by Katie May
Dearly Departed
Afterworld Academy Book 1
Katie May
Loxley Savage
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Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright @ 2019 Loxley Savage & Katie May
Cover Design by Melody Simmons
Editing by Elemental Editing and Proofreading
Proofreading by Meghan Leigh Daigle with Bookish Dreams Editing
This is a Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance and is not suited for those under the age of 18.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Author
Also by Loxley Savage
Also by Katie May
Foreword
This is a fantasy, academy, reverse harem romance and is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. There are references to cancer throughout the book as well as explicit scenes. If such material triggers or offends you, please do not buy or read this book.
To our amazing readers. Thank you for making our dreams come true.
Chapter 1
Hadley
If you were to ask me how I died, I would lie and say I was murdered.
It just sounds...cooler.
Not that I’m romanticizing murder or anything, but strangulation sounds better than cancer. Maybe I’m a kinky masochist. Maybe death made me a psycho.
Who knows?
All I know for certain is that death was a relief. Does wanting to leave my life behind make me a horrible person? To be free of the pains that had once dominated every aspect of my life? I don’t like to believe I’m selfish or anything, but death?
Yeah, I can get behind that.
At least I can say it came quickly, like a teenage boy jacking off for the first time. It wasn’t painful or anything like that. It just...was.
Falling asleep would be the best description, but even that fails to encapsulate my final moments. One second, my eyes were fluttering shut, and I could’ve sworn I felt a hand grip my own, and the next I was...here, wearing my favorite white tank top and shorts.
Wherever here was.
Heaven? Hell?
Honestly, I didn’t know where I would end up.
Father forgive me for I have sinned and all that crap. Pre-marital sex? Check. Drugs? Check. Alcohol? Check. Lying? Check. Stealing? Check.
Well...you get the idea. Heaven won’t be throwing out a welcome mat for me.
So, yeah. Back to death.
It is...cozy. No pearly white gates for me. No golden pinnacles brushing the wispy white clouds. Instead, I find myself in a diminutive office with two leather chairs in front of a mahogany desk.
Totally not what I had imagined.
The man sitting there is older and handsome in an unconventional sort of way. His peppered hair is receding—shorter on the sides but longer on the top—and he is immaculately dressed in a black suit and red tie, his body surprisingly muscular despite his age. Big, Roman nose. Teal-colored eyes. Full, plush lips.
Not that I want to bang him, dear God. The man is old enough to be my father. Despite that, I’m able to appreciate his good looks.
His...wait for it...otherworldly good looks. Yes, that’s a death joke. I have a whole bunch in my arsenal.
You would think I would be sad about being dead, but I’m not. It’s actually sort of comforting in a demented way. One word reverberates in my head.
Freedom.
What I do feel, however, as I survey the lightly furnished room, is a sense of anxiousness. My stomach is a tumultuous mixture of dread and elation. Somehow, someway, I know my life is going to be forever altered. Don’t ask me how I know. It’s sort of like a spider bite on your arm that doesn’t hurt or itch. It just sits there, mildly uncomfortable but not unbearable.
The man folds his hands on top of the desk, fixing me with a penetrating stare. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. A fuck up? A dying girl that lived the best life she could? Well, not dying. Not anymore.
A dead girl.
I tentatively fiddle with a piece of my dark blonde hair, unnerved by the attention he is giving me. Instead of meeting his piercing teal gaze, I scrutinize the rest of the office.
It is devoid of any decorations or memorabilia. No picture frames on the desk. No paintings on the walls. No bobble heads or dildos or coffee cups. Not that I expect a dildo to be lying in plain sight, mind you, but this man looks as if he has a stick up his ass.
Or, if you want to be technical, a dildo up his rectum.
“So...I’m dead,” I muse softly, finally turning back to boss man. He is still watching me with slitted, almost curious eyes, but he gives a decisive head bob at my statement. “Why aren’t I more...you know...freaked out?”
I would’ve imagined I’d be screaming my head off. Maybe praying. Or maybe rocking back and forth in a fetal position as the devil masturbated in my tears.
Vivid imagination, my friends.
“It’s a part of death,” he answers vaguely. To further emphasize the whole “vagueness” theme, he waves his hand in the air. Resisting the urge to punch him, I lean forward in my seat.
“So it’s normal not to be freaking out?” Once more, he answers my question with a simple head nod. Asshole. “What’s your name, anyway?”
I figure it would be impolite to call him Asshole for the rest of this session.
“You can call me Administer,” he states stoutly. Haughtily. I think I would’ve preferred Asshole. What kind of name is Administer?
“Isn’t that a verb?” I ask, reclining further in my seat. “Shouldn’t you be Administrator?”
He ignores me, glancing towards a file he had grabbed from the vault when I’d entered the room.
“Cancer,” he murmurs, and my body immediately stiffens. I may be fine with dying and all that, but talking about my life? The pain I had suffered? That is a hard no for me. Fortunately, he moves on with a sympathetic shake of his head. “One thing you have to understand about the Afterlife, Hadley, is that a few people don’t cross over.”
Well...that doesn’t sound ominous at all.
When I remain silent, willing him to continue with an eloquent raise of my brow, he leans back in his chair.
“Some p
eople are chosen for something else, something greater.” At that, his lips twitch as if he’s fighting a smile. His hands remain steepled together, moving to rest on his chest. “The Afterlife needs workers.”
“Workers?” I parrot dumbly.
Can’t a girl die without all this shit? Where is my peaceful sleep and ninety-nine virgins?
I mirror his position in the chair opposite the desk—legs extended languidly, hands clasped together, and head lolling to the side.
Ignoring my outburst, Administer—snort—continues, “Afterworld Academy trains a select few for jobs designed to make the Afterlife run smoothly.”
“Afterworld Academy.” This time, I can’t hold in my snort of amusement. “How original.”
“Your soul has been selected,” he declares with an imperious set to his chin. He looks down at me, almost as if he’s afraid I’m going to run away. As if there’s anywhere to run. Knowing my luck, I’ll fall through a cloud and die a second time...if souls can even die.
“To go to this Academy?” I clarify. Fucking hell. That sounds like torture. I have never been the most studious of people. Even before I got sick, I much preferred hanging out with my friends over studying. Maybe I’m actually in hell and this is my eternal punishment: school.
“The first year, you will train in each of the four divisions before Fate determines where you will be placed.” At this, something flashes in his eyes, there and gone too quickly for me to determine what it was. “Angels, Demons, Ghosts, and Reapers.”
“Angels are real?” I blurt. It sounds like something out of a storybook. And Ghosts? I want to shake my head vehemently to protest what he just said. My best friend, Ocean, had been a firm believer in all things paranormal. Ghosts, for one, and Demons. She had dragged me along more often than not on her little adventures to prove the paranormal existed. Me? I thought it was a bunch of bullshit.
Huh. Now I owe Ocean an apology.
Wait. I can’t. I’m dead.
Duh.
Administer stares at me intently, his pinprick teal eyes somehow seeing more than what is visible. Maybe it’s because my body, my actual body, is buried ten feet below the ground. Maybe it’s because he’s quite literally seeing into my soul. Either way, I have the distinct feeling I’ve just been seen more clearly than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Your Reaper will come collect your soul,” he says dismissively.
“Collect my soul?” I screech, jumping to my feet. I place my hand on my chest as if that would somehow keep my damn soul right where it is.
“To bring it to the Academy.” Administer Asshole pierces me with another long look. “Hadley, you’re dead. Only your soul exists as of now.”
If that isn’t a kick to the proverbial nuts.
Feeling effectively chastised, I storm out of his office. Yup. Because apparently the Afterlife has offices.
The hallway I find myself in is painted white—a slap you in the face sort of white.
It’s everywhere. On the walls, ceiling, and floors. On each door. On the single decorative table in the center of the hall—so impractical and a total tripping hazard. The whole scene feels like I was shot onto a white, solid cloud. That would be a mindfuck...the clouds hold the secrets to the Afterlife.
Moving briskly, unnerved by the abundance of white screaming in my face, I make my way to the—you guessed it—white lobby. Every white seat is noticeably empty, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or anxious. Probably both, if the shit that wants to make an appearance in my pants is any indication.
Before I can sit, I hear movement from one of the doors. I freeze, muscles tensing, just as it’s blown off its hinges and a man topples to the ground.
“Shit! That was not the grand appearance I wanted to make,” he complains, his voice muffled by the floor. He staggers to his feet drunkenly, accidentally kicking over one of the many white chairs in the process. “Motherfucker.” He glares at the chair as if it had somehow personally offended him.
I feel that. I do.
Finally, the man makes his way over to me, and my breath freezes in my lungs.
He’s gorgeous. Beautiful, even. Dark brown hair grazes his emerald eyes, longer on top but shaved shorter on the sides, highlighting his lightly tanned skin. A tight-fitting black shirt and black pants accentuates his lithe frame and swimmer’s body. A black tie dangles to his waistband like he attempted to dress up...before promptly giving up. It’s his smile, though, that gives me pause. Conspiratorial, almost, as if we are both privy to a secret the rest of the world doesn’t know.
“You must be Hadley,” Tall, Dark, and Sexy says, making his way over to me. Of course, he trips over the same chair he dropped and face-plants on the ground. Again.
He ambles to his feet, muttering curses beneath his breath, and flashes me a wide smile.
“I’m Preston. Your personal Reaper.”
Chapter 2
Preston
If I thought she was beautiful in death, she’s even more gorgeous in the Afterlife. Long, dark blonde hair cascades down her back in soft waves. She has the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through, bringing the silken threads to your nose so you can inhale her sweet scent. The accelerated healing in the Afterlife has taken her cancer ridden body and began restoring her health.
This past week I’ve been sitting with her, watching her body deteriorate alongside her friends and family. I held her hand while those closest to her said their goodbyes, tears streaming down their faces. When her ferocity had dimmed, but she still managed a tired smile for the sake of others, I knew I was a goner
In the height of her agony, I wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered encouraging words into her ears, letting her know she wasn’t alone. That I was there with her, though I hadn’t expected to be the one to collect her soul. I had assumed that the job would go to a high-level Reaper, someone who had graduated from the Academy.
During her final moments, when her soul was separating itself from her physical body, it was me who was there to guide her.
Me.
Never did I think in a million fucking years I’d be assigned to her now. Hadley’s Reaper guide. When Administer gave me this assignment, I almost fell off the chair in his office.
Actually...
I did fall off the chair. I’m lucky I’m already dead with how fucking clumsy I am. But in life or death, pain feels the same. It just can’t kill me again. Well…
It can, technically, but I’ve been working on my positive thinking.
“My Reaper?” she questions, cocking her head to the side, her little button nose scrunched up in confusion.
“Yep.” I gesture around the room. “Welcome to Afterworld Academy, Hadley. Where the dead never die.”
Sort of.
“Sounds riveting,” she jests, folding her arms under her chest. The low cut, white tank top does nothing to hide her cleavage.
Don’t look at her chest. Don’t look at her chest.
I bite my lip and focus on her eyes.
“Are you okay, Preston? Your face has gone beet red.”
Fuck.
I let out a long breath. I have a bad habit of holding my breath when I get nervous. And Hadley? She makes me nervous like a boy who’s just touched his first boob. It’s exciting, but I don’t want to fuck it up.
“Yep. I’m good. I uhh… I’m here to take you on a tour of the grounds before the initiation ceremony.”
God, I sound like a blubbering idiot. You’d never know I was in my third year at the Academy. In fact, Hadley is my first real case. Well, my first case without someone looking over my shoulder and calling me a “clumsy fucking cow anus on steroids” who’s “high on weed.” Yeah. My mentor wasn’t very nice.
“Initiation? If you’re looking for a sacrificial virgin, you’d better look somewhere else.” I feel my face heat, my jaw dropping open. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to decide what to say to soothe her fears when a smirk pulls at her lips.
“I’m just playing with you, Preston!” She punches me in the shoulder, and I stumble back, almost tripping over my own two feet. “Can’t you take a joke?”
“Yes, I can take a joke, thank you very much. Now, if you will please follow me, we can get this tour started.”
“Oh, goodie,” she replies sarcastically, dropping her arms and following me to the door. “Please tell me there are complimentary drinks and snacks, ‘cause I’m fucking staaaaaarving. Who knew dying would take so much energy?” she quips, and I have to stifle a laugh. Even before she died, Hadley was dramatic. As a soul, she will no longer experience trivial things like hunger pains and that burning sensation you get when you need to piss. It’s kind of like phantom limb syndrome—it’s hard to believe you no longer feel it, so your brain conjures up what it once felt like. Come to think of it, sleep is the only thing souls still do...well, except Ghosts. They’re too busy being broody and dead and all. And souls can get horny. Rock the bed and all that. Rock the boat? How does that metaphor work?
My cheeks burn, and I chance a glance at Hadley. Thank fuck she is distracted by a white arrangement of roses on one of the many white tables.
We head down the white hallway to the glass double door at the end. I push in the metal bar and hold it open for her, guiding Hadley outside with my hand splayed on her lower back. She stiffens when I touch her, and I quickly pull my arm back.
