Read the first chapters here
CHAPTER ONE
Parents frighten their kids into submission with stories about Ravenhold. Rumours and folk tales fill the supernatural world: Ravenhold, a castle on a distant Scottish island surrounded by an impassable sea and ruled over by the half-human, half-beast mids.
Good kids go to Nightworld academies; bad kids go to Ravenhold supernatural reform academy. The worst stories claim the juvenile offenders are subject to trials where they fight to the death or are pulled apart and tortured by mids.
I have a friend—one of few—who told me a family friend returned from Ravenhold and that half the stories are bullshit.
Only half?
The ruling Confederacy authorities want the supernatural world to believe there’s no coming back from the island; they encourage the stories but keep the truth a secret. But the question remains: are students reformed, or are they too dangerous to release?
I’m about to discover if the rumours are true.
As the island comes into view, so does Ravenhold reform academy. The grey building juts from the rocks in the centre and matches the gothic reputation the place has. Several turrets push into the stormy sky the building silhouettes against.
Everything is grey and lost in the bleak surroundings.
Seasickness threatens as the boat bounces across the North Sea, but my stomach already churns with anxiety. I moisten my dry lips, and my stomach twists into knots at the reality facing me. I hoped this wouldn’t happen; that my family would intervene before things reached this stage.
Wrong.
The speedboat carrying me to my unknown future hits the rocky beach, and the silent, muscular guy who brought me here climbs out to moor the boat. Gruffly, he tells me to get out and tugs my arm when I’m too slow.
I catch my long, dark hair as the wind whips it across my face and push the strands away before they blind me.
A hulking figure in dark clothes steps from the shadows and looms over me. He has squashed features; his flat nose almost non-existent. Scales shine in places on his arms, but don’t completely cover the skin. My heart leaps with fear as one rumour is proved true—this is a ‘mid’, a shifter stuck between his two forms and unable to transform back to human. They’re ostracised by their race, too dangerous and too conspicuous. Mids stay in this form for life and remain hidden.
Perfect for guarding magical juvenile delinquents.
“Eloise. Come with me,” he commands in a booming voice.
Leaving the man and boat, I slog my way up the sandy path behind the mid, squinting through the dark as the burning torches skewered into the ground barely light the way. I expected the Scottish island to be cold, but not this severe. The wind burns my skin raw, and my hands are frozen to the point I can’t feel the rucksack I grip onto.
The mid guy doesn’t address me again until we’re close to the academy building. “You’re a witch, but you’re different.”
His gravelly voice states a fact without questioning the situation.
“I am.”
“Thought you were a vamp at first. But I can hear your heartbeat.” He lifts his head and wrinkles his half-nose. “Smell you.”
Gross. Some would take the vamp comment as a compliment since the race is known for their rare beauty and flawlessness, but I hate them.
The mid appraises me and his tongue slides across his bottom lip like a slug. My long dark hair and delicate features likely made him think I’m a vampire, along with my height and slenderness. I’m wearing skinny jeans and two jumpers beneath a thick jacket in an attempt to keep warm, but they’re not working.
“You be careful, looking like you do. You’ll attract attention. Guys like a good-looking girl.”
I tense. “If anybody touches me, I’ll tear his dick off. A spell would be too kind.”
He laughs, a rasping sound. “The harmless-looking ones are always the most dangerous.”
I tip my chin. I’ve spent the last two years wishing I could tear a certain witch’s dick off to stop it ever coming near me—my unwanted fiancé, Ivan. We were rarely alone unsupervised, but in snatched moments, he’d grab me and whisper perverse things in my ear.
Once, he held me down and tried to rape me. At that point, he realised he was playing with fire—literally, because I conjured a flame that was close to singeing his pathetic appendage long before he assaulted me.
I earned a black eye for that; he was too quick for me to block the shocking blow. My family, and his, never commented on my screaming and the injury.
But my family never gave a crap about anything but their success in creating me. I spent my childhood dragged around the covens forced to perform every school of magic. ‘Look at Eloise, the clever elemental witch who can control minds too’.
I have a rare ability to wield both of those magic schools, but I have a magic skill that’s rarer still and harder to prove.
One that’s landed me with an unknown future in a living hell.
CHAPTER TWO
The walk to the building continues in silence, and I’m out of breath when we reach the crest of the hill. The sea batters the rocks below, a constant reminder to all inmates about the power the water holds. Water repulses vamps; they could never cross the sea if they attempted to leave the island.
The long swim to the Scottish mainland in ice waters would cause hypothermia and death for most others. If the stronger elemental witches bonded together, they could probably create a bridge of ice to cut a path through the sea. Unfortunately for them, that’s impossible, because Ravenhold neutralises their magic.
This means the shifters have no chance either, even those with aquatic forms. Powerful magic surrounds the small island, and nobody can set foot on or leave without permission, or until rehabilitated.
I’m resigned to my fate, but why hasn’t anybody given me a timescale for rehabilitation, or how I’m judged as safe to release.Is anybody? The stone walls hold the irredeemable inside. These ‘students’ were unable to control the destructive or violent behaviour that places them here, or didn’t care if they did.
I swallow down my nerves as I stare at the open doors to the building. I can’t discount the rumours. Will I leave here or die at Ravenhold?
Two other mids stand either side of the doorway at the top of the stone stairs and watch with a bored air as the basilisk mid leads me inside.
The chequered black and white tiled floor is fractured, and the painted walls are cracked in places revealing grey stone beneath, as if the island is trying to consume the building that’s a scar on its back.
A chandelier hangs above me at an unusual angle, half-connected to the ceiling, and the teardrop glass is jagged but missing in places. I sidestep in case the thing lands on my head.
A squat man sits at a table tucked beneath the large staircase. More security? To my right, stairs lead upwards, and an ornate stair rail also covered in chipped white paint leads to a small balcony where people could slip through the gaps in the balustrade.
Ahead there are two closed doors, opposite the entrance.
The dread that’s followed me from London to Edinburgh, and then in a blacked-out van further north and onto the boat, threatens to freeze me in place, but I push on. How many people here have killed, and do deaths occur inside the walls? The constant questions about death churn over and over with every step I take—ironic, as death is what brought me here.
Once I’m shown my room, I can drop my facade and allow out the terrified girl I am. I need to belong where I never will.
A tall man dressed in black jeans and a loose blue shirt leans against the wall and watches me walk in. A chain hangs from his belt and into a bulging pocket. Keys? His brown hair is close-cropped, and he’s young-looking, but his features scream ‘vamp’.
He sizes me up, head cocked, and the scrutiny sends a shiver through. He isn’t checking me out—he’s sizing me up for danger.
Pulling himself from the wall, the man takes a step towards me. “I’m, Luca and—”
A yell interrupts him, and I spin around. A guy launches himself from the rails at the top of the stairs and lands on his feet with feline effortlessness, one palm on the floor in front of him as he looks up.
A second man charges down the stairs two at a time. “Get back here,” he snarls.
The guy who jumped pulls himself upright and to full height. He’s dressed in scruffy blue jeans that hug his long legs and sit low on his hips. His black shirt is unbuttoned and hangs open. I take an appreciative look at the sculpted muscle on display, from his toned pecs down to the hard abs. This guy may be lean, but his body powerful.
He catches sight of me, and I stare back into eyes the colour of the sea. This guy’s beauty was created to break hearts—or rip them out. The guy grazes his teeth across his bottom lip as he slowly rakes a gaze from my feet to my face, and I shiver as if he’s touching me.
He could mesmerise with a glance, but despite the perfection in his features, I don’t sense a lamia vampire.
The guy’s mouth pulls up at one corner as he senses my breathless reaction to him—one he’s undoubtedly used to from girls. My breathlessness is from the walk up the hill. Mostly.
“Get your arse back upstairs. Now.” The guard’s heavy footsteps cross the floor, and I blink at the size of him. He must be seven feet tall, at least, and his arms twice as thick as a normal man. I can barely see a neck beneath his small head and squashed face. If someone who looked like him yelled at me, I’d do what he said in a heartbeat—in case he stopped mine.
The guy breaks away from our mutual appreciation and dodges the guard as he reaches him. He grins and ducks behind the guard, who spins around. The arrogant guy dances out of his way, his torn shirt slipping from one shoulder as he does.
“Stand still,” snarls the guard.
“If you keep your filthy hands off me.” The inmate’s voice is cultured English, reminding me of my mother’s friends who live in the Home Counties. There’s an edge to the honeyed tone, as if he can charm you then devour you in the blink of a mesmeric eye.
He lifts a hand to push stray brown hair from his face and takes another sly look at me.
“Don’t touch him, Jurgen,” says a voice behind.
I’d forgotten there were others with us. Luca moves to stand by my side, and the guard who accompanied me from the boat move to my other as if I have a protective detail.
The guy in the torn shirt gestures at himself. “Zeke ripped my fucking shirt. Do you know how much this cost me?”
“You punched him in the face.”
The guy shrugs. “He should’ve kept his mouth shut.”
“You’ve been warned. Hurt anybody else, and you’re in solitary,” warns Luca.
The guy lifts his head and looks down his nose at Luca. “I’m sure Zeke will retract his complaint against me. You know he always does.”
He moves closer to me and bites his lip again as he looks down. My empath skills are more potent than many witches, and I immediately pick up the danger and darkness that cloud this guy’s aura. Now he’s closer, my attraction to him fades. I can almost smell the evil.
I shift away from him, and he cocks his head, lips pursing. “Does my reputation precede me?”
“What?”
“You’re nervous.” He leans in and whispers, “Have you heard the stories?”
I splutter. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know or care who you are.”
Luca tugs me to one side, and the arrogant guy’s face lights up. He points at me. “You’ll be fun. I like fun.”
The half-human man grabs his arm. “Get back to your room.”
“If you ask nicely,” says the guy snidely. “Besides, I haven’t introduced myself to Ravenhold’s newest and most charming guest.”
“Just get back up the fucking stairs, Dorian,” snaps Luca, “before I lose my patience and you lose your privileges.”
The hallway I stand in lurches to one side and my stomach turns over as I stare at the guy I’ve dreamed about meeting.
The one I want to hurt until he suffers the way my family did.
“Are you Dorian Blackwood?” I ask hoarsely.
He smiles, eyes glittering. “TheDorian Blackwood. Welcome to Ravenhold. I do hope you enjoy your stay.”
CHAPTER THREE
Does Dorian know who I am? Because I damn well know who he is.
Dorian Blackwood killed my uncle. I never thought I’d meet the murderous arsehole, but I’ll make him pay. I laugh at my furious side—I’m a strong witch, but can I take on the famous hybrid?
Okay, I may not be able to kill Dorian, but I can hurt him. He’s incarcerated, which means the so-called unstoppable guy must have a weakness.
Dazed by my impromptu welcome by Dorian Blackwood, I robotically follow instructions from the pig-faced guy at the table. I don’t think he’s a mid, just unfortunate-looking. I hand over my phone and allow him to go through my belongings and look for contraband.
Occasional shouts and laughter echo along a hallway upstairs. Adult voices mingled with teens; anger mixed with amusement. Trepidation builds in my churning stomach. How long will they keep me here? My crime surely can’t be as severe as those around me. I used illegal magic, yes, but I never hurt anybody.
The bespectacled guy shoves my rucksack back across the table towards me and makes a note on a form. I stare at the pile of random items as he places them in a plastic bag. How is a wooden emery board contraband? Surely sharp nails would be worse than neat ones?
“Will I get my things back when I leave?” I ask him.
He gives a small shake of his head and continues to write on the form, a pitying smile on his face.
I look away with a sigh, and the guy who accompanied me from the boat reappears from wherever he took Dorian. A girl accompanies him, partially hidden behind as she follows him downstairs.
“Oriana, this is Eloise. Eloise, your roommate.”
She moves past him and stands at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded around herself. Her bright blue hair and piercings instantly scare me, and she wears a scruffy black tank top and short, tight skirt with heavy boots. I’ve not dealt with many people outside of witch society, and this girl looks like somebody I’d rather avoid.
Oriana’s hair partially covers her face and is shaved up one side. A dragon tattoo spreads from her neck along a slender shoulder before delving beneath her loose black tank top.
“I hope you’re less trouble than my last roomie,” she says in a voice with an Eastern European lilt, and her emphasis on ‘roomie’ is mocking.
“Eloise will be one of our more cooperative residents,” says Luca with a smile. “Won’t you?”
I return the smile at his veiled threat and nod in agreement. Oriana steps forward and studies me. “Are you a witch?”
“She is, yes.”
I side glance Luca, annoyed at him speaking on my behalf again.
“Cool. That’ll help you gainfavourwith Dorian and Zeke.”
“What?” I ask, disgusted by her undertones.
She smirks then gestures at my bag. “Are you coming with me? I can show you the awesomeness of your new home.”
I haul the rucksack from the floor. “Is that it?” I ask Luca. “The end of my ‘processing’.”
“For now. In the morning you’ll meet Francesca and Angus, who are the two heads of the academy.” He pauses. “You’ll want to be well-rested before your meeting.”
Omigod. What will they do to me?
Oriana huffs. “Come on. I’m busy.”
Luca wanders over to pick up the form from the guy with glasses, takes a cursory glance, and hands it back to him.
“Welcome to Ravenhold. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He strides away, and the white door at the end of the hallway bangs closed as he walks through.
Oriana scratches a pierced eyebrow and turns. “Don’t look frightened.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
At least her smile is friendly even if her appearance isn’t. “You’re lucky you’re rooming with me. I’m nice.”
I follow Oriana upstairs, and she pauses to gesture either side of her where the narrow hallway decorated with flaking cream-coloured paint stretches to separate staircases.
“Down that way to the classrooms; straight on to dorm rooms.” She jabs a finger upwards. “The younger kids live up there.”
“There are young kids here?” I ask. “How old? I thought this place was for teens.”
“Youngest is twelve. Almost a teen. The staff keep a closer eye on them until they’re sixteen. They’re kept safe.”
Safe.
Two guys rest against a wall outside a room with an open door, and one pulls on his bottom lip as he watches me pass. His bronze eyes unnerve me, and the black outlining them reminds me of a tiger’s.
He’s lithe, like Dorian, and as tall, with messy blond hair. Black lines ink his bare arms, and for a moment, I imagine them as stripes. His feline appearance and markings leave no doubt in my mind—he’s a shifter.
The second guy matches him in build, and I shiver at the thought all the guys in this place have unhidden power in their bodies. He’s pale with striking blue eyes, rimmed the same way, but I can’t see if his arms are tattooed.
The blond guy runs his tongue across his teeth and stops his tongue on one of his longer than average canines.
“Evening, sweetheart.” His voice purrs seductively but triggers hairs on the back of my neck as he studies every inch of me.
The second guy jerks his chin at my roommate. “Are you joining us later, Oriana?”
“I don’t think so,” she scoffs. “I’m busy.”
“You should stick with your own,” replies the blond. “You’re safer that way. We can protect you.”
She gives a tight smile. “I don’t need your protection.”
He rests his head against the wall and looks down his nose. “But some students need reminding to keep their hands off shifter goods.”
“Piss off,” she retorts. “I’m nobody’s goods.”
I back against the opposite wall, hoping if I do, this removes me from whatever conversation they’re having.
“I heard Dorian kicking off before,” she says. “What happened, Zeke?”
He shrugs. “Dorian badmouthed me in art class. The dickhead needs to keep out of my business.”
“Art class?” I blurt.
Zeke turns his head. “Haven’t you had your orientation meeting yet, new girl?”
“She arrived too late,” replies Oriana.
Why is everybody speaking for me since I arrived?
“Not too late for Dorian’s orientation,” says the dark-haired guy with a chuckle. “She’s a witch, right?”
The prickle on my neck intensifies at the undertone to his words. What does Dorian do to witches?
“If Dorian caused trouble, he’s locked in his room tonight,” retorts Oriana. “If you were involved, I’d hide before someone locks you up for the night too.”
Zeke barks out a laugh. “I don’t hide from anybody.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” interrupts Zeke’s friend.
My chest tightens. I’d hoped they’d overlooked me.
“Eloise. This is Zeke.” She points at the striped guy. “And Kai.” Oriana nudges me in the side as I stare at the two shifters.
“Eloise.” Zeke speaks my name slowly as if caressing the word. “I look forward to discovering everything about you.”
Oriana mutters something then looks at me. “Let’s go.”
I gratefully move away from the pair, and as I pass an open doorway, I spot a group of kids lounging on sofas with torn cushions or sitting on top of tables chatting.
Thankfully, nobody notices me.
Against my better judgement, Zeke snatched my attention. I’m not a fan of shifters, and my parents were racist against them, but there’s no denying many are stunning.
“So, that’s Zeke,” says Oriana. “Shifter top dog. I mean, not literally since he’s a tiger shifter, but he’s allowed to keep the shifters under control.”
“Allowed?”
“By Dorian,” she replies as if I’m stupid. “There’re two worlds here. One run by guards, one run by him.”
We turn a corner and head along another hallway in need of painting, although someone already adorned the flaking walls with a mural featuring a starry night scene. If this picture was designed to brighten the place, the attempt failed —graffitied names are scrawled throughout the painting.
Oriana pulls a set of keys from her pocket.
“I don’t have a key yet. How will I get in and out?”
Oriana unlocks the door. “Francesca will give you one tomorrow. You’re lucky— a year ago we had no way to lock ourselves in. Since she arrived a few months back, things have softened a little. Angus is old school and doesn’t like sharing his position of academy head with Francesca. Don’t upset him. He’s ex-military and the Confederacy’s right-hand man; Francesca has a holistic approach to rehabilitation that he hates.”
“Art class?”
“Amongst other things. Just treat her classes as a chance to snooze.” She kicks open the door. “They try to hide their dislike for each other, but neither are good actors.”
The room we walk into is as unappealing as the rest of the academy —bare walls and a window covered by a thin black curtain. The metal-framed beds are pushed up against a wall either side with a small space in between.
I can say goodbye to privacy.
One bed is stripped of linen but has a pillow and blankets folded at one end. The springs creak as I sit on the mattress and take in the depressing surrounding.
“Bathrooms are along the hallways. Shared.” I widen my eyes, and she laughs. “Don’t worry; they’re not unisex. No guys in the girls’ showers. Well, usually.”
My stomach turns over for the umpteenth time. Communal showers. Tiny rooms with bars on the windows and beds close enough we’re almost sleeping together.
“Is everybody’s room like this?” I ask.
“Yeah. Pretty much. Some of the bigger shifters get the attic rooms and Dorian’s on his own.”
“Lucky,” I mutter.
“Lucky for the people who are saved from rooming with him, yes.” She chuckles. “Sharing with Dorian is a threatened punishment as great as solitary confinement. Greater.”
“I can imagine. He has a reputation.”
“Oh, yeah.” She snorts. “King of the halls. A lot of kids here are dangerous, but he’s immoral with it. Doesn’t give a shit about anybody or anything.”
I could add that I know more about Dorian, but can I trust Oriana? The disgust on her face shows she doesn’t like him, but I don’t want my words passed on to anybody. I need to keep my head down and mouth shut.
“Don’t worry about Kai’s comment—Dorian has a seductive effect on witches. He can be persuasive, but he’s not a rapist.”
“Witches can’t let vampires close in that way, anyway. They could die.”
“That way?” She frowns. “Oh! Fuck them, you mean? Outside rules don’t apply here.”
I fight embarrassment at her crude word and my naivety. “Eloise, pay attention to the Ravenhold rules, or you could add years to your stay here.”
I ask the question I’m scared to know the answer to. “How long have you been at Ravenhold?”
Oriana holds out a hand and counts on her fingers. “Almost three years. Since I was sixteen.”
I could ask why she’s here, but again, ‘head down and mouth shut’. I’ll find out soon enough.
Oriana remains standing as I unzip my bag and stare inside. I want to sleep, but I don’t feel safe without casting a ward on the door. “Can I try a spell?”
She stares at me and my dumb question. “Uh. The island’s wards will suck the spell power from you. If you’re powerful, that’ll take a few days, but I’d advise against using magic. You don’t want to be locked in solitary for a few days until they’re sure you’re neutralised.”
“Right.” I eye the floor in front of the closed door.
“You want to ward the room, don’t you? Go ahead tonight, but once you have your key, I wouldn’t take the risk.”
Oriana reaches for the door handle, and I tense. “Are you leaving?”
“I have things to do. I won’t disturb you when I come back. Or are you a light sleeper?”
“Not normally”.
Oriana leaves, and I kneel on the floor to use my index finger to trace a pattern on the cracked tiles close to the door. The runic symbols glow, and a blue light spreads between them until they interlock.
Sinking back on my heels, I take calming breaths.
I’ll need more than wards to keep myself safe here.
***
Ravenhold: Witch Born releases on August 3rd
Available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited
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