Alexandra Brackenhas written two highly successful book series (The Darkest MindsandPassenger), hit No.
Now she has another YA novel in the works.
Lorewill hit shelves Jan. 5, and EW can exclusively reveal the cover image (above).
Credit: Disney-Hyperion
The official synopsis of the book is as follows: “Every seven years, the Agon begins.
Below, read an excerpt from the second chapter of the novel.
Excerpt from Lore, by Alexandra Bracken
A single word blazed through her mind.Run.
But her instincts demanded something else, and her body listened.
She slid into a defensive stance, tasting blood as she bit the inside of her mouth.
Every part of her seemed to vibrate, electrified by fear and fervor.
You are an idiot, Lore told herself.
Those were the only options she allowed herself to consider.
Her opponent towered over Lore in a way she tried to pretend she didn’t find alarming.
He had at least a six-inch advantage despite her own tall frame.
His simple gray shirt and sweatpants were too small, stretching over his athletic form.
The mask he wore was one of a man’s raging expression as he released a war cry.
The House of Achilles.
Well, Lore thought faintly.
The answer was warm, rumbling with suppressed laughter.
“I figured as much.”
He lifted the mask and dropped it at the edge of the ring.
The rest of the world burned away.
The words caught in her throat, choking her.
The faces around her blurred to darkness at the edge of her vision.
You’re supposed to be dead, Lore thought.
There was a hopeful note in his voice, but his eyes were searching.
All the promise in his features had sharpened and set as the fullness of youth left his face.
It was startling how much his voice had deepened.
For one horrible moment, Lore was convinced that she was in a lucid dream.
She wasn’t sure if she would be sick or start sobbing.
The pressure built in her skull, immobilizing her, suffocating whatever joy might have bled through her shock.
But Castor Achilleos didn’t vanish.
The aches from Lore’s earlier fights were still there, throbbing.
The smell of booze and fried food was everywhere.
She felt every drop of sweat clinging to her skin, racing down her face and back.
But Lore still couldn’t move.
Couldn’t look away from his face.
When a feeling finally broke through the numbness, it wasn’t what she expected.
Not wild and consuming, but as sharp and ruthless as their practice blades had once been.
Castor was alive, and he’d let her grieve him for seven years.
This was a fight.
“Why would I be surprised?”
Lore managed to get out.
“I have no idea who you are.”
Beside her, several men and women in the audience trilled and began to whisper.
She lowered into a fighting stance.
Go away, she thought, staring at Castor over the tops of her gloves.
To give a shot to force her to come back?
Like hell he would.
“yo be gentle.”
Castor raised his hands, glancing down at a split in one of his borrowed gloves.
“I haven’t sparred in a while.”
His life had played out exactly as it was meant to, without her there to interrupt it.
And he had never come to find her.
Not even when she’d needed him most.
Lore stayed light on her feet, circling around him.
Seven years stretched between them like the wine-dark sea.
“Don’t worry,” she said coldly.
“It’ll be over quick.”
“Not too quick, I hope,” he said, another grin tugging at his lips.
His dark eyes caught the light of the bulbs swinging overhead, and the irises seemed to throw sparks.
Lore threw the first punch.
He leaned to the side to avoid it.
He was faster than she remembered, but his movements lurched.
As strong as his body appeared, Castor was out of practice.
It made her think of a rusted machine struggling to find its usual flow.
“Are you here to fight or not?”
“I get paid by the match, so stop wasting my time.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Castor said.
“By the way, you’re still dropping your right shoulder.”
Lore scowled, resisting the urge to correct her stance.
They were already losing their audience.
The lightbulbs kept swinging on their chains, throwing shadows.
He wove in and out of them, as if he knew the secret to becoming darkness itself.
He feinted right and launched a halfhearted punch at her shoulder.
Fury painted Lore’s world a scalding white.
That was how little he respected her now.
He didn’t see her as a worthy opponent.
He saw her as a joke.
He staggered, eventually dropping to a knee when he couldn’t regain his footing.
The impact reverberated up her arm.
“Keep toying with me,” she warned him.
“See how that ends for you.”
The swinging lights danced in his dark irises again, almost hypnotically.
The last traces of humor left his face as if she’d clawed them off herself.
He shot forward, locking an arm behind her knees and pulling them out from under her.
Lore rolled hard to her left, coming to the edge of the mat and onto her feet again.
She ducked and bobbed, sinking into the current of the fight.
Her lips curled into an involuntary smile.
There was movement at the top of the basement stairs as someone came down.
That one look cost Lore Castor reeled his arm back and launched a powerful blow into her gut.
She wheezed, trying to resist folding at the waist.
Castor’s eyes widened, almost in fear.
“Are you o?”
Lore lowered her head and drove it straight into his chest.
It was like ramming into a cement wall.
Lore was gratified to hear him breathing as hard as she was.
“You died,” she managed to choke out as she struggled against the hold.
“I don’t have much time,” he said.
Then he switched into the ancient tongue.
“I need your help.”
Her blood cooled at his words, spoken in the language she’d tried to force herself to forget.
“Something is happening,” he said.
The fight had warmed his body until it was almost burning to the touch.
“I don’t know who I can trust.”
Lore turned her face away.
“And that’s my problem how?
I’m out.”
He shifted their positions so that Lore rolled on top of him.
She was distantly aware of the audience chanting the mandatory eight count.
Too late, she realized he was letting her win.
“You jackass,” she began.
His gaze was fixed on the staircase, on the figure she’d glimpsed before.
EvanderCastor’s cousin, and occasional playmate to them both when they were kids.
He’d cropped his hair close, which only better served to highlight how devastatingly handsome he was.
His eyes were sharp as he signaled something to Castor.
“Time’s up,” Castor said.
Lore wasn’t certain if he was talking about the match or something else.
“Wait,” Lore began, though she didn’t know why.
But Castor had already lifted her off him.
His hands lingered at her waist a second longer than either of them seemed to realize.
Lore’s head went light as his words sank in.
There was only one he that would matter.
She fought for her next breath.
She fought against the static growing in her ears.
“You may be done with the Agon, but I don’t think it’s done with you.
His gaze became intent as he ducked low and whispered in her ear.
“You still fight like a Fury.”
He pushed through the audience, heading straight for the stairs.
What are you even doing?
her mind screamed at her.
Lore whirled around, half an apology already escaping her lips, when she saw who it was.
His skin was white as bone, his dark eyes almost comically wide as they met hers.
Edgy, vaguely hipster buzz cut.
Skinny frame and skinnier jeans.
Necklace made of braided horse hair.
Unbelievable, she thought.
How the hell had this night managed to get worse?
“Wait here!”
The air glowed red from the tail lights of the SUV speeding away.
A single red Solo cup rolled toward her feet, something dark smeared across the side of it.
Her pulse beat wildly at her temples.
A child’s game.
Lore dropped the cup into a nearby trashcan and walked away.
