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The Willing
The Willing
The Willing
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The Willing

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From the New York Times bestselling author of The Program comes a thrilling new novel about the lust and lure of darkness.

Amelia Cardone has spent her entire life under the guardianship of the Building, a cult of believers who made a pact with her father—the Devil. In exchange for protecting Satan’s child, the Building’s leader was promised untold power after Amelia completes the ceremony on her twenty-third birthday. A ceremony that will permanently raise the Devil from the depths of Hell.

But the half-breed child of Satan has power of her own . . . and a secret that threatens to destroy them all. Betrothed since birth, Amelia defied the Building’s prophecy by marking another as her mate when she was a child. The boy—long-thought dead—has grown in captivity, and has now returned to kill the girl who cursed him. But, bearing her mark, Jonas Wells finds himself unable to harm her.

The passion that ignites between them will bring forth the wrath of everyone in Amelia’s life, including her soulless half-brother (the only person she’s ever truly trusted), and a demon who is determined to make Amelia his own. Amelia knows that to survive she’ll either have to kill Jonas, or go against the Building, her father’s pact, and everything she was brought up to believe.

In the end, her only way out might be to embrace the demon she was meant to become—and face the Devil’s consequences.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherSuzanne Young
Release dateApr 23, 2019
ISBN9780463467985
The Willing
Author

Suzanne Young

Suzanne Young is the New York Times bestselling and award-winning author of the Program series. Originally from New York, Suzanne is a dual US and Italian citizen, currently living in the Veneto region of Italy with her family. She has published more than twenty novels, including the Program series, Girls with Sharp Sticks series, In Nightfall, and her middle grade debut, What Stays Buried. When not writing, Suzanne is the founder of Writing in Italy—an Italian retreat and tour company. Follow Suzanne and her three photogenic dogs on Instagram at @authorsuzanneyoung.

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    The Willing - Suzanne Young

    THE WILLING 215

    THE WILLING

    by Suzanne Young

    Prologue

    From the corners of her eyes, Amelia watched the boy—Jonas Wells—as he edged toward her on the playground. He’d take a step closer, kick at the woodchips. Another step.

    Amelia smiled and pumped her legs, raising the teeter-totter up and down by herself since there was no one to balance the opposite side. She looked over to the slide where her brother Vincent was kissing girls under the plastic shade cover. He was one year younger—fourth grade—but even now he could charm nearly anyone. Amelia watched with jealousy as the girls brushed at his snow-blond hair and whispered into his ear.

    The other kids didn’t come near Amelia. Her eyes were wide and dark, her hair an angry shade of red. Vincent said she needed to learn to fit in, but she couldn’t perfect an innocent grin like he could. Her brother was nothing short of deadly, even if he looked like an angel. Amelia was more like her father.

    On occasion their mother would tell Amelia that she was beautiful, saying she’d grow into her features. But the child put little stock into her mother’s words, not when the woman spent her days pulling out her own hair and watching the sky beyond the window of the Building.

    Besides, Nonna was always quick to tell Amelia in Italian that she was an abomination. Her grandmother didn’t know that she understood Italian—understood all languages. But Amelia let Vincent deal with the unpleasantness of breaking brittle bones. She tried to keep a level head.

    Amelia?

    She jumped, surprised to see that Jonas Wells had finally made his way to her. He scratched his black mop of hair, his gray eyes looking at his dirty white sneakers. Amelia’s heart pounded. She’d been studying him for weeks—his mannerisms, his kind nature. And she’d seen the way he noticed her. He was the only one who noticed her outside of the Building.

    What? Amelia asked, her voice raspy, not cute and high-pitched like the other girls. She wanted to take back the sound when Jonas looked at her, his expression worried.

    Oh… I…

    Amelia watched as he swallowed hard, whatever courage he’d gathered evaporating off his skin right there. She wanted to say something to make him comfortable, but nothing came to mind. She wished she had her brother’s charm, but instead she bit her lip and waited for Jonas to run away like most kids did when they got this close to her.

    Hello, Jonas, Vincent said, appearing behind his shoulder. Whatcha doing? Amelia’s brother smiled, his perfect baby teeth bright white. He was small for his age, but behind his blue eyes was something sinister. Amelia watched Jonas stiffen as if sensing it.

    I… Jonas looked at his feet again, closing his eyes as if he could make himself disappear. Vincent moved to sit across from Amelia on the teeter-totter, raising her up unexpectedly so that she almost fell forward. She caught the handle quickly and then glared at him.

    I have to go, Jonas said suddenly and hurried away, tripping over the transition to the playground structure. When he was gone, Amelia turned to her brother.

    Why did you scare him away?

    You’re not allowed to talk to boys, Amelia. Bastian ordered it. His eyes bore into hers, but they didn’t have the same effect on her as they did the other girls. He couldn’t charm or intimidate her.

    Mind your own business or I’ll kill you.

    Don’t threaten me. You’re not supposed to be that close. I’ll tell—

    Amelia jumped down from the teeter-totter, sending Vincent hard to the ground. His body flung forward and his face ricocheted off the red handle, smashing out his front teeth. He screamed, covering his mouth with his palm, blood leaking down his chin. His teeth wouldn’t be so perfect anymore.

    Amelia didn’t pause as her brother wailed behind her. She walked in the direction where Jonas ran off and zigzagged through the throng of teachers and recess aides on their way to Vincent. They fawned over him—as adults were prone to do—and Amelia heard him continue to cry. But he didn’t accuse her of hurting him. He never would.

    Most everyone on the playground rushed toward Vincent, leaving swings swaying with the absence of weight. And then Amelia saw Jonas hiding under the climbing structure, his face in his hands as he sat in the woodchips by himself.

    A strange curiosity worked over Amelia as she watched him. Her steps were quiet as she walked closer, as if stalking prey. It occurred to her that maybe she was. It wasn’t until she was hidden in the shade with him that Jonas noticed her and jumped.

    Amelia. He darted a look for Vincent, but when he didn’t see him, he settled back against the plastic wall. You scared me, he murmured.

    Sorry.

    There was a small scar on Jonas’s right temple from where she’d hit him with a rock two years ago. It’d been an accident, but she’d blamed Vincent. She wondered now if that was why he was scared of her brother. Or if it was something else.

    What did you want earlier? she asked him, checking once over her shoulder to see all of the monitors still crowded around Vincent.

    Jonas winced, flushing with embarrassment. For a long time it seemed he wouldn’t answer and Amelia felt vulnerable. She wanted him to like her, especially when it seemed that the other kids didn’t. But he stayed quiet and Amelia’s stomach twisted with loneliness.

    Never mind, she said, choking on the thickness in her throat as she began to crawl away.

    I… Jonas started again, and Amelia paused, looking back at him. I wanted to say that I thought your hair was pretty. The last parts of his words were muffled as he covered his face, seeming ashamed to have said it out loud. Amelia felt a smile creep over her lips.

    Really? For the first time her deep voice was small, almost girlish. Jonas didn’t take his hands off his face, but he nodded.

    Amelia settled across from him, fascinated. She breathed him in, taking note of every shy movement. She’d been right about him all along. Thank you, she whispered. No one else here is ever nice to me.

    Jonas lowered his arms, his cheeks a ripe shade of pink. I like being nice to you, he said simply, as if it was the only explanation. Amelia’s entire body hummed with his words. Jonas blinked quickly as he stared at her. I’ve never seen you smile before.

    Amelia’s mouth spread even wider, and for the first time she didn’t feel so alone. Their classmates sometimes made fun of Jonas—his clothes were too worn; his hair was never brushed. But Amelia liked his eyes and she told him so. They were sweet and trusting. And she wanted them for her very own.

    A sudden possessiveness started to rage in her belly, something that made her breathe faster. She was afraid Jonas would get up and run; that he’d escape and never come back. He was smiling at her gently, but she knew she couldn’t let him get away. He was the only one she wanted, even if she was supposed to belong to another.

    She moved closer and Jonas tensed, but Amelia didn’t pause before hugging him. She rested her face on his shoulder and when she felt him hug her back, heat began to grow between them. A fire that was binding, scorching.

    Jonas made a wounded sound, but Amelia grabbed his right hand and brought his palm to her lips. She felt him try to pull away, and then she knew for certain that she couldn’t let him go.

    And so she bit his wrist and marked him—claiming him as hers forever.

    Chapter 1 - Eleven years later

    Amelia Cardone looked over the party, her dark eyes clearly disinterested. The room was dim, as most apartments in the Building tended to be. Heavy mahogany furniture cluttered the space, and dated fixtures hung from the ceiling. There were murmurs of conversation among the guests and the overwhelming scent of old. Amelia hated this place.

    Darling, Vincent said, coming to stand next to her as he handed her a glass of merlot. Can you try not to look like you want to slaughter everyone in the room? Vincent had kept his boyish charms, but now at twenty-one he was devastatingly handsome with an insatiable appetite for women. He smiled, titling his head toward his sister. They’re all staring at us.

    Let them stare, Amelia said. They will anyway.

    True, but I’d rather not deal with your fiancé tonight. He— Amelia shot her brother a murderous glare and he lowered his head and apologized.

    Don’t call him that, she whispered, and sipped from her drink. And then rethinking it, she downed the entire glass of red wine before handing it back to her brother. Now I need another.

    Vincent took her gently by the elbow and steered her around the room toward the bar, making sure she was seen. Her presence at the dinner parties was required, and although she could have stood around appearing miserable, the members of the Building preferred when she pretended to care.

    As she passed him, Denny Lawrence ran the backs of his fingers up Amelia’s arm, murmuring his affection. She nodded in return, and moved closer to Vincent, letting him act as a buffer between her and the members. Travis Carson leered at her, touching the silk of her dress over her ass with clumsy fingers. Amelia exhaled and pushed him away, too irritated to teach him a lesson tonight. She’d let Vincent do it in the morning.

    They all wanted a piece of her. Even Mavis Easterly watched her from across the room with a mixture of hatred and worship in her expression. Mavis was in her early thirties, but her hair had already gone white-gray, her face lined and sagging. The Building wasn’t kind to all of its members. Sometimes it took too much.

    When they reached the bar at the back of the room, Amelia leaned her elbows on the marble top as Vincent ordered two more drinks. Mavis lost another child last week, Amelia told her brother. That’s four now. How many times will they make her keep trying?

    Until she stops killing them.

    She hardly had a choice. Amelia ran her eyes over Mavis, unable to gather any true sympathy. The half-breed was ripping her apart. Even if she hadn’t miscarried, she never would have survived the delivery. So few can. Amelia looked away. If the Building wants to sustain, she said, they need new members.

    Vincent mused. Isn’t that why you’re here, you charismatic little thing? You’ll have men lined up around the block.

    "Yes, but I don’t plan to screw them and repopulate the world, so it’d hardly be worth the effort it takes to compel them. The Building needs Willing, both men and women who come on their own. Those are the types with the best chance of survival. Of retaining their sanity."

    Ah, well, Vincent said, the Building isn’t interested in outsiders. You know that.

    She knew it well. Amelia leaned her head on her brother’s shoulder, something she’d done since she was a child whenever she felt lonely. And she never felt lonelier than when she was in a room full of members. Vincent reached up and brushed back her red hair.

    I can pull the fire alarm, he offered.

    My dress is silk. I’d hate to ruin it on their account.

    After a moment, Amelia and Vincent walked to a quiet space in the corner, away from the prying eyes of the Building. Amelia rested against the cream-colored plaster wall. Her feet ached in her heels and her patience had run thin.

    I wish Genevieve were here, she said, casting a bored glance around the room. She’s the only one I can stand.

    That’s because she hates the other members nearly as much as you do. You can visit her in the morning, maybe.

    Maybe.

    Genevieve was a hundred-and-two-year-old woman who resided on the third floor. She was neither demon nor mortal, but when she was younger she’d been called a gypsy. Now she was part of the Building and had been for over eighty years. But unlike the members, she regarded Amelia with respect rather than worship. And she offered the girl a way to communicate with the underworld—although no else knew about that. Not even Vincent.

    Amelia felt the stares of the members pressing in on her, her skin prickling as they prepared to talk to her. Touch her. She turned to her brother. How much longer do I have to stay?

    Until nine, Vincent said.

    Think they’ll notice if I slip out early?

    Absolutely.

    The Building’s dinner parties were part of Amelia’s life, something she’d been attending since birth. Born from a ceremony with the devil, Amelia was her father’s only living child. In the meantime, the demons had come up to reproduce, creating only Vincent for their trouble. For the past twenty-one years, no one in the Building could keep a living child. Most died in utero if they were conceived at all. And then the ceremonies would start again. And again.

    But Amelia would never reproduce with another demon—she was far too valuable to the mortal world. Betrothed from infancy, she was set to marry the leader of the Building. The bargain was for her to be delivered to him, untouched, on her twenty-third birthday. In return, the Landlord vowed to keep her safe until then. There were many dangers for the devil’s child. Even from the most loyal of members.

    As Satan’s daughter, Amelia had developed the gift of compulsion. Even so, she was vulnerable, weak even, in the physical sense. Small and thin, her muscle was Vincent—who killed anything that got too close. Once she completed her ceremony with the Landlord, Amelia would no longer need protection. From her spilled blood she would raise her father, letting him mark her so that she could share his full demonic power, including immortality. Unfortunately she also knew that meant sharing it with the Landlord since he would then be her mate. And together they would rule the Building. Portland. Anywhere they wanted.

    Amelia’s head started to spin from the wine and the thoughts of her union six weeks from now—what the Building referred to as the prophecy. She pushed off the wall and moved in front of her brother. Take me home, she said. If one more person touches me tonight I swear I’ll have you tear this place apart.

    Vincent agreed, but before they could leave, Amelia felt a presence behind her. You look lovely tonight, Miss Cardone, a voice whispered into her ear, the lips grazing her skin. Amelia immediately tensed and Vincent took a step back.

    Forcing a smile, Amelia turned and bowed her head politely. Thank you, Bastian.

    She watched uncomfortably as he evaluated her appearance—the deep brown of her silk dress, her bare shoulders. The Landlord nodded his head, as if approving.

    Bastian’s black hair was slicked to the side, his stature menacing. At forty-two, he didn’t look a day over thirty, although his crystal-blue eyes had a way of silencing people. On his palm he bore the mark of the beast, one that Satan himself had given him. He was the devil’s property and no one dared cross that. The Landlord glanced at Vincent.

    She seems well, he said. Have there been any incidents I need to be aware of?

    Nothing I haven’t contained, Vincent answered, his voice tight.

    Amelia bristled. I’m perfectly capable of answering for myself, she said, looking between them. And no, there are no problems. I would handle them if there were.

    Bastian turned his attention back to Amelia, fixing her with a dark look. I asked your brother for a reason. But I’m happy you’re feeling confident, Amelia. He straightened. It’ll be important during the ceremony, don’t you think?

    Amelia tried to keep the disgust out her expression. Yes, she said. I’m sure it’ll be just the thing to soothe my nausea.

    Bastian put his palm on Amelia’s cheek, startling her. That sarcastic tongue, he said, sounding amused despite his predatory stare. It’ll be a great day when you learn to hold it still. Amelia’s body chilled. Even though the Landlord had never struck her, the threat always loomed. He was mortal, but he had even less of a conscience than Vincent, who had none at all. Bastian could throw her and her brother out, cast them onto the streets to be devoured by members who wanted to be Amelia’s marked, or by the churches who wanted her burned. She was betrothed to a man who was worse than a demon. And there was little she could do about that.

    Now, Bastian said, looking between Amelia and her brother. I should go entertain the other guests. He moved to take Amelia’s hand, holding it to his lips long enough to make her shift uneasily.

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