True Intentions Read online

  Noble Young Adult – Not Just Romance

  True Intentions

  ISBN 978-1-60592-315-4

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright 2011 Lisa Kuehne

  Cover Art by C.H. Scarlott

  Edited by Victor Lucas

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  To my little sisters, Angie and Michelle. If it wasn't for your inspiration, wisdom, and constant support, this book may have never came alive.

  Blurb

  Ava O'Brian is dealing with more than a teenager's typical temptations of right versus wrong. Ava is unaware she possesses a rare and unique gift, a soul with the ability to influence. Unfortunately, Satan will stop at nothing to gain control of her special ability.

  Ava's faith is seriously shaken when she is the sole survivor of the car accident that kills her father and twin brother. When she relocates and faces the ultimate temptation in Samuel Perry, her mysterious classmate living on earth since 1798 to tempt and damn mankind, Ava isn't sure she can resist.

  Sam must decide if he will lead Ava straight into the devil's trap or place his immortal existence on the line in order to keep her alive.

  What ultimate price is Ava willing to pay for love? What if it means giving up her life or turning over her soul straight into Satan's hands for the boy of her dreams?

  Prologue

  I look up from the floor suddenly realizing I've been tricked. I am going to die, and there is nothing I can do to get out of it now.

  I, and only I, made the choices that led me to this horrific fate.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  How could I have trusted him?

  As I think back, I know deep down in my heart I never had a chance to begin with. This would have happened one way or another.

  The pain seems to be getting worse. Even the simple act of breathing has become more difficult. Cold sweat glistens on my eyebrows.

  "Will it be quick?" I ask him, in too much pain to move.

  "Probably not," he answers honestly.

  His sheepish smile grows larger as he walks circles around where I lie— helpless and in agonizing pain.

  His beauty is probably the last thing I will see.

  He will remain here, an angel among us.

  While I die, betrayed by a boy I trusted.

  I know there will be no heaven for me. No real angels in my future.

  He stops at my feet, looking down at me with disgust.

  "I thought you would have figured it out. You're not nearly as smart as I gave you credit for. I had you checkmated from the moment I met you," he brags.

  His intuition is frightening.

  I have nothing to say in my defense. Maybe he's right.

  Chapter One – Becoming Lost

  How ironic for a single day to hold such power—the ability to change my outlook on life. This cool, breezy, autumn day—October 15th—does exactly that.

  My heavy and blood-crusted eyes open to see a white light shining directly down on my face. Its luster so intense, I find it virtually impossible to keep my eyes open. Heaven enters my mind. I wait patiently for the pain in my body to dissipate finally, as I cross over. Unfortunately, the pain just continues to intensify even while I lie motionless. Instead of the voice of God, an unfamiliar, female voice speaks my name.

  "Ava, Ava . . . can you hear me?" the angelic voice asks, sounding desperate and pleading.

  While making a conscious effort to open my mouth and reply, my voice cracks.

  The bitter taste of dried blood sits on my lips and tickles the back of my parched throat.

  I nod with extreme effort to give some sort of response.

  "She's responsive," the same person yells out. Other voices mumble in the background, but their words sound muffled to my numb ears. It's like they're talking inside a tunnel.

  "Ava, I'm Dr. Bonfiglio," the familiar, female voice continues to explain, once again directing her attention toward me. "You're at Cook County Hospital. You've been in an accident. We're trying to take care of you. Do you know what day of the week today is?"

  It's a struggle to keep my eyes open.

  What day? What day is it?

  Why isn't the answer jumping out, just like if someone asked my age? Nothing comes to mind except wanting to curse from the uncomfortably hard surface beneath me, the one causing my buttocks to feel numb, and my ribs to ache with each deep breath.

  It hits me.

  Saturday.

  The memory comes back quickly, and in detail, like sitting at the theater watching a movie. I remember.

  * * * * *

  As on most fall Saturdays in Chicago, multiple, colored leaves covered the cool, damp, Illinois ground. Chicago is where I've spent the last sixteen years of my life—

  actually, the only sixteen years. I've never lived anywhere else, nor have I ever really wanted to.

  There wasn't very much going on, at least as far as my family's weekend plans.

  With the exception of my twin brother, Aiden, begging our father to let him drive into the city.

  Aiden is a master of solicitation. It isn't unusual for him to bug the heck out of someone until he gets his way. Apparently, this is a powerful technique and works remarkably well. He uses this creative method often, and our father never stands a chance. Either Dad will give in to Aiden's begging or end up inside a mental institution—most likely self-committing to escape Aiden's stalking.

  My brother was entirely relentless. For the last two weeks, he bugged our parents practically nonstop. All this effort just 'cause he wanted to go shopping at one specific store, The Fun Fest. It's an awesome costume shop downtown known for the best costumes from the creepiest of creepy to the most extraordinary. Aiden was utterly ecstatic. He had high hopes of winning the best costume category of our Halloween Dance at York Community High School.

  Meanwhile, I'm not overly thrilled at the idea of spending my Saturday away from school fighting the downtown, Chicago traffic just to go into the city for one overcrowded store. I dreaded the idea so much I've repeatedly rehearsed my excuse for not tagging along. I'd rather be outside enjoying the coolness of this fall day before it gets much colder. In a matter of weeks, we'll freeze every time we venture outside wearing only a parka.

  My available excuses were limited. Spending time with Mom wasn't an option; she's working the weekend shift at Elmhurst Memorial Hospital. So, that one was out . . . .

  She had just recently returned to Elmhurst once Aiden and I entered high school.

  Personally, I believe it mostly has to do with the fact that our father, an interventional cardiologist, works a tremendous amount each week.

  Today, for the first time in quite a while, Dad wasn't on call. To my amazement, Aiden worked his magic, and Dad eventually caved.

  In Illinois, a person with a learner's permit must drive with an adult in the front passenger seat for the first nine months before they're allowed to drive all alone. It is state law. Since we'd just had our sixteenth birthday in September, we still needed adult supervision.

  "You wanna go with us?" Aiden asked grabbing his York High School Dukes letterman jacket off the banister with one arm while attempting to slip on his tennis shoes without untying them. Aiden has always been extremely athletic and somehow looked graceful doing these physical moves simultaneously.

  Being fraternal twins, we're similar enou
gh in looks for anyone know we're siblings, but our abilities are so different people still question it. We both have mousy, light brown hair and pale green eyes. Of course, he looks great with his messy haircut while I look more like a crackhead when I don't straighten my wavy, shoulder-length hair with a hot iron. There is nothing similar about us when it comes to sports. Aiden has always been the athletic twin, playing both soccer and football for our school—York Community High School. I, on the other hand, probably would have been begged by the principal not to try out for sports. Don't get me wrong, I'm coordinated enough to walk and chew gum at the same time. But throw in a movement like swinging a bat or kicking a ball? You'd better watch out. Back in Junior High, I had actually considered trying out for cheerleading. That didn't last long. I quickly learned—at the very first practice—the other girls possessed grace and poise I obviously lacked.

  There went cheerleading.

  "Earth to Ava, come in," Aiden said to grab my attention.

  I said the first thing that came to mind instead of sticking to my rehearsed excuse.

  "I'm going to sit outside and try to get a little Vitamin D before the sun disappears for the winter." After all, I had just seen a special about that topic on Dateline. Okay, my dad was watching Dateline, and I had just caught a few minutes.

  I looked around the breezeway, focusing on anything besides Aiden.

  "Plus, I really need to work on my English essay. It's due on Monday," I added, making sure to avoid eye contact at all costs. If I looked in his eyes, I'd end up stuck going downtown giving my opinion on every single stupid costume he tried on.

  Just kill me.

  "Are you serious?" he muttered, rolling his eyes in repulsion. His tone was lower than normal, and his disappointment couldn't be missed. I almost reconsidered, feeling guilt ridden because of his expression. But before a single word could leave my mouth, he swiftly changed the subject, taking this golden opportunity to throw a jab at me.

  "I bet you'll puss out and won't even end up going to the dance."

  The condescending tone made my blood boil a little.

  "I haven't decided yet," I instinctively fired back.

  "You know, the dance isn't until the thirty-first anyways. I still have plenty of time to decide if I want to go," I added as my pathetic attempt at a defense.

  "Then why did you tell Taylor Jackson no? If you're actually considering going?"

  His sarcastic remark had come out much faster than I had expected. His youthful, innocent face changed to a fairly confident smirk.

  Aiden could never fully understand why I thought his friend Taylor was a superficial, arrogant jerk. He was not my type. If I actually have a type. His arrogant, borderline narcissistic attitude was annoying. He treated most people like they owed him something just by being in his presence.

  Girls want a boy to be into them, not into himself.

  "Ava, come on. It will be fun. Come with us."

  Before I could muster up another response—or excuse—he turned around and disappeared into the garage to meet our dad, who was sitting impatiently in the passenger seat tapping his fingers against the dashboard.

  So much for my rehearsed excuse.

  I was stuck. I'd never hear the end of his whining if I bailed out on this fun-filled Saturday fieldtrip.

  Why couldn't I have been an only child?

  While sulking, I grabbed my laptop and English essay notes, then reluctantly headed out to the garage. At least working on my assignment while being trapped against my will would keep my mind busy. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck listening to their typical guy talk. I knew more about ESPN and other stupid, sport facts listening to their daily discussions than any high school girl should publicly admit.

  While climbing in the backseat, thoughts about Aiden and the upcoming dance flooded my mind. Giggles slipped out of my closed lips at the mere thought of him dancing with his date, Elley Rogers. I glanced toward the front seat. I could tell from the look on Aiden's face my laugh had not been very silent after all. He raised one eyebrow while he put the key in the ignition and started our car.

  He was definitely intrigued, but I wasn't saying one thing.

  "What is so funny?" he started to question me, taking his eyes off the road and looking into the rearview mirror.

  "Nothing," I insisted, smiling mischievously while opening the laptop as a distraction.

  "Bull—" he started to say, but didn't finish because our dad was starting to tense up in the passenger seat.

  "Aiden, keep your eyes on the road for God's sakes," our father demanded, slamming his right hand on the side window. This caught Aiden's attention. I was off the hook, at least for now. I sat back and sighed deeply. The traffic on the expressway wasn't too bad this morning. My grin intensified as my confidence grew. I may not end up wasting my entire day at the stupid store after all.

  At least my essay might keep my mind off the dreaded school dance and my obligatory costume field trip with the boys.

  The keys clicked as I typed away on my computer. The words transferred easily from my mind to the document for what seemed like quite a while. At least long enough that my wrists were getting sore and I was running out of ideas. Without warning, Dad loudly yelled Aiden's name, which caused me to jump up in my seat. I instinctively looked up and out the front window, seeing multiple things happening simultaneously. I caught only a glimpse of a semi crossing the yellow centerline before my head slammed against the back headrest. It was with such extreme force I never actually saw the truck impact our vehicle. Glass shattered throughout the car as the airbags deployed, making a horrific, loud noise. A sharp pain went down my arm causing me to cry out in agony. My left arm was way too injured to move or even to make the attempt to unbuckle my safety belt. Then, out of the corner of my eye, a strange fog engulfed the car, clouding my vision. I struggled to keep my eyes open. I was uncertain if the fog was due to a concussion from my head slamming into headrest or from the smoke coming out of the engine. It was becoming harder and harder to see.

  Then he appeared from nowhere. A bystander, or maybe even a paramedic, in jeans and a gray T-shirt, leaned inside the driver side window and checked Aiden's pulse. One thing was weird—his clothes. He must be a bystander since a medic would surely be in some type of uniform, not street clothes. I wanted to call out, but my dry, irritated voice cracked when my lips parted. Before my throat cleared, and I was able to give a second attempt, the man swiftly removed his hand from Aiden's neck and drew it back outside the window. Within a split second, the figure disappeared into the traffic stopped on the freeway.

  Stunned, I helplessly watched him leave. Why hadn't he approached the passenger side to check on Dad or me?

  Sirens blared nearby. My heavy eyelids blinked repeatedly until they fully closed—I was too tired to keep them open. The light inside the car faded, and darkness filled my vision instead.

  * * * * *

  Awakening now, the bright, white light glaring down on my battered face, I don't really want to speak. I'm drained. Excuses hesitantly run in my mind about why I should keep my eyes closed instead of answering the "what day of the week" question.

  After a few moments of deliberation, I muster up the energy to call out.

  "Saturday."

  I struggle to see clearly. My vision still isn't quite right. All the equipment and people around the room look blurry. But several silhouettes surround me—all wearing scrubs. As my vision becomes clearer, I notice two officers fully decked out in Chicago police uniforms standing in the corner.

  I must be in an emergency room.

  My heart speeds up, making the EKG monitor sound louder.

  "It's okay, Ava, lay back down," a beautiful, mocha-skinned female in blue scrubs instructs me. Then she turns her head away and yells to someone else in the room, "Her mom can come back now."

  I immediately recognize her voice as the same one that had asked me what day it was. Against my strongest desire to get away from this b
rightly lit, cold, and somewhat creepy room, I lie back on the gurney.

  My internal dialog automatically kicks in.

  Which room are Aiden and Dad in?

  This daunting question makes my stomach feel queasy. I want to curl up in a ball.

  Every possible scenario spins through my mind. There has to be an explanation why I can't remember anything about being transported to the hospital.

  Unconsciousness is the only thing logical.

  My mother's voice abruptly breaks my train of thought and causes my eyes to open as wide as possible.

  My head turns. She's on my right side. Before a word can leave my mouth, she grabs my hand and squeezes. I relax, her skin's warmth calming me.

  Everything's going to be okay, I remind myself.

  "Ava, honey," she says in a voice so quiet it is almost a whisper.

  I'm immediately suspicious of her tone. She never talks in a whisper. She is one of the loudest people I know.

  "Ava . . ." she starts once again, this time pulling my chin up until our eyes lock.

  She looks horrible. I have never seen her look so pale, so drained. Her eyes are bloodshot and sullen. Whatever she has to say is going to be very bad.

  Tears form in the corners of my eyes. Even blinking rapidly has no effect on the salty water piling up.

  "Yes?" I answer in a voice even quieter than her whisper. I'm not completely sure she can hear me.

  She doesn't reply. Instead, she's motionless, and appears to be searching for the right words. She exhales loudly, finally ready to speak.

  "Ava, you guys were in a bad car accident." Her voice shudders. A single tear runs down her cheek as if she has been crying so intensely only one tear remained.

  "How bad? Where are Dad and Aidan?"

  "Av . . . honey, they did not survive." Her voice breaks.

  I slowly swallow the lump sitting in the back of my throat. The blood begins to rush away from my limbs, causing my legs and arms to tremble slightly.

  She rewords her statement as if she didn't get it the first time.

  "They're dead," she cries out.

  As I hear those horrific words come out of her mouth, the room blurs, and the rest of her speech sounds muffled—almost like when the adult characters speak in a Peanuts/Charlie Brown cartoon.