Page 3 of Monster's Obsession

Great. Twenty-two years old and I was enrolling in college for the first time. As if I didn’t already feel out of place in my own skin.

Lilith knows how many hours later—hell, I didn’t even know what day it was anymore—I wandered the docks in Liverpool, trying to figure out how to find a magical ferry I couldn’t ask any of the humans about because they didn’t know it existed. And so far, I hadn’t spotted any other supernaturals. Which I supposed wasn’t all that unusual since it was February and the semester had probably started weeks ago.

“Ah, there she is! Yoo-hoo, Daruka!”

I twisted around and watched a blonde, blue-eyed lady who looked to be in her midfifties and entirely human hurry toward me, another lady in her wake. The blonde wore a skirt and silk shirt under a wool coat, with sensible heels on her feet.

The other woman had dark skin, colorful beads and shells woven into the thousand or so braids on her head. The hem of a filmy dress was sticking out the bottom of what looked like a judge’s robes. She was definitely a supernatural, although human-looking enough that most people paid her no heed.

“I was getting worried, my dear,” the blonde lady said, pausing a few feet away to catch her breath. Maybe she could do with a few cardio classes. I glanced down at my thicc thighs. Then again, couldn’t we all?

“Do I know you?” I asked. They weren’t demons, but if Dad was using guns, I wouldn’t put it past him to use non-demons to get to me. In fact, I was honestly surprised he hadn’t by now.

I took a step away. Needed to have enough room to bolt if necessary.

The blonde thrust out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Caldwell, assistant to Headmistress Ophelia Blackthorn.” Her chest puffed out, and she smiled widely.

I didn’t shake. “Ophelia Blackthorn? Like the name of the academy?”

Mrs. Caldwell’s face fell. “You didn’t read the pamphlet?” She turned to the woman standing next to her. “Why don’t they ever read the pamphlet?”

“Because they’re kids?” her friend suggested.

“I didn’t get any pamphlet,” I said. And I wasn’t a kid.

“Oh.” Mrs. Caldwell’s brow furrowed. “Then why are you here? Didn’t you decide to enroll? How did you know to come here if you didn’t get a pamphlet?”

“Here’s a better question,” I said. “How did you know I’d be here, when I only made the decision a day ago and I didn’t tell a single soul?”

Mrs. Caldwell flapped her hand like she was waving away gnats. “Every supernatural between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five has an open invitation to Blackthorn Academy. And we are alerted the moment they make the decision to attend. I don’t really understand it myself; you’d have to ask Professor Bishop if you really want to know. Of course, you’d also have to take his class, and something tells me plenty of other classes are going to be far more interesting to you. We don’t recommend you overload yourself your first year. Too easy to burn out. Plus, you want to have fun, right?”

“Er…there was a lot to unpack in what you just said.”

“Come on, come on, come on, we need to catch the ferry.” The other person with Mrs. Caldwell spoke in a Jamaican accent and waved like she wanted us to follow her.

“This is Professor Holtsclaw,” Mrs. Caldwell explained. “Teaches all the cooking classes. If you want a say in what you eat while at the academy, I recommend taking her class.”

“Nice sell, Mrs. Caldwell,” Professor Holtsclaw said with a pleased nod.

Mrs. Caldwell preened. “Thank you.” Suddenly, she sucked in a breath, held it, and squeezed her eyes closed, clenching her fists as her side. She struggled not to exhale. What the heck was she doing?

And then she gasped out a breath, and her eyes popped open. “Asmoday!” she shrieked, shoving me out of the way and stalking past me. “What are you doing off school grounds? Again!”

I turned and my gaze caught and held the person I assumed she was talking to.

Yowzah.

Long, thick, luxurious, dark hair. Pale skin with a slight tan. Muscular, sharply defined, tatted up shoulders. In fact, a great deal of ink. He wore a black leather vest with no shirt underneath. The breeze caught his hair, lifting it for a moment to show me pointed ears.

I could have fun decorating those ears with piercings.

My second thought—which was far more important: this guy was a faery or an elf. Except his eyes, under those heavy dark brows and above cheekbones as sharp as glass, were purple. And glowing. Faeries and elves did not have glowing eyes.

But demons sometimes did.

Shit.

I turned, prepared to run, and bumped into Professor Holtsclaw, setting her beads and shells to jiggling. She grasped my forearms and gave me an encouraging smile. “He’s a student,” she said, like she knew I needed the reassurance.