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The Girl with Magma in her Veins

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THE GIRL WITH MAGMA IN HER VEINS

Prologue

I've never given much thought to how I would die.

I'm young and beautiful, with the future blazing before me.

Turns out, it blazed a bit too big.

He's handsome. Cheekbones that could cut glass, sparkling maroon orbs that refuse to leave me, and fingers that won't stop dancing. They slide across my outstretched hand, spark down my cheek, hold fast to my waist, tapping an imperceptible beat.

My Seattle flight leaves in an hour, and I still need to get my luggage checked.

"Hello there, love." A clear British accent.

I place my hand over his, the one possessively skirting my waist. It's cold, like an ice block. That velvety trench coat would look ridiculous on anyone else. "Sorry."

He hands my black suitcase over, making sure for as much skin contact as possible. "No problem at all. You might even say I appreciate our little surprise rendez-vous." The French phrase slips delicately from his lips, a full accent on two simple words giving me a shudder. This is so much better than Jane Eyre.

I straighten my back. Attempt to pull my coat of confidence tightly around my skin. "And where are you headed?"

"The sparkling city of Juneau, Alaska. You've ever been?"

Attempting to stifle a smile hurts my cheeks. "Never."

That hand slides back unto my waist. "What a shame, love. Although I wonder if you're going anywhere important." Every use of italics dilates those red eyes.

"I've got a gap year to spend in a minimum wage job." I admit freely. He's obviously got money.

"Run away with me."

"But good sir, I don't even know your name."

"Edward Kilgrave, ma'am. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He brings my small, calloused hand up to his lips, brushing his cold mouth over my knuckles.

"Isabella Dwyer. Happy to make yours."

Edward's arm pulls around my waist, and I almost stumble into the handsome man as we head towards his gate. He takes out his phone; two sentences later a ticket appears in my email.

So cold. I shiver and look up at the clear cut face, the well-styled tawny-red hair. Something about his walk is… unnatural, I begin to worry.

Then he asks me about my parents. It's easy to jump into conversation about them, and Edward is such a good listener. He pretends not to notice the number 17 on my passport.

I nearly trip getting up the stairs into the Alaskan airlines jet after his hand slides a little too far down my back. Then I give myself a mental lecture. I've been with boys before, and I can protect myself.

Nobody's ever been able to hurt me.

We sit first class.