Poison Princess by Kresley Cole Page A

dwindled—because now I had a drunken, hard-up boy to deal with.
    As soon as the water was in sight, Brandon pulled me close. “You smell so good, Eves.”
    When he began to kiss my neck—urgently—I peered up through the fog. I’d found my meh .
    No, Evie, be smart about this. I reminded myself how easy it was to read Brandon, how open he was, how carefree. He was the type of boy I needed in my life.
    I couldn’t lose him. Especially not to another girl. “Hey, hold up.”
    â€œUh-huh.” He didn’t hold up.
    I grabbed his face with two hands and made him meet my eyes. “I’ve made my decision.”
    His body shot tight with tension. “Yeah?”
    â€œI’ve given the matter a lot of consideration, and I—”
    Sirens blared.
    A chorus of screams rang out: “Cops!”
    My eyes went wide. The sheriff was here? “Oh, shit! Brandon!” As the music went dead, I swayed on my feet.
    He caught my elbow. “Eves, I’ve got this! I’ll tell the sheriff that it was just me and some other football players, and the party got out of hand.”
    â€œThey’ll arrest you!”
    â€œDoubt it. My dad plays golf with the sheriff. Everything’s gonna be fine! You were never here.” He cast me a drunken grin.
    In that instant, he looked utterly heroic to me.
    â€œJust wait right here. I’ll find Mel and tell her to meet you.” He turned, jogging away.
    â€œBrandon?” I called. When he glanced over his shoulder, I started to say I love you , but all that came out was: “You’re the best.”
    He gave me a wobbly salute, then set off for battle.
    Alone, I nibbled my lip. Could Brandon keep this under wraps? I half expected more sirens to wail, or maybe a convoy of big vans to show up for arrests.
    My first impulse was to call Mel, but my phone—along with all my stuff—was locked in her car!
    A cool breeze swept over me, clearing the fog and sending leaves cartwheeling across the surface of the river. I rubbed my arms, suddenly freezing in this outfit.
    On the heels of that wind, angry clouds moved in. An approaching thunder boomer? In Louisiana we got microbursts all the time. I wasn’t too concerned, would love to have the rain.
    No, not too concerned—until chills skittered over the back of my neck.
    Every rustle or animal call around me seemed amplified. I turned in a circle, but saw no one. Still I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Just paranoia? Just another symptom?
    Then came that tingling sensation once more. Oh, no, no! Ignore it. Resist it—
    A lightning bolt forked down not twenty yards from me.
    I screamed, temporarily blinded, waiting for the deafening crack of thunder. None came.
    When another silent bolt landed even closer, it zapped the ground with so much force that soil and sparks erupted into the sky.
    I stared, dumbfounded. Smoking specks of dirt wafted on the breeze, the sight rousing me into action. I took off running, sprinting down to the river’s edge.
    A third bolt drove me closer to the water, into the moccasin-infested reeds. “Shit, shit!” My footfalls landed in the muck, the shallow mud sucking at my boots. I shifted my steps, running on my toes.
    As more lightning struck, I realized it seemed to be following me.
    This couldn’t be real. Because instead of bolts, I now saw spears—like javelins. They were sparkling silver, engraved with symbols, but they exploded like lightning upon impact.
    Not real, not real, I repeated hysterically, pumping my arms for speed. Reject the delusion!
    One sizzled just inches from my last footfall. Someone was trying to kill me! I lurched around, heading back toward the mill. I’d rather be arrested!
    â€œOh God, oh God!” I blundered around trees, dodging branches that seemed to be going out of their freaking way to reach me, to hold me still. “Ugh!”
    I risked a