Unhinged (Underworld #1) by Tempest C. Avery
Genres: Teen Paranormal
Spencer Perry lost everything the day her boyfriend died. Even when he came back as a ghost, she was never able to return to her old self. Determined to find a way to bring both of them back–him from the dead and her from her depression–Spencer hops a ride with a Reaper across the river to the Underworld where she meets the god of the dead. Hadrian isn’t what she expected Hades to be like, but when he agrees to a deal that can get her Micah back, she puts all caution aside and accepts. Too bad she didn’t realize that she’d also just accepted a lot more than one gorgeous yet frustrating god. Bad things are happening all around her, and now she not only has to worry about keeping Micah’s ghost status a secret from their friends, but also figure out who’s behind all of the accidents. All signs point towards Hadrian, but something about that just doesn’t feel right to her. Something that she hopes has nothing to do with her growing attraction towards him.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she admitted, trying to gauge his reaction. She couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her or not.
“Unless you’re the girlfriend of Micah St. James,” he filled in.
She scowled, twisting her head around to look back at the sky. “No, that’s not what I mean at all. It’s not the title I need. A label is just a label. Take Sydney for instance. People look at her, and at first all they see is the cliché spoiled rich blonde chick. But the second they get a glimpse deeper, the second they try to see her for who she really is, they find she’s actually a caring, deep minded person.”
“And you’re not?”
“You’re not getting what I’m saying.”
“Actually, I think it’s the other way around.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “You are a mortal, Spencer. You were born, you will live, and then you will die. There isn’t supposed to be any other order. Every soul that touches your life shapes you; there isn’t just one. Your essence is not dependent on any one person. Micah may have held your hand that day, but it was your legs that carried you up that mountain. It was your strength that brought you here to the Underworld.”
“I’m here with you, Spencer,” he stopped her, sliding his hand over so that the tips of his fingers brushed against hers in the grass. “Not Micah St. James. You aren’t him. You aren’t dead.”
“It feels like I am sometimes,” she whispered. She debated whether or not to pull her hand away, but they were barely touching and for some strange reason, she found his nearness comforting.
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