Chosen - Kiersten White


“Will get Buffy fans up in their feels … A tale solidly set in the world Buffy stans love—and filled with all the demons, vampires, and shady folks they love to hate.” —Entertainment Weekly

“White’s new addition to the world of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is refreshing and hits the tone of the series at its best. … Slay on, Nina. Slay on.” —Culturess

“Full of great characters, interesting plots, complex dynamics, and stakes about as high as they come.” —Hypable

★ “Epic … Resplendent with quirky, endearing characters and imagination-sparking details, this novel feeds the soul of Buffy devotees, keeping the Buffy spirit alive.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

“White … taps into the ethos of the original series, mining its complicated ethics for new veins of moral dilemmas, betrayals, hidden identities, funky demons, and romance. … Readers familiar with the Buffyverse will find themselves delighted to be home again.” —BCCB

“Exciting and well-plotted.” —SLJ

“Fans of high stakes (apocalypse high), monster madness, and serious girl power will line up for this one.” —Booklist

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To those still walking through the fire

The world is quiet now.

It used to be so loud. So much chatter, beating, drumming, buzzing buzzing buzzing. The buzzing of it all. It used to keep him awake at night, inescapable, like mites crawling through his veins. Sometimes he would scratch at his arms until they bled, but even the bleeding never dampened the buzzing.

Until it stopped. All the lines to and from the world, all the hungry beings clawing and sucking and pawing at it, everything cut off.

But not him. He is still here. And with everything quiet, he can finally focus. He’s powerless, which is unfortunate but temporary. Everything here is temporary. He will not be.

He strokes his arms, smooth and unscarred, so deceptively human-looking. But he is no human. And this world, this quiet world, this cut-off and free-floating world, this magic-less and empty world, this unprotected and uncontested world, this waiting world—

He will be its god, and everyone will buzz with him beneath their veins, they will breathe and bleed and live and die for him, and it will be good.



THE DEMON APPEARS OUT OF nowhere. Claws and fangs fill my sight, and every instinct screams kill. My blood sings with it, my fists clench, my vision narrows. The vulnerable points on the demon’s body practically flash like neon signs.

“Foul!” Rhys shouts. “No teleportation, Tsip! You know that.” Even while playing, Rhys can’t help but be a Watcher, shouting out both advice and corrections. He’s not wearing his glasses, which makes his face look vague and undefined. Cillian passes him, mussing Rhys’s carefully parted hair into wild curls and laughing at Rhys’s frustration.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head of the impulse to kill this demon I invited into our home and swore to protect. “It’s just soccer,” I whisper. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even like soccer.”

“Football, bloody American,” Cillian sings, neatly stealing the ball from me. His shorts are far shorter than the January afternoon should permit, but he seems impervious to cold. Unlike those of us who are translucently pale at this point in winter, his skin is rich and lovely. He passes to Tsip. Tsip is a vaguely opalescent pink, shimmering in the sunlight. She paints her claws fun colors when we do manicure nights, and I try desperately not to miss Artemis.

I stay rooted to the ground where I’m standing. Tsip caught me off guard, but that shouldn’t matter. I like her. And the fact that I went from trying to score a goal to plotting a dozen ways to kill my opponent in a single heartbeat is frankly terrifying. I can’t get my heart under control, can’t shake the adrenaline screaming through my veins.

“Gotta take over for the Littles. I’m out.” I wave and jog from the field. No one pays me much attention. Jade is lying on the ground in front of the goal, the worst goalkeeper ever. Rhys and Cillian are bodychecking each other in increasingly flirty ways. Tsip keeps shimmering and