'Catwoman: Soulstealer' By Sarah J. Maas Is A Thrilling Superhero Origin Story — And You Can Start Reading Now

If you're a Throne of Glass fan who also happens to love DC Comics, you're in luck. Sarah J. Maas' new book is Catwoman: Soulstealer, part of the DC Icons series of superhero origin stories told through YA novels. I've got the book trailer and an excerpt for you to check out below, so keep reading to find out more about Catwoman: Soulstealer, coming Aug. 7 from Random House Books for Young Readers.

Catwoman: Soulstealer is the third of four planned installments in the DC Icons series, which saw Wonder Woman: Warbringer by Leigh Bardugo and Batman: Nightwalker by Marie Lu released over the last year. A fourth installment, Superman: Dawnbreaker by Matt de la Peña, is scheduled for release in Feb. 2019. Both Catwoman: Soulstealer and Superman: Dawnbreaker are available for pre-order today from your favorite bookseller.

Sarah J. Maas' new book opens with 17-year-old future Catwoman Selina Kyle arrested and separated from her younger sister, Maggie. With only three weeks left until her 18th birthday, she's likely to be tried as an adult, but a mysterious woman approaches her with a deal that could get her out of Gotham and save her sister from living in a group home. There's an excerpt from Catwoman: Soulstealer for you to read below, along with a book trailer and a peek at the cover.

Catwoman: Soulstealer by Sarah J. Maas, $15, Amazon

Check out the trailer for Catwoman: Soulstealer below, and then read the excerpt from Sarah J. Maas' new book. Catwoman: Soulstealer is out in hardcover on Aug. 7.

GetUnderlined on YouTube

Excerpt from Catwoman: Soulstealer

The humming of the fluorescent lights was what awoke her.

Her tongue was a dry, thick weight in her mouth, her head a pounding mess, her body . . .

Sitting in a chair. Handcuffed to the metal table before her.

Precinct room.

Selina groaned quietly, surveying the space. Tiny. No one-way mirror. No speakers or cameras or anything.

She tugged on the cuffs linked to the table to see if they were secured.

They were.

Maggie—

The metal door hissed open, and Selina braced herself.

It wasn’t the blond social worker in her cheap suit. Or the cop who looked at her a little too long.

A tall, slim woman with night-black hair and skin like golden honey entered instead.

Selina had seen enough of the various businessmen who Falcone liked to associate himself with to know that the white pantsuit was high quality. And from her work with Mika, she knew that the simple, elegant gold jewelry at her neck and ears was real and expensive. The manicured nails, the silky sheet of hair cut into stylish layers, the full mouth painted red, were all markers that screamed money.

This was no social worker.

The manicured nails, the silky sheet of hair cut into stylish layers, the full mouth painted red, were all markers that screamed money.

Those crimson nails tapped against a thick file in her hands as she approached the table and the empty chair before it. Selina’s file.

Not good.

“Where’s Maggie?” The words were a low rasp. Water — she needed some water. And aspirin.

“My name is Talia.”

“Where. Is. Maggie.”

Keeping her head upright took every bit of effort thanks to the Taser bruise that still radiated pain down her neck and spine.

Your name is Selina Kyle, and you are seventeen years old. Three weeks away from being eighteen.” A click of the tongue as she slid into the metal chair across the table, opened up that fat file, and began flipping through the pages. The table was too long for Selina to see what the woman examined. “For someone so young, you’ve certainly accomplished an impressive amount.” Flick, flap, hiss. “Illegal betting, assault, robbery.”

Shame and pride warred through her. Shame for the fact that if Maggie ever heard this, the unvarnished truth of her crimes . . . Selina knew she couldn’t endure the look she’d see on her sister’s face. Pride for the fact that she had done this, had survived in the best way she could, had given her sister what she could as well.

But Selina managed to keep her voice cool, bored, as she replied, “I was never convicted of the last two.”

“No, but the charges are on here,” Talia countered, tapping a red nail on the paper. “What you will be convicted of in a matter of days is aggravated battery of two police officers and a state worker.”

Pride for the fact that she had done this, had survived in the best way she could, had given her sister what she could as well.

Selina just stared at the woman from beneath lowered brows. No way out of this room — this precinct. And even if she did make it, then she’d have to find Maggie. Which would be the first stop the cops would make, too.

Talia smiled slightly, revealing too-white teeth. “Did the police give you those bruises?”

Selina didn’t reply.

Talia flicked through those papers again, scanning for something. “Or are those bruises and split knuckles from the fighting you do for Carmine Falcone?”

Silence. Leopards didn’t talk. Selina hadn’t the first two times she’d been here. She wasn’t about to now.

“Do you know what it means to be three weeks away from eighteen in Gotham City?” Talia leaned forward, resting her arms on the metal table. There was a slight accent to her words, some rolling purr.

“I can buy lotto tickets?”

Again, that hint of a smile. “It means you will be lucky if the judge tries you as a juvenile. It’s your third strike. You’re looking at bars no matter what. The question is whether it’s kiddie prison or the big girls club.”

“Where. Is. Maggie.”

The question was a roar in her blood — a screaming, thrashing demand.

Talia leaned back in her chair and slid a paper-clipped file toward Selina. “Your sister is at a group home. In the Bowery of the East End.”

Oh God. If their apartment complex was garbage, then the Bowery was the entire dump. The gangs in that area . . . Even Falcone didn’t mess with them.

The question was a roar in her blood — a screaming, thrashing demand.

Selina set her bound hands on the file Talia had pushed over, the photo of a grimy, cramped bedroom atop it. Maggie’s new bedroom. She turned the paper over, fingers curling.

“Lord knows who is running that home,” Talia mused, flipping through the rest of Selina’s file.

“Are you trying to piss me off so they can add assaulting a grade A asshole to my rap sheet?”

The question was out, low and growling, before Selina could reconsider.

Talia laughed, a light and silvery sound. “Do you think you could do it? Handcuffed?”

A faint click sounded in answer. Rotating her free wrist, Selina dropped the straightened paper clip onto the metal table. A sleight of hand — turning over that photo of Maggie’s foster home to distract the eye while she palmed the paper clip. And then used it and some careful angling to spring a handcuff free. She’d bought a pair a few years ago to use for practice, to learn how the locking mechanism worked. For precisely this sort of moment.

Talia smiled again, full and wide, and let out a satisfied hum. “Clever girl.” She jerked her chin toward Selina’s free hand. “I’d suggest putting it back on. You know how uptight the police can be about such things.”

She did. And she knew that even if she unlocked the other cuff and pummeled this woman’s face in, she still wouldn’t make it out of this holding room or the precinct.

Selina clicked the handcuff back around her wrist. Leaving it loose enough that she could free herself again, should the need arise.

Talia watched every movement, head angled to the side, dark hair shifting. “I’m here to offer you a bargain, Selina Kyle.”

Selina waited.

Talia closed her file. “I run a vocational school for young women like you. Physically skilled, yes.” A nod toward the cuffs, the bruises on her face. “But smart most of all.” She placed a hand on the file. “I’ve got chart after chart of your grades. Your exam scores. Do your little kitty-cat friends know you’re top of your class and that you aced all statewide exams?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’d made sure the Leopards never heard about it as well. Being good in the ring with the bullwhip and gymnastics was about as much talent as she’d let show. Selina leaned forward a bit. “Acing tests doesn’t win fights.”

Another laugh, this one low and sultry. “You know, if your frequent absences didn’t bar you from graduating this year, you might have been able to have your pick of scholarships.”

College wasn’t a possibility. Not with Maggie to look after.

“This school of mine, though,” Talia said, tracing a nail over the surface of the file. Like a long red talon. “It would be a new start. And a better fit than juvie. Or prison.”

With every passing minute she spent in here, Maggie was in that disgusting home, breathing in filth and dirt.

College wasn’t a possibility. Not with Maggie to look after.

“The catch, before you ask, is that my school is located in the Dolomites of Italy. And your sister cannot come.”

Selina blinked, processing what the woman had said. A school in Italy. No Maggie.

“If you come with me,” Talia went on, “I can make this record” — a tap of the hand on the file — “vanish. Forever.”

Selina studied the file and then Talia’s beautiful face. These offers didn’t come without major strings.

“I don’t give a shit about the record,” Selina said. “I want Maggie out of that house."

Talia blinked, the only sign of surprise.

“I want my sister put in a single-family foster home. With good people who are willing to adopt her. Somewhere in a cushy suburb. No gangs, no violence, no drugs.”

Silence.

Selina added softly, “And I want you to make sure my mother is never able to get her hands on Maggie again.”

The lights above hummed. Talia’s hand scraped over the rough surface of the file folder as she slid her hands into her lap. “You’re in no position to make demands.”

Selina leaned back in her chair, refusing to break the woman’s dark gaze. “If you want me so badly for your human-trafficking club, you’ll do it.”

Talia burst out laughing. There was no joy in the sound.

Selina rolled her shoulders and waited.

Talia chuckled once more before tossing her sheet of hair over a shoulder. “I’ll make it happen.”

Selina didn’t let her shock show.

Talia burst out laughing. There was no joy in the sound.

“There is one more condition,” Talia said, rising from the table.

Of course there was. Selina monitored her every breath.

“We leave tonight,” Talia said. “And you will not get to say goodbye.”

For a moment, Selina didn’t hear the words, or the hum of the lights, or the click of Talia’s beige heels as she strutted for the door. She heard that damned Carousel song.

And Selina was still hearing it as she said, voice thick, “Take off the cuffs."

* * *

The tarmac of the private airport was empty.

Empty save for the sleek white jet idling just off the runway, its steps already lowered to reveal a near-glowing wooden interior.

The perfect match to the Aston Martin that Selina had just vacated. Talia was already striding toward the plane.

Rubbing her wrists, Selina stalked after the woman, glancing toward the glittering city skyline to their left. The eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten. Dawn.

Her body ached. Everything ached. Not just bone and flesh.

Selina shoved down the thought as she took in Gotham City. The light and the shadow.

Her body ached. Everything ached. Not just bone and flesh.

A cool wind whipped at her face, dragging strands of her hair free as she caught up to Talia’s side just before the woman began to ascend the steps into the private plane. A flight attendant waited at the top of the stairs, a tray with two glasses of champagne fizzing in her hands.

“Is this your plane?” Selina asked as Talia braced a hand on the stair rail and set a well-heeled foot on the first step.

“It is.”

This school, then . . . Selina again glanced toward the city’s horizon. To where she prayed Maggie was being shuttled through the streets to the trees and open air and quiet of the suburbs.

She swallowed, trailing Talia up the narrow steps of the plane. The private plane.

“Are you a Wayne or something?” The Waynes did plenty of charity work, and a fancy Italian school for wayward young women didn’t seem beyond them.

Talia let out a low laugh and didn’t bother to turn as she reached the top stair, swiped a flute of champagne from the flight attendant, and said, “No. My family name is al Ghūl.”

For more about Catwoman: Soulstealer and the DC Icon series, visit Random House.