Davis.” Joyce leaned them back to a safe distance. What was he doing? He knew how stressed she was about the glowing, how much she worried there was something wrong with her. Wasn’t he the one who’d convinced her not to say anything to the social worker or the nurse? They might treat her like a freak, even take her away from him if they thought she was dangerous.

  She couldn’t risk that. She loved her life and her friends too much. She loved Davis too much to even think about being away from him.

  “It’s OK, sweets.” Davis kissed her on the cheek. “Georgie won’t tell anyone. I just want to help him.”

  “Help me?” George asked at the same time as Joyce said, “How?”

  “You see, Joyce can draw Light from any source, including other Variants. And when she does, she can temporarily transfer the Variant’s ability to another Variant.”

  George’s eyes narrowed, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what Davis was saying . . . or thinking.

  “Davis.” Joyce shrugged his arm off her shoulders and fixed him with a firm look. “What are you getting at?”

  They’d used her glowing Light a handful of times. She’d once drawn from a shape-shifter and transferred to Davis so he could make himself look older and buy them beer. Harmless fun, but it took a lot out of her. Any time she used the glowing Light she felt drained and weak, and it took days to feel like herself again. But Davis loved having an ability for a little while, so she did it whenever he asked.

  “He wants you to take it all,” George answered for Davis.

  Joyce wasn’t entirely sure whether George’s ability had clued him in to what Davis wanted or if he was just smarter than her and had figured it out quicker—most people were smarter than her—but it suddenly made perfect sense.

  “You want to take his ability permanently?” Joyce stared at Davis with wide eyes. “We don’t even know if that’s possible. We don’t know what it’ll do to George. I may not even be able to do it. I’m not that strong.”

  “Yes, you are.” Davis said it with such con
viction, such certainty, the doubt almost completely evaporated. He fixed her with that look she loved, the one that made his eyes shine, that made her feel as if they were the only two people in the room—in the world.

  He cupped the side of her face, his hand warm, and she instinctively leaned into the touch. “I know you can do this, Joycie. I love you.”

  “I love you too . . . but . . .”

  “Please try.” George’s plea reminded her they weren’t actually alone in the dimly lit construction zone.

  “George, I don’t know what it might do to you.”

  “I don’t care. Even if it doesn’t work. Even if it only works for a little while. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have voices constantly in your head? To not be able to sleep until everyone else in the building is asleep? To not be able to make friends because . . . because you’re a freak? Just try. Please.”

  His eyes pleaded with her as much as his words. He was desperate.

  Joyce chewed on her lower lip. Davis wanted this. George wanted this. Who was she to say no?

  “OK.” She nodded.

  Davis clapped his hands once, the sound bouncing off the concrete. “Excellent!”

  Joyce took George’s hand and concentrated hard. She’d never tried to pull all of it before—she had to focus.

  It took time, but eventually the Light became the only thing she saw in her mind’s eye, the only thing she felt. She pulled harder than ever before.

  She was so focused on her task, so determined to give them what they wanted, she didn’t notice when George tried to pull his hand out of her grip, when he whispered weakly for her to stop. She didn’t see Davis place his hand over George’s mouth, holding him in place.

  When she’d pulled all the Light out of George, she gasped and her eyes flew open. Her body and mind couldn’t handle the pressure, the overwhelming weight of that much pure power.

  She passed out.

  Davis caught her before her head hit the concrete and lowered her gently down. Then, when he was sure George had no pulse, he kicked the young boy’s body off the edge, hoping it would look like an accident.

  “Fuck.” With a growl, he grabbed two fistfuls of Joyce’s coat and shook her. “Wake up.”

  This had to work. He hadn’t put in months of effort hanging out with this desperate, pathetic chick for it to all be a waste.

  “You better not be dead.” He huffed and unzipped her coat, reaching for her neck to check for a pulse.

  As soon as his skin connected with hers, he felt it. There was so much Light coursing through her she didn’t even need to be awake to transfer it to him. It was gushing out of her.

  A manic smile spread over his face as the sheer power coursed into his veins.

  He considered throwing her off the edge along with George—he couldn’t risk her freaking out and telling someone about what had happened—but he dismissed the idea. He had to make sure it was permanent first. And if it was . . .

  He resolved to keep his new ability a secret as long as possible; he’d reveal it only at the most opportune time. He was already in his early twenties—no one expected him to manifest an ability at all.

  As Davis lifted Joyce into his arms and climbed down the stairs, he allowed himself to think about what this could mean for him. He would be the most powerful man in America, maybe even the world.

  Oh, the mind reading would certainly help, but it wasn’t as if the ability was unique. No, the real prize was lying unconscious in his arms.

  If he was right and Joyce really could take an ability and give it to someone else, he’d have to make sure he kept her close for a long, long time. He was a bit young to be a father, but if that’s what it took to lock her into his life permanently, he’d start poking holes in condoms as soon as he got her back to his place.

  One

  One of Josh’s carefully curated playlists drifted softly from the high-tech system in the corner of my room. Although it had taken him all of five minutes to throw it together, he knew exactly which songs to choose, and they were all perfect “getting ready” songs.

  It had been way too long since one of Ethan’s epic parties, and apparently the masses were getting impatient. Plus, my big teddy bear loved to throw a big party.

  Dot unclipped the last little chunk of hair at the top of my head and separated it into sections. I was seated between her legs on the floor, my back leaning on the mattress as she meticulously straightened my hair. I hadn’t cut it more than a trim since my mother’s death. When straightened, it nearly reached my ass.

  “Should I put it in a ponytail or something? It’s getting really long.” My nervousness about this party was manifesting as self-consciousness.

  “What’re you nuts?” Dot bent around me to look into my face, her brow creased. “I just straightened it to perfection. Girls would kill for this kind of hair.”

  “OK, OK.” I held my hands up but chuckled. It was nice to see her spunk back. Her vibrant, loud, over-the-top personality had faded each day her brother and Vital had been missing.

  Charlie had been rescued over a month ago, along with dozens of other Vitals. He sat on the bed behind us, leaning on the headboard, flicking through my latest edition of New Scientist. He must’ve found something to hold his attention, because we hadn’t heard a comment or a page flip in a while.

  Bradford Hills Institute had given him the rest of the year off; he was to resume his studies for his master’s the following year, but for now, he was spending most of his spare time with us. He’d obviously missed Dot. I couldn’t imagine what he’d been through, locked up in a little cell for so long, never knowing when he might be dragged off to the lab of horrors.

  It made me sick to my stomach.

  “Apparently neural stem cells from Variant donors are seventy-six percent more effective than those from human donors in treating patients with chronic spinal cord injuries. The transplanted stem cells develop into new neurons that replace severed or lost nerve connections and almost completely restore motor and sensory function,” Charlie piped up from behind us, solving the mystery of what had him so engrossed.

  “Oh, really? I guess it makes sense when you consider the accelerated healing and better resistance to injury and disease in people with Variant DNA,” I answered, itching to read that article myself.

  Dot nudged my head to face forward again. “No nerd talk! Stop moving. I’ve only got one section to go.”

  I kept still as she dragged the last section of my chocolate-brown hair painfully slowly through the straightener. I had a feeling she was doing it just to bug me.

  “There. Done,” she declared, finishing it off with some anti-frizz shit that smelled sickly sweet and made me sneeze. She went straight to my closet and flicked through the hangers. “You sure I can’t convince you to wear a dress?”

  Hanging next to my mother’s poppy-print dress were rows of clothes I’d purchased on a recent trip to the city with Dot. Charlie and Ethan had come too, as well as a full Melior Group security detail. We were able to pretend the agents weren’t there for most of it, and I’d learned how enjoyable spending money could be when you didn’t have to worry about packing all your purchases into one easy-to-carry bag.

  For tonight, I’d opted for skinny jeans and a blood-red sweater with a V-neck. My suede ankle boots—one of three newly purchased pairs of shoes—went perfectly with it. The outfit was nowhere near as dressy as Dot’s was going to be, but I thought I looked nice, and I was warm and comfortable. A chill still hung in the March air, but so far the rain had remained trapped in the fat gray clouds above.

  “Nah,” I finally answered. “I like what I’m wearing, and it’s too cold for a dress.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But you know you’ll get drunk and start dancing and you’ll be way too hot in that later, right?”

  “Well, then it’s lucky the party is only downstairs, just a short walk away from my closet with all these clothes in it.”

  In place
of an answer, Dot just stared at me with raised brows and pursed lips. Then, slowly, she held her hand out. Squiggles came running out of the hallway, scampered up her side, and dropped a tube of mascara in her palm.

  Dot thanked her gray ferret while keeping her eyes on me, then turned to face her. “I know. She’s being sassy. I don’t like it.”

  Charlie snorted and flopped the magazine down on the bed, leaning back against my multicolored, geometric-patterned sheets. I flashed him a conspiratorial smile and went over to the side table. It held a cluster of framed pictures: the one of my mother that had survived the crash, one of her with the guys’ moms, one of the five of us as kids, and one of Dot, Charlie, and I mugging for the camera. Nestled among the frames was an old, ornately carved jewelry box. It was way too heavy and bulky to have been anything I would’ve owned before, but Josh had given it to me as a Christmas gift and then promised to fill it over the next unspecified period of time.

  I knew he meant forever—Variant Bonds were unbreakable—but none of us were ready to say that word out loud yet.

  Alec had told me he loved me, but I hadn’t said it back, and none of the others had broached the subject. I suspected they were giving me space and letting me take the lead—as they had with the sex—but an insecure part of me also wondered if maybe they weren’t ready for that level of emotional commitment yet either. I mean, really, we’d only known each other for a year. We may have played together as kids, but I didn’t remember that.