My brother was right. I always wanted my own Willow
Girl.
What happened on that island didn’t break me.
It twisted me.
Corrupted me.
Made me into a monster.
Although, I guess it’s true what she says. You
can’t become something that wasn’t inside you all along.
This was always going to happen.
I was always going to take Amelia Willow.
History and destiny sealed her fate. Sealed
both of ours.
For months, I’ve been waiting.
Watching.
Preparing.
And tonight, everything will change.
Because tonight, I’ll collect my own Willow
Girl.
Author’s Note: Twisted is a standalone spinoff of
the Dark Legacy Duet. No cliffhanger!
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Excerpt
Prologue
Amelia
He says that
together they twisted him.
Made him the
monster he’s become.
But you can’t
become something that wasn’t inside you all along.
A tear drops to
the sketchbook on my lap, the blob smearing the lead. I wipe it away with the
tip of my finger and watch the stain spread to the edge of the page.
I can’t seem to
stop drawing that night.
The night when
the Scafoni brothers stalked into our home and we were made to wear those
rotting, disgusting sheaths and forced to stand on those ancient blocks as
Sebastian Scafoni, first-born bastard, looked us over like we were cattle.
I can’t stop
drawing the look on his face when he saw Helena.
Even if she
wasn’t bound like she was, she’d have stood out.
She always thought
herself the ugly duckling but she’s the most beautiful of all. She’s special.
Always was. Different from us. And so much stronger.
Crap.
I swipe the back
of my hand across my nose and listen to the sound of tears drop fat and heavy
onto the page and this time when I lay my hand on the sketch, it’s to smear the
wet across like maybe I can wipe away that night. Rub it off the page. Erase it
out of history like it never happened.
“Oh, now look
what you’ve done,” he says. His voice is deep and low, and I swear I can feel
it as much as hear it.
He takes my hand
with his gloved one and pulls it away.
“Ruined it.”
I look at him. I
finally make myself look at him.
“I hate you.”
He grins. Shrugs
a shoulder, his grip growing infinitesimally harder.
I glance at my
palm—it’s black from the pencil—and look down at the page in front of me.
He’s right. It’s
ruined.
But it doesn’t
matter. I have dozens like it.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
I can’t stop
drawing that night.
Can’t stop it
from happening.
Can’t stop the
Scafoni bastards from walking into our lives, upending everything. Coming into
our home like kings, like they owned the place.
Although, I guess
they did.
They owned
everything. Our house. Our land. Our parents.
My sister.
Me.
I force myself to
meet Gregory Scafoni’s dark eyes with their strange turquoise specks and wonder
how I’d ever thought he was an angel.
My angel.
My savior.
When all he is,
is the devil.
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