Mortal (Book One) E-Book und Hörbuch

Bella Lore

• Herausgeber: Lukeman Literary Management
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Mortal
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 259

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

This is book #1 in a new paranormal romance series by bestselling author Bella Lore. "I couldn't stop reading." --Reader review (My True Mate) When her father suddenly dies, Winter Grace, 17, is forced to fly across the country and attend a mysterious prep school, an ancient castle in a fog-covered island on the coast of Maine. Nothing here is what it seems, and it isn't long before Winter, feeling a surging power for the first time, realizes that she is not who—or what—she thinks she is. But when Winter feels an inexplicable crush for an elusive and dangerous boy at the school, she realizes a greater destiny is at play. She knows the relationship might destroy them both—yet she also knows that they can never be apart. Will Winter sacrifice it all to be with the one she loves? Creating an unforgettable world of vampires, werewolves, shifters and magic of all sorts, a world of fantasy, love and sacrifice, this book will take you to another place, rife with shocking twists and turns. Fans of books such as Vampire Academy and Twilight and Crush are sure to fall in love! Future books in the series are also available. "The story was very well written and was unique as compared to other shifter stories." --Reader review (The Alpha's Mate) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Excellent from start to finish and leaves you wanting more." --Reader review (My True Mate) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Leseprobe

M O R T A L

(Mortal, Book One)

B e l l a   L o r e

Bella Lore

Bella Lore is the paranormal romance author of the MY TRUE MATE series, comprising five books; THE ALPHA’S MATE series, comprising four books; the REJECTED BY THE BETA series, comprising four books; 9 NOVELLAS BY BELLA LORE, comprising nine books;  and  the MORTAL series, comprising five books.

Bella loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit bellaloreauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2023 by Bella Lore. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright tomertu, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY BELLA LORE

MORTAL

MORTAL (Book #1)

MATED (Book #2)

MATCHED (Book #3)

MARKED (Book #4)

MIXED (Book #5)

MY TRUE MATE

MY TRUE MATE (Book #1)

MY TRUE MATE (Book #2)

MY TRUE MATE (Book #3)

MY TRUE MATE (Book #4)

MY TRUE MATE (Book #5)

THE ALPHA’S MATE

THE ALPHA’S MATE (Book #1)

THE ALPHA’S MATE (Book #2)

THE ALPHA’S MATE (Book #3)

THE ALPHA’S MATE (Book #4)

REJECTED BY THE BETA

REJECTED BY THE BETA (Book #1)

REJECTED BY THE BETA (Book #2)

REJECTED BY THE BETA (Book #3)

REJECTED BY THE BETA (Book #4)

9 NOVELLAS

BOUND TO THE ALPHA (Book #1)

DESIRED BY THE ALPHA (Book #2)

FALLING FOR THE ROGUE (Book #3)

MATED TO THE ALPHA (Book #4)

MY TRUE ALPHA (Book #5)

PROMISED TO THE ALPHA (Book #6)

THE ALPHA’S BRIDE (Book #7)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

“How much longer?” I turn to the pilot, not sure my headset is even working properly. The man and I haven't exchanged a single word since taking off an hour ago.

“We’re there.”

I blink at him. Look out the propeller plane’s window. Blink some more.

He has to be kidding.

Acres of pine trees stretch out below, a blanket of green reaching toward the horizon.

“Where?” I don’t see any buildings.

He points ahead, to where the trees open into a field; a thin runway stretched the length of it. I lean forward, looking for a building, but still there’s nothing.

This is where I’m going to school? In the middle of nowhere Maine, with not one speck of civilization in sight?

You have to be kidding me, Dad.

Like always, thinking about him sends a wave of pain crashing through me. I close my eyes and try to keep the tears at bay, but they prick my eyelids, hot and blinding.

According to my father’s will, I was to spend the last eight months of my high school career at a boarding school in a state I’d never even been to, surrounded by people I’d never met.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. My dad never mentioned anything to me about leaving my public high school for a private school. Why had he put it in his will?

Weeks later and I’m still trying to understand his motivation. The more I think about it, though, the less sense it makes. Then again, these days the whole world feels like it doesn’t make any sense.

The pilot angles the plane down, and my stomach drops. Curling my hands around the armrest, I keep my eyes closed and wait for it to be over.

The bump against the tarmac flings my stomach into my throat, and I nearly vomit. But the flight is over. Thank God.

Maybe.

Honestly, for all I know, things are about to get much, much worse.

The engine quieting down, I open my door and climb to the ground. The pilot’s already collecting my suitcase and backpack–all that I had left, save for what’s in storage units in Wisconsin.

“Thanks.” I take the bags from him, but the concerned look on his face makes me pause.

“You don’t look like the other kids.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“The other students?” I pull my suitcase closer to me. “You fly a lot of them here?”

“Sometimes.” He looks over my shoulder, and I feel more than read his unsettled mood. “Good luck, Winter.”

“Thank you.” I would use his name as well, but he didn’t give it to me when I introduced myself right before takeoff.

It’s gray on the ground, a fog seeping out of the trees and across the grass. The woods would be mysterious enough, but the fog adds a whole other layer.

A shiver runs down my spine, and my mouth goes dry. An ache to be back in Wisconsin–so powerful it nearly brings me to my knees–bursts through me. I should be getting ready for homecoming right now, doing my hair with Lerissa and talking about whatever stupid rumor is floating around school this week. I should be getting psyched for next week’s swim meet, looking forward to a dozen other normal, teenage things.

I squeeze my eyes shut. That was my old life, and it’s no more real than a dream now. Time to get with the program.

Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath. I start to tell the pilot thank you for the ride, but he’s already in the plane, closing the door behind him.

“Oh.” My mouth falls open.

The plane takes off–seemingly faster than it arrived, or maybe that’s my imagination–and I pivot to take in the scene around me. The fog’s thickening, and with no road or people in sight, there’s nothing to do. I’m abandoned in the wilderness, with nothing but a suitcase of clothes and the stuffed elephant I sometimes still sleep with.

As far as family, that’s gone too. Apparently I have an aunt somewhere, a half-sister of my dad’s. I’ve never even met her, though. For all I know, she wants nothing to do with me.

The tears start collecting again. I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, but the last three weeks have been so nonstop, so fast, so overwhelming that sometimes I just want to lay down and go to sleep. Sleep and then wake up in my house to the smell of waffles cooking and the sounds of my dad’s favorite jazz albums spinning on the record player.

Suddenly, headlights cut through the fog. From a road I hadn’t noticed before, a black car emerges. Fresh air fills my lungs. As sad as things can get, sometimes I just need a little reminder that I’m not alone in the world.

Breaking into a brisk walk (because running would look too desperate), I wave my hand at the car. “Hey! Over here!”

The car slides to a stop in front of me, its windows tinted so dark that I can’t see whoever is behind the wheel. I sigh in relief and wait for the driver to get out. Instead, the back window rolls down.

“Miss Grace?” a man’s voice says from inside the car.

“Er… Yes?”

The window rolls back up. That’s it?

Chewing my lip, I take a chance, open the door, and toss my suitcase and backpack in. My butt barely hits the seat before the car takes off.

With a partition between the back and front seats, I can’t see who’s driving the car. So, basically, I could have just been kidnapped.

“Is Hawthorn close?” I ask the partition.

No response.

Collapsing against the leather seat, I run my hand over the beads strung on my wrist. There isn’t a day of my life I don’t remember my dad wearing the bracelet–except for the morning he died in the car accident. That morning, he’d left in a rush and forgot to put it on.

Ever since that phone call, I haven’t taken it off.

The car abruptly stops, and I fly forward, my cheek slamming into the partition.

“Ow.” I rub my face. You’d think, ironically, after both my parents dying in car accidents, I’d have learned my lesson about wearing a seatbelt.

“Is this where I’m getting out?” I roll down the window and inspect the fork in the road we’ve reached.

More woods. More creepy fog. More emptiness.

The driver doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. The sound of horse hooves already has my attention. A black horse pulling a carriage, like the kind my dad and I rode in during that trip we took to New York City, heads straight for the car.

This carriage is nothing like the ones in Central Park, though. It’s falling apart, and the horse looks like it just dropped one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse off after a long shift. Its eyes are steely obsidian, its nostrils flaring.

The fog’s so thick that it completely hides the driver, but the door to the carriage swings open and a face appears.

A girl my age, her hair in two long blonde braids, smiles at me. “Hey!”

It’s like seeing the sun after weeks of darkness, and the next thing I know I’m scrambling into the carriage. She helps me with my bags, and I sit across from her, facing backwards.

“You’re going to Hawthorn, too?” Her brown eyes are wide.

“I guess so.” The carriage starts moving, and we bump along the road.

“I’m Brynn.”

“Winter.” I offer a little wave.

“This is so crazy.” Brynn tugs on one of her braids, her gaze darting all over the place. “Right? I mean, what do you know about this school?”

“Not much.” I pull out my phone to show her my most recent Google search, but the browser doesn’t load.

Great. Add “no mobile data” to the perks of this place.

“I found hardly anything,” I say. “Just one picture. It looks like it’s really old.”

Brynn nods so hard it’s a wonder her head doesn’t fall off. “And it’s in the middle of a river, on an island. A ton of people have gone missing from there.”

A chill passes through me. “What? When?”

“Just over the decades.” She chews her bottom lip. “And supposedly it’s haunted, too.”

My gaze falls to my slip-on sneakers. For the millionth time, I wonder why my dad chose this for me.

Tuition is already paid for, the rest of my dad’s money put into a trust for me, with a small allowance to be sent my way every month. In addition, his will stipulated that the house I grew up in be sold.

It was like he wanted every trace of the life he gave me to be wiped away. Which doesn’t make any sense. He loved our home in Wisconsin; he always said his favorite place in the world was at our house, with me.

Gathering all my strength, I force a smile. “It can’t be that bad, right? The worst part will probably be that we’re starting two months late. It always sucks being the new kid.”

Brynn stares at me, her silence the only answer I need.

“I mean, even if some people go missing…” I chuckle. “Most of them survive Hawthorn, right? Don’t worry. We’ll be okay.”

Her eyes are still wide. Maybe that’s the way they always are. “Look.” Her voice shaking, she points behind me.

I turn and crane to look past the horse. The woods have suddenly ended, like a line was drawn between them and whatever is next.

Through the fog, a wooden drawbridge emerges, dark water flowing underneath it. My breath catches in my throat. There’s that awful, ominous feeling in my gut, the same one I felt when the phone rang four hours after my dad was supposed to be home from his job at the university. Everything is about to change–again.

The carriage reaches the edge of the water, and the bridge slowly lowers, creaking like an ancient ship. It slices through the fog, scattering the haze. There it is, halfway across the river and on an island, just like Brynn said: an old stone mansion, barely visible in the haze. Behind it, other buildings take shape in the fog, but they look like little more than dark masses.

Behind me, Brynn whimpers.

I swallow, doing my best to push back the anxiety. I have no clue what’s headed my way next, and I feel like a trapped animal.

Is this what you wanted, Dad? Okay. I’ll do it. But only because it’s you asking.

“It’ll be fine.” My best beauty pageant smile on, I turn back to Brynn. “What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

CHAPTER TWO

The bridge groans as the horse steps onto it, and just like on the tiny propeller plane, I tense up.

“Did your parents tell you why they sent you here?” Brynn asks.

“Uh… No. My dad said in his will that I should come here.”

Over Brynn’s shoulder, something moves in the woods. The oncoming night combined with the fog makes it hard to see, but there’s a glow and… Are those eyes?

Glowing eyes?

Suddenly, crossing this questionable bridge seems like a great idea considering the alternative. No sleeping in the woods and being mauled by wild animals for me, thank you very much.

“He died?” Brynn’s face crumples. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know why I’m here.” She wraps her arms around herself. “This place is so not safe.”

“Why do you say that?” The carriage is rocking as we cross the bridge, and one glance down at the frothing water below makes me wish I hadn’t looked.

“It’s what everyone says.” She squeezes her sides tighter. “Anytime I hear anything about Hawthorn it’s about how dangerous it is. Your dad didn’t tell you anything? What about your mom?”

“She died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her.” We’re almost at the end of the drawbridge and my heart slams against my ribcage in anticipation of the unknown. Whatever lies on the other side of this bridge, it for sure won’t be like small-town Wisconsin.

“At least we’re close to other people.” Brynn picks up the pace, talking a mile a minute. “There’s a town only a few miles away, and there’s a lake, too. It’s right next to the sea, and there’s a sandbar between them. It’s approximately fifty feet when the tide is low, and you can go out on it like it’s a regular beach. There’s a certain time of the year where the sandbar is gone and the lake connects with the ocean.”

I nod. She sounds like she copied and pasted a Wikipedia page right into her mouth. Yep, anxiety is definitely the motor running her right now.

Is everything she’s saying true? If these rumors are known, why would my dad send me somewhere so dangerous?

The carriage bumps as it leaves the bridge, and Brynn emits a little yelp that probably has more to do with whatever’s to come next than the surprise jolt. The fog is even thicker here than in the woods, if that’s possible, but the horse seems to know just where to go.

Her hooves smacking cobblestones, she swims through the fog and stops in front of the school. From the bit of the building I can make out, brown vines climb the gray stones and stained glass decorates the windows. I crane my head back to look at the top of the building, but it’s lost in the fog. The number of floors in this school is a mystery.

The horse whinnies, which is more than her driver has given us, and Brynn and I look at each other.

“Well.” Putting on a brave face, I grab my bags. “Let’s do this.”

She looks like she’s about to faint, and I wonder if I should hold her hand, but then she’s getting out of the carriage–albeit on shaky legs. With our bags in tow, we walk up the front steps. Two wooden doors with knockers, like something plucked out of a monastery, meet us.

The horse and carriage clop away, and I have to fight the urge to yell for them to take me. Let me sleep in the stable on a pile of hay, and then tomorrow I’ll walk into town and thumb a ride out of this nightmare.

But I won’t do that. My dad has never asked me to do something without good reason, and even though I don’t understand what this reason is, I’ll still abide by it.

Even though I miss my home–my friends, the tree in the backyard I sat in to read–my dad–so much, it’s like someone is constantly wringing my insides like a wet towel.

“I guess we should… knock?” Brynn nearly chokes on the last word.

Before I can question myself, I reach out, grab the heavy metal knocker with a snake winding its way around the handle, and drop it. The boom shakes my bones.

A wind hits our backs, carrying the chill from the water, and I wrap my arms around myself. Autumn in Maine isn’t any colder than Wisconsin but there’s something about being right next to the water that ices me to the core.

Brynn gasps. “I hear footsteps.”

One of the heavy wooden doors yawns open, and a tall, thin woman appears. With her gray hair pulled into a tight bun and her black sweater, she looks like a librarian. She’s even frowning at us like a librarian who just caught someone eating in the periodicals section.

I clear my throat. “Hi.”

The woman sniffs. “Welcome to Hawthorn.”

She steps aside, and we haul our luggage into the building. At the side of the foyer, my breath hitches in my chest.

The room is all marble and dark wood, and it’s huge. Easily the size of my whole house in Wisconsin. 

Sconces on the walls emit a soft glow, and flames dance in a fireplace that’s so tall I could stand up in it. Oil paintings of stuffy old people line the walls, and a staircase winds up to the second floor. Hallways branch off to the left and the right, muffled voices floating down one of them.

“My name is Madame Aldine. I trust your journey here was without incident.” She folds her hands together in front of her and a golden brooch shines at the base of her throat. “It is imperative that you get sufficient rest tonight as tomorrow you will be facing The Selection.”

I cut my gaze to Brynn, who’s chewing on her bottom lip like it’s for dinner.

“What’s The Selection?” I ask.

Madame Aldine glances at me. “The Selection determines your place at Hawthorn. You will be going through it with the other students who have started late in the semester. We’ve been waiting for the two of you to arrive for it to commence.”

My insides go cold. Wait a second. The Selection determines my place here? My tuition to the school has already been paid. Could they still turn me down?

If that were to happen, where would I go? I have an aunt, but she didn’t even come to my dad’s funeral. I’m not eighteen for another ten months, and by now there are probably strangers moving their boxes into the only home I’ve ever known.

Maybe I could file for emancipation, but that wasn’t my dad’s plan for me. He wanted me here, at Hawthorn.

Madame Aldine turns and walks toward the stairs. “This way to your dorms.”

Brynn and I follow her up the winding staircase with its maroon carpeting and more oil paintings along the wall. Halfway up, a thin, stained glass window peeks out at the river. In the distance, another island pokes out through the fog. Next to the window, some of the stones are pockmarked, like they’ve been shot at.

I touch one of the stones. How old is this building?

“What’s this from?” I ask. “The damage?”

Madame Aldine looks uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about that.”

I share a glance with Brynn, whose eyebrows are knitting together.

Madame Aldine continues, but I linger for a moment, still touching the stone. Did some kind of fight happen here?

“You will receive your class schedule tonight,” Madame Aldine is saying. She and Brynn are already at the second landing, and I have to hustle to catch up with them.

“What about The Selection?” Brynn asks.

“That is at the end of the day.”

So first we go through a whole day of classes, for what purpose?

I could ask this question and more, but something tells me Madame Aldine wouldn’t answer them. She looks annoyed enough at having to greet the new students.

The second floor spreads out into multiple hallways, all of them with the same dark red carpeting. At the far end of one, two boys lean against a wall and laugh. At the sight of Madame Aldine, one of them slinks behind a giant vase. The other one looks me up and down, though, and even though we’re a good fifteen yards apart, his gaze feels like a physical touch.

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I quickly turn away.

“Curfew is at ten p.m. sharp.” Madame Aldine’s pale hand slides along the banister as we climb yet another flight of stairs. “Any student caught out of their dormitory past that time faces serious repercussions.”

“What, like the guillotine?” I grin.

“The Wishing Well is off-limits to all students, as it is crumbling and dangerous,” she says, ignoring my joke. “Stay away from the river as well. Even if you can swim, its currents are unpredictable and powerful.”

She stops on the third floor landing and I nearly bump into her.

“Ms. Davies. Your dorm is down this hallway. The first one on the right.” She gestures at it.

Madame Aldine never even asked us our names, which begs another question: How does she know so much about us–like what we each would look like–when we’ve had to hunt for even the smallest nuggets about this school?

“Winter and I aren’t rooming together?” Brynn rubs the back of her neck.

I offer her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure my room isn’t far from yours.”

To answer, Madame Aldine begins walking again. “This way.”

After shooting Brynn one more encouraging look, I follow Madame Aldine down the hallway across the landing. A tapestry stretches across a good half of the wall, its vibrant colors telling a story about a battle involving dragons, werewolves, and… I get closer.

A man holds a woman in a gown in one arm, her eyes closed and her hand pressed to her forehead in distress. He leans in close, his teeth razor sharp.

A vampire?

I reach out, an inexplicable urge filling me to touch a part of the tapestry. Right before my fingers touch the fabric, though, Madame Aldine loudly clears her throat.

I drop my hand at my side, guilt shooting through me, and join her at the end of the hall.

One of the lights is burnt out, causing shadows to pool around the door Madame Aldine stands in front of. Apparently I have the good luck of getting the creepiest room in the place.

“Dinner was at five. Since you missed it, it will be delivered to your room. Breakfast is seven a.m., and classes begin at eight.”

She pivots and strides away, not so much as a “goodbye.”

Taking a deep breath, I turn the doorknob to what will be my home for the next eight months. The wood creaks as the door opens, and a room with pale blue walls comes into focus.

The room is perfect symmetry. Two writing desks. Two queen-sized beds with posts and dark blue curtains. A leather trunk with big buckles at the foot of each bed. A pair of French doors in the middle of the room, leading to what I really hope is a nice-sized balcony.

It’s much better than I expected. In fact, it’s nothing like a regular dorm. This place is super luxurious.

The breath I’d been holding whooshes from my lungs, and for the first time in what feels like forever things are really looking up.

“Can I help you?” a girl’s voice snarls.

She steps out from behind the door, her dark eyes flashing and her full lips twisted.

“Uh. I’m sorry.” I take a step back. “Madame Aldine said this is my room. Maybe she got it wrong?”

The girl sighs and flicks some midnight-black hair over her shoulder. It’s silky and impossibly straight, reminding me of the horse that pulled the carriage.

“Seriously?” She directs her question to the ceiling. “I get stuck with the newbie?”

Heat floods my face. “I guess so. Sorry.”

Fifteen minutes in this school, and so far everyone I’ve met is acting like I’m a leper. And they don’t even know me!

“God,” she growls. “It’s like they’re trying to punish me.”

She stomps across the floor, her heavy black boots making the floorboards tremble, grabs a magazine, and collapses on the bed.

Anger bubbles up my chest. I want to lash back, to demand to know who this girl thinks she is. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back down.

My dad wanted me here, at Hawthorn, so the least I can do is try. For him.

“I’m a really good roommate, I swear. I’ll be super quiet.” ” I wheel my suitcase to the bed that must be mine.

Over her magazine, she narrows her eyes at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

That’s it.

I whirl around to face her. “Look. It’s not like I asked to be in here with you, all right? You don’t have to be so freaking rude.”

She smiles. She knows she’s getting me worked up, and she loves it.

My hands shake. Raw energy courses through me, and I wish I had somewhere to put it. I’m furious. Sad. Frustrated. The last few weeks have been hell, and my new roommate’s attitude is the straw that might break the camel’s back.

“You have no idea what’s going on here, do you?” she asks.

The question makes me stiffen–she’s hit a nerve for me. I hate feeling out of my element, like I don’t know what a situation entails.

What does she mean “what’s going on here?”

“And you’re going to be my host and fill me in?”

“When hell freezes over,” she mutters, before returning to her magazine. “By the way, the dressers are full. You can just live out of your suitcase. You won’t be here long anyway.”

Uh-uh. No way.

I open the dresser next to my bed. “Oh, look. This one is empty.”

She scowls at me while I move my clothes into the top three drawers, but I ignore her.

My heart dropping, I sit on the edge of my new bed–well, more like crash onto the edge of it. It’s hard to keep my head up, and if I were alone right now I’d be halfway to a breakdown.

But I’m not alone. I have to be strong. Or at least act like it.

I may not yet know how everything works at this school, but I can already tell it’s the kind of place that chews you up and spits you out.

Unless you’re the one to take the first bite.

CHAPTER THREE

Please don’t let this be that bad.

Standing outside of the classroom door, I open my eyes and gather all of my courage. It’s debatable whether anyone heard my prayer, but at least I tried.

Someone bumps my shoulder, and I don’t even need to look to know it’s my roommate. She breezes into the classroom with two girls at her side, malicious giggles wafting behind them.

Yep. This is already bad.

“Excuse me? Are you coming in?” The teacher, a man with silver and blonde hair, stands in the doorway.

“Yes.” My voice cracks. “Sorry.”

There’s more laughter from inside the classroom.

The teacher smiles. “You must be Winter. I’m Professor Vassily. Welcome to Hawthorn. There’s a seat right there in the middle for you.”

“Th–thanks.” I walk to the desk, aware of the twenty or so pairs of eyes on me.

As I sit down, I allow myself a quick glance around the classroom. No Brynn.

Is she in another classroom somewhere, suffering through the same hell as I am?

Professor Vassily assumes his post at the front of the room. “All right, everyone. I trust that you finished Desert Solitaire and I won’t be embarrassed when I read your quiz results.”

He starts passing out papers but stops when he reaches me. “Winter, you can just pick up with our next assignment. For today, how about you write me an essay about what you’d like to get out of class this year?”

“I read the book.” I sit a little straighter. Actually, I read it twice.

It’s one of my favorites, but it was never assigned reading at my old school. Should it really be a surprise, though, that Hawthorn does things its own way?

Professor Vassily looks impressed. “Okay, then. Good luck.” He leaves a quiz on my desk before moving on.

Retrieving a pencil from my backpack, I bend over the paper, happy to have something to do.

“Hey,” someone whispers behind me.

I turn around to see a tall boy with rich brown hair, a chiseled jaw, and a cocky smile. My heart immediately does a flip.

I glance at Professor Vassily, who’s busy explaining to a student why the test can’t be taken using a yellow highlighter. “Uh, hi.”

“Where are you from?” His smile becomes more lopsided.

“Wisconsin.”

“I’m Gregory. Nice to meet you.”

 “You, too,” I mumble.

“Anna From Albany.” He nods in appreciation, his gaze on the band pin on my backpack.

I gasp with delight. “You know them?”

“Yeah. I saw them play in Jersey last year.”