Hidden Deep: Book 1 of the Hidden Trilogy (Volume 2)
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Give in to the Glamour… Sixteen-year-old Ryann Carroll has just run into the guy who saved her life ten years ago. You might think she'd be happy to see him again. Not exactly. She's a bit underdressed (as in skinny-dipping) and he's not supposed to exist. After her father's affair, all Ryann wants is to escape the family implosion fallout and find a little peace. She also wouldn't mind a first date that didn't suck, but she's determined not to end up like her mom: vulnerable, betrayed, destroyed. Ryann's recently moved back to her childhood home in rural Mississippi, the same place where ten years earlier she became lost in the woods overnight and nearly died. She's still irresistibly drawn to those woods. There she encounters the boy who kept her from freezing to death that long ago winter night and was nowhere to be seen when rescuers arrived. He's still mysterious, but now all grown-up and gorgeous, too. And the more she's with him, the greater the threat he poses to Ryann's strict policy-- never want someone more than he wants you. Seventeen-year-old Lad knows the law of his people all too well: Don't get careless and Don't get caught. It's allowed his race to live undetected in this world for thousands of years, mentioned only in flawed and fading folklore… Lad's never been able to forget about Ryann since that night ten years ago. When he sees her again, his fascination re-ignites and becomes a growing desire that tempts him to break all the rules. He's not even supposed to talk to a human, much less fall in love with one. And the timing is atrocious. The Assemblage is coming, the rift between the Light and Dark is widening, and mysterious celebrity fan pods are becoming more and more widespread and influential. Lad may have to trade his own chance at happiness to keep the humans, especially Ryann, blissfully unaware and safe.
what I’d call cute, but it looked clean, and each table was covered with a neat red and white checked vinyl tablecloth. The walls displayed framed black and white photos of Deep River's landmarks through the years. “Hey there, Nox. Come on in, honey.” The greeting came from a friendly-faced middle-aged woman in a generous pair of mom jeans and a large green t-shirt that read I brake for grits. “Who’s this lovely lady you’ve brought us?” “This is Ryann Carroll.” I’d eaten at The Skillet many
so distraught. I stretched my hand out and brushed it through the soft curls on the back of his down-turned head. At my touch, Lad went completely still, sucking in his breath through clenched teeth. His fingertips dug into his hard thighs as he sat rigid on the rock beside me. I slid my fingers through the golden locks, soothing and stroking his scalp and the tense muscles of his neck, feeling him gradually relax minute by minute. Eventually, he looked up at me. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low
before going in. “Lad?” It was the first word I’d spoken in a half hour. “Yes?” He stepped close to me and took one of my hands in his, folding it up against his chest, dipping his forehead down to meet mine. Dang, he was making this hard. “You need to think about something, and be honest with yourself. What do you really want? Because I know what I want. And I’m not sure you can give it to me.” Actually, he could. He just wouldn’t. It took all my strength to pull my hand away and walk into
feelings for him. Or say what I really should say. Chicken. “I don’t know. You probably should’ve picked a topic that doesn’t come as easily to me, like hockey stats or the rules of Call of Duty.” “What’s that?” Lad asked. Yep. Dream guy. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a gift for you.” Lad pulled a beautiful tooled metal flask from a leather pouch at his side and placed it in my open hand. It was lightweight and cool and covered in intricate Elven designs. “It’s pretty.” He chuckled. “The
everything. Why? Poor guy. He probably thought I was planning to get us matching outfits now that we were all buddy-buddy again. -Just curious. What about shoes? -Thirteen—you know what they say about guys with big feet. -Yep. Big feet, big EGO. -Like I said—Large everything. I drove Grandma’s car to the Hook ‘N’ Bullet, right off the Route Seven bypass. In addition to hunting and fishing gear, the store carried a small selection of practical work clothes. Feeling conspicuous browsing the