Dating isn’t easy when you’re in the middle of a blood feud. Anastasia Vila’s family can turn into swans, but just once she’d like them to turn into responsible adults. After hundreds of years, they still cling to the blood feud with the Renard family. No one remembers how it started in the first place— but foxes and swans just don’t get along. Vilas can only transform into their swan shape after they have fallen in love for the first time, but between balancing schoolwork, family obligations, and the escalating blood feud, Ana’s got no time for love. The only thing
keeping her sane is her best friend, Pierce Kent. But when Pierce kisses Ana, everything changes. Is what Pierce feels for her real, or a byproduct of her magic? Can she risk everything for her best friend? And when the family feud spirals out of control, Ana must stop the fight before it takes away everything she loves. Including, maybe…Pierce. This Entangled Teen Crave book contains language, violence, and lots of kissing. Warning: it might induce strong feelings of undeniable attraction for your best friend.
Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen
Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Alyxandra Harvey… Red Discover more of Entangled Teen Crave’s books… Touching Fate Jane Unwrapped
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Copyright © 2016 by Alyxandra Harvey. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher. Entangled Publishing, LLC 2614 South Timberline Road Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525 Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com. Crave is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. Edited by Stacy Abrams and Lydia Sharp Cover design by LJ Anderson Cover art from Dollar Photo Club ISBN 978-1-63375-535-2 Manufactured in the United States of America First Edition February 2016
Chapter One ANA On the night of the full moon, we danced.
ANA And you’d think with seventeen of us, no one would miss me. You’d be wrong. It’s not that I don’t like dancing—but
every month, every full moon? I mean, I have homework to do. Not all of us are home-schooled— much to my aunt Aisha’s disgust. I was ducking under the grapevine arbor when she found me. Aisha’s totem shape was the prettiest, and the meanest. Ever taken the tip of a swan wing to the head? It’s not fun. And try explaining why you have a huge bruise on your forehead. She flapped her wings again, just enough to pull at my long hair. We’re not allowed to cut it. They say there’s power in hair—and you have no idea. I tried
once when I was six. I thought Aisha’s head was going to explode. Dad was the one to take the scissors away and I didn’t get them back until I was fifteen. A feather floated down, brushing my shoulder briefly before it fell into the tall grass. I tucked it into my pocket. “Okay, okay,” I muttered, turning around to take the trail to the hill. The aunts had their own gatherings, but the cousins went as deep as we could into the forest behind Cygnet House. It was a perfect summer evening, warm enough that I didn’t need the
traditional blue Vila family cloak over my white dress. The hem floated and billowed around my knees. When we danced, it was like we were made of dandelion seeds. Who knows? Maybe we are. It’s as good a theory as any. But the truth is our feet blister and our ankles creak and still we dance. Without it we wither, turning first to thorn then to nothing at all. That was why my aunt’s reminders were so violent. Because I knew better. And I wanted my swan wings as much as the others. I just wanted to pass my last year of classes,
too. But, homework or no homework, we gathered every month and moon to sing the old songs and dance. I crossed the lawn and across the garden of white roses climbing up trellises and down over benches perfect for kissing—or so my cousins kept telling me. I didn’t know because Edward was annoyingly uncooperative, no matter how many times I awkwardly stared at him in school. He was sweet and serious, always wearing black and looking thoughtful. We’d had the same
English classes all through high school, but I had yet to say anything remotely intelligent to him. Or anything at all, really. Mostly I just stared while trying not to stare. It was kind of pathetic. We were supposed to be really good at flirting in my family. Clearly, I was defective. At this rate, I’d never get my feather cloak. The cousins had started without me. The moon waits for no one. They all wore white dresses too, some short, some long, sleeveless or slinky or sweet. We were as pale as the moon,
especially with our identical whiteblond hair. Even Mei Lin, and Julia whose father moved here from Mexico; we all have the same light hair, no matter our heritage. Story threw a bright smile my way. Her shoulders gleamed with sweat, exposed by her glittering white sari. Next to her, her sister Sonnet was fierce and sharp, like an icicle. I was really glad my mother named me something relatively innocuous like Anastasia. Ana is so much better than Story or Sonnet or poor Soliloquy. It wasn’t at all obvious
that Aunt Agrippina was obsessed with poetry. I gave in to the moment, the hard slap of my feet on the ground, the wind sighing through the grass when we sang. It fed us, the wild and the wind. It made us who we were, connected us to the beetles and rabbits and the owls with blood on their beaks. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been bounding and twirling, but it was long enough that the space under my ribs burned. I could have been flying instead of leaping. Sasha stepped out of the chain and
toward the cloak of white feathers on the boulder crowning the hill. She wore so many roses I could barely see her hair. This was her night. She was only fifteen, but she was giving up the blue cloak of childhood. She’d found her swan cloak. She’d fallen in love. Which also meant she’d had to sew swan feathers onto her old blue cloak until it turned into something else, until it turned her into something else. We gathered those feathers as soon as we were old enough to know what they were. If you fell in love and you had
nothing with which to turn your cloak, you were lost. I could see the bloody pinpricks on Sasha’s fingertips, the gooseflesh on her bare arms. Our song crashed at her feet like the tide coming in, full of broken sailors and drowned hearts. As she flung the cloak over her round shoulders, there was a flash of summer lightning, pink as cotton candy. I could taste it, electricity and sugar. Sasha’s face was peaceful, perfect, until a twinge of panic, of pain, and then she was in the air. Her arms turned to
shadow and light and feather. Her neck was long and slender. Story wept, desperate for her own cloak. Sonnet sneered. She’d end up in the woods with the feral aunts. I had no idea where I was going to end up if Edward didn’t notice me soon. Sasha flapped her powerful wings until tiny downy feathers wafted around us like snow. They clung to our hair, to the roses, to the milkweed pods not quite ready to burst. She flew away to join the aunts. There was a brief whirlwind, pressing us together, stirring the grassy
fields like a cauldron. And then Sasha was gone. But we weren’t alone. I almost didn’t hear it. It was such a small squeak of surprise, lost in our excited laughter. The lightning forked, leaving its pink cloud. Another squeak. There at the bottom of the hill, lying in the grass. Two guys. Sonnet was the first to reach for her bow. The arrows were wrapped with our hair to cause forgetfulness. Sometimes they worked too well and
boys forgot everything. And if they weren’t Renard boys, there’d be a new family feud. And if they were Renards, there would be blood. A lot of it. Sonnet loosed her arrow, the bowstring singing its own song. I jostled her, breaking her aim. When the arrow thudded into the grass, she shot me a glare that may as well have been a hissing serpent tossed at my head. The others split around her like a river around a rock. The moon followed us, stabbing light between the trees as we
ran. How had they found us? Where did they come from? What had they seen? Questions pounded through me in time with my thudding pulse. If they’d seen Sasha’s transformation, I wouldn’t be able to help them. Even I’d have to shoot them with an arrow. No one knew our family secrets, and we worked hard to keep it that way. Sometimes, we did things I wasn’t entirely proud of. The boys were fast, fueled by panic and confusion and possibly beer, but one of them kept glancing back and stumbling
to a stop. He’d seen enough to be half in love already, entranced and bewildered. Usually it was enough to protect us, even without the arrows. “Dude, don’t stop!” His friend pulled him into a run again with a strangled, disbelieving laugh. The voice was familiar. I tried to trip Sonnet and she punched me so hard I dropped to my knees. Someone else’s arrow whistled by, nearly taking out her left eye. She snarled. Someone giggled, Rosalita maybe. She was the one who flirted like it was her life’s calling. We had other
weapons, after all. Some of the prettiest flowers are poisonous. I got to my feet in time to see the guys stumble out into the fields. If they hadn’t seen Sasha, we’d just be the story of the girls they saw dancing at midnight. We circled, barely noticeable among the birches. One of them thumped at his chest, gasping. “What the hell, Jackson?” Jackson wiped the sweat off his face with his arm. “Did you see that?” “Shit,” I muttered. The voices were familiar...