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