The third installment of the Stonehurst Prep series is a 100,000 mature high school/new adult romance with mafia and enemies-to-lovers themes.
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Excerpt: Kings of Miskatonic Prep, book 1
Read the first chapter of Shunned
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Who the hell builds a school on top of an inaccessible cliff?
Whoever built Derleth Academy, my new school. I answered my own question as the car’s wheel skidded over the rough gravel on the way up the steep peninsula. A scream escaped my lips as the car lurched toward the edge of the cliff, one wheel spinning completely free.
Muttering under his breath, the driver for the school slammed the car into reverse and backed us onto the road before slamming on the gas again. We continued our wary climb along the narrow gravel path.
Surely the Academy can’t be completely cut-off. The school had to bring up food and supplies. Parents must visit on the weekends. My driver was certainly giving it his all, tearing around the corners like he was on a Formula 1 racetrack and not a goat path hugging the side of a mountain. I gritted my teeth and gripped the back of the seat as rocks rolled from beneath the wheels and clattered over the sheer drop into the raging waters below. One wrong move, and we’d tumble down a two-hundred-foot cliff and be dashed against the cliffs so hard and fast that boats would mistake our remains for rock paintings.
Not the way I ever imagined I’d go.
We passed into thick vegetation, the cliff and ocean on one side giving way to looming trees that blocked out the grey sky. I let out the breath I’d been holding. Branches scraped the sides of the car, and my phone beeped with protest as we moved out of cell range. No contact with the outside world, the school brochure read. At Derleth Academy, we foster a competitive academic program requiring the full attention of our students. Distracting technology or personal items will not be tolerated.
In other words, I couldn’t call for help. It was the opening sequence to every horror film, ever.
Not that I had anyone to call. Not anymore.
“Almost there,” the driver said, swinging the car around a hairpin corner and launching my stomach into my throat. It was the most words he’d spoken to me the entire trip. “You can see the school through the trees.”
I squinted into the forest, trying to make out some kind of building that might pass as a school. But I couldn’t see a thing. We rounded another corner and—
Well, that’s terrifying.
We rolled between two towering stone pillars obscured by creeping vines, past an ornate sign that read DERLETH ACADEMY. A wide, pristine concrete drive flanked by an avenue of towering trees and wide, manicured lawns led up to an imposing stone building, stretching in all directions with narrow arched windows, spiky towers, and a row of leering gargoyles along the roof.
What is this place? It looked more like Dracula’s castle than a prestigious preparatory school.
I couldn’t believe the wealthiest people in the country sent their children up that winding road to get educated. Who’s the headmistress, Morticia Addams? But according to the brochure, that was exactly what they did. In droves. Derleth Academy had a waiting list a mile long, and you couldn’t even pay to get in. You had to be invited.
Somehow, I, Hazel Waite – an overachieving orphan from the wrong side of Philly – ended up on their radar.
I flashed back to the day two weeks ago, when a banging on the door of my dingy apartment dragged me from a deep slumber. A woman with coiffed hair and a designer suit that cost more than a car staggered backward in surprise when I glared at her through the chain wearing only my pajamas and what must have been a terrifying scowl. Well, she wasn’t the one being dragged from a pleasant Jason Momoa sex dream during the four-hour reprieve between night shift at the diner and cleaning rooms at a retirement home.
“Are you Hazel Waite?” she asked, her brown eyes wide and curious.
“No. Piss off.” I glowered, slamming the door in her face. She was probably from CPS, trying to force me into foster care. Fuck that. I only had seven more months to survive before I turned eighteen. No way was I going to spend it in the hell that had killed Dante.
The woman didn’t go away. She sat out on the road in her sports car and waited me