Ravens' Blood Academy 1: A Vampire Historia Paranormal Fantasy

by Scarlette D'Noire

  Ravens Eleven Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Ravens Eleven Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  LICENSE NOTES.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved above and below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Brief passages may be quoted for review purposes if credit is given to the copyright holder. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors. Your support of the author’s rights is greatly appreciated.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, animate or inanimate objects, or incidents mentioned are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is strictly unintentional and entirely coincidental.

  Permission granted by Aidan Martin to use the lyrics and title to his original song Punchline.

  This book is dedicated to Joseph, without you none of this would be possible. I love you honey. Thank you for believing in me and supporting my dreams. You’re the best!

  A special shout out to the fabulous musician, Aidan Martin for allowing me to use the lyrics and title to his original song, Punchline. My character Adora is in love with his music and I must admit her sentiment mirrors my own… you should have won that stupid show! No worries, you’re an eagle brother, and your star is soaring high. Check out Aidan Martin on his official Instagram account : https://www.instagram.com/aidanmartinreal/

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About Scarlette D’Noire

  Also by Scarlette D’Noire

  Blurb

  Adora Jackson's life is a lie.

  Living as a sheltered teen, Adora's life has been ordinary.

  And a carefully crafted illusion.

  Until now.

  When she finds her aunt’s mysterious grimoire, her life is turned upside down.

  Once the book is unlocked, Adora receives an invitation to join the exclusive Ravens' Blood Academy and is thrust into a strange new world.

  So, what could go wrong at a magical academy for a naive girl with no idea of her supernatural powers?

  Everything!

  Meeting three very different men only adds to the confusion.

  As her relationships deepen, Adora discovers her true nature and learns of the magical powers she possesses.

  Each step brings her closer to unraveling the mysteries of her past and hidden betrayals.

  Unleashing a chain of events that rips her world apart and changes her life forever.

  Ravens’ Blood Academy 1 is a mature YA/NA magical academy book and is part of a three book collection in the Vampire Historia Paranormal Fantasy world.

  *Disclaimer: All characters portrayed in Ravens' Blood Academy 1 are over 18 years of age. This book contains adult elements including adult language and themes.

  I stood at the doorway of forbidden territory. Aunt Marea’s closet. Her voice rang in my mind. ‘Adora Jackson, you have homework due.’ I shrugged. But, really, how could a loving niece be expected to study with three hours alone and access to an entire—and unexpected—closet of sorely underused clothes. Move over, dowdy Aunt Marea! So many fabrics and textures—crinkled velvet, slinky satin and the most gorgeous jewel colors of deep crimson and purple, blues dotted with silver, as if a picture-perfect midnight reigned in this small space in the house. Not just clothes. I stifled my gasp. Really, not just clothes...purses, jewelry, shoes, and boots.

  Oh my God—the boots! In particular, a pair of ankle boots with pencil thin red-and-silver, four-inch stiletto heels—the famous ones with the red soles. Hundreds of gold and silver studs and tiny spikes covered the white fabric, as if all the stars in the sky were plastered right on this glorious footwear. I crept toward the sparkling fabulousness but hesitated. These must have cost a fortune, although I had no clue why my low-key aunt even owned them. Flickers of warning fired in my mind and tightened my stomach muscles. If I dared ruin them. The unwanted thought floated through my head and stopped me in my tracks. But, you know, Aunt Marea never even bothered with any of this stuff. It had probably been years since she even opened this closet door. I’d certainly never seen her wear anything but shades of black or gray. Like her own personal camouflage.

  I looked over the closet contents again, admiring everything but with one sudden, singular thought in my mind. Really, all I wanted was to be able to stay upright in a pair of heels. And walk. After all, I could still love fixing cuckoo clocks and my comfy pair of ballerina flats, but I wanted to learn how to walk in heels without looking like a newborn foal trying out my legs for the first time. Slowly, I unzipped a boot and shoved my decidedly non-pointed toes toward the pointy tip. I wiggled them from side-to-side, trying to wedge my foot in, as if I were Cinderella and my enchanted life awaited me—if only I could get my big foot to fit inside the magic slipper. Only the ugly stepsisters had to mutilate themselves for that part, right? Ugggh.

  My shoulders slumped forward then straightened as I arched my back. I tilted my head and studied the boots. Defeated by shoes? Never! In a mock show of aggression, I shook my fist at the ankle boots. “I will conquer you,” I threatened, wagging my index finger toward them. After more wrangling than a rodeo cowboy, I managed to squash my size nines into the boots and promptly cut off all circulation to my toes. Nevertheless, I had those bad boys firmly in place, even if it meant small amputations tomorrow.

  Resolved to manage a graceful stride without needing training-wheels on my heels, I wobbled as I tried to gain my balance. My small success left me determined to try on everything before Aunt Marea returned, and I abandoned my quest to master my strut. I stepped forward, parting the clothes with a brush of my arms. Okay, I actually wobbled forward, to pull another pair of alien looking footwear from the bottom of the pile, but the unfamiliar heel on my boot caught in the long strap of a purse, and I plunged forward.

  I shrieked, the sound strangled, and put my arms out to save myself. Instead of hitting the back of the closet and breaking both wrists—I was a worst-case scenario kind of girl—I just kept going. Falling, falling...before finally landing with a muffled thud, half inside whatever little room Aunt Marea had hidden behind all the clothes she never wore.

  I twisted where I lay, looking back to the bedroom. Okay. Out of the many things I’d expected to find in my snooping session, the entrance to Narnia wasn’t one of them. I knocked against the back wall, now a partially open door, and it creaked on tiny hidden hinges. Unbelievable. My cell phone formed an uncomfortable lump un
der my butt, and I grabbed it then switched on the flashlight. Thank God for technology and tiny pocket computers.

  As I swung the beam of light from side to side, I stood and moved into the hidden room. A big, dusty book sat on a table, jars on shelves lined the small space, and well-used, blood red candles added a distinct satan-worshipper accent. The only things missing were a recently sacrificed chicken and a hooded cloak in my aunt’s size—two things, in fact, I didn’t want to find.

  Curiosity piqued, I traced my finger down the cover of the book, admiring the cracked leather cover. Man, this thing was old. But my cell flashlight wasn’t cutting it, and I didn’t intend to actually light any of the demon candles, so I grabbed the book and stepped out of the closet back into normal life. I’d sort out the mess I’d made and close the hidden door later. I glanced at the ridiculous ornamental clock with the Roman numerals on Aunt Marea’s nightstand and grinned. I had two hours and forty-five minutes to come back and tidy up. I patted the book cover and made my way downstairs.

  Dust plumed around the book as I set it on the coffee table, and I waved my hands in front of my face to dispel the cloud of grime as I choked back a cough. Aunt Marea would lose her shit if I made everywhere dusty, and I didn’t exactly know where she kept the polish. At least, that’s what I told her on an almost weekly basis, and today didn’t feel like the day to change my story. I looked at the book and narrowed my eyes. I screwed up my mouth as I considered my options. I’d hunted through so many rooms in the past while Auntie went shopping, unearthing birthday and Christmas gifts—I really had no respect for any kind of surprise. But what exactly was this?

  I blew out a deep breath and settled on the couch and reached toward the massive book. Where to start? Gingerly, I smoothed my hands over the cover removing the excess dust and rubbed them down the front of my jeans, transferring the dirt onto myself. It was a practiced move. One I made without thinking, and one Aunt Marea regularly yelled about. My heart pounded as I glanced around the room one last time.

  Truly, I didn’t want my aunt to catch me. I grimaced and shook my head. Relax. You know she isn’t home. Except, it always felt like Aunt Marea could, I don’t know, see me. Like she could watch even while away. I glanced over my shoulder then forced myself to relax and stop being so stupid.

  First, I took a look at the overkill lock, and I swear I got some sort of static shock as I brushed my fingers against the innocent-looking but impressively sized metalwork. Huh. I turned the book over then laughed at myself. What was I looking for? Wires? A nanny cam? I shrugged again. Nothing could be stranger than a whole secret room.

  Reaching behind myself, I patted the back pocket of my scuffed-up jeans. Most things usually proved easily defeated with my trusty pocketknife. To my aunt’s dismay, I’d begged her to buy it for me on my twelfth birthday, and I carried it everywhere. In my daydreams back then, I saved the world using my little knife to aid me in all my adventures. But that was a long time ago and in reality, I’d only used it to inscribe my name in places I probably shouldn’t have. Until now.

  Crinkling my nose, I prepared to pry the cover open. I jimmied the tip of my blade underneath the lock where it had been attached to the old leather cover and wiggled, expecting something to give or tear. But nothing. I pushed harder, then pulled back for fear of breaking my knife. As I drew it from underneath the metal clasp, the sharp edge slid along the outside of my thumb, and a bead of blood immediately welled up before it rolled across my skin as if responding to the pull of an outside force. It splashed onto the lock of Aunt Marea’s book.

  A cold chill ran up my body, and I stared straight ahead, sitting perfectly still. I felt different, as though I’d just lost something. Almost mechanically, I glanced down at my feet. Maybe those gorgeous but life-threatening boots were cutting off my circulation.

  I shivered and rubbed the tops of my arms, conscious of the lingering sensation of cold. Paranoid again, I glanced around the room. A gust of air rustled the sheer fabric window dressings. The cool breeze caressed my face, and I paused, allowing the effect to lull my nervous heart. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I inhaled the sweet fragrance of Confederate Jasmine nestled outside the window.

  I mustered my courage and peered closer at the book, fingering the lock and trying to wipe off any smears of blood I might have left behind in my clumsiness. With a crisp, quiet snap, the lock popped open, and I turned the heavy cover and studied the table of contents:

  Grimoire Blessings

  Sigils

  Elements

  Herbs

  Protection Spells

  Cloaking Spells

  I stopped reading. The list looked foreign and ominous appearing to go on forever. Like something straight out of a fairytale story—except maybe from the point of view of the wicked witch. I blew another breath out, trying to calm the beat of my pounding heart, but I had no reason to be nervous—aside from the state of Aunt Marea’s closet. I checked the time again. Still plenty left. I shifted the weight of the book until I found a comfortable way to hold it. Then I barely felt the weight at all as I examined the fine, delicate script, faded and time worn, on the thick sheets of yellowed paper.

  The harsh croaking of nearby ravens broke both the silence and my concentration, until I glared toward the window. A host of birds outside created a gloomy shadow, and a flutter of adrenaline washed through me. I dropped the book on the coffee table and stumbled across the room in the ridiculous boots to peer into the wooded back yard. Dozens of the mysterious birds circled my house, pecking at the windows.

  “Aunt Marea… Auntie?” Uncertainty unfurled in my chest, and I called for my aunt before I remembered she wasn’t home.

  The sounds from the birds grew louder and more impatient. Taking a deep breath, I crept into the hallway and to the front door then peeped out the little window. Beady black eyes, close to the glass, met mine, and one of the eyes winked slowly—as if the bird knew something. The raven appeared large and unwieldy as it bounced against the door rustling its feathers with every movement. It pecked at the glass again.

  Tap...tap...tap. Curious, I cracked the door open a few inches but wedged it with my foot—as best as I could in the stilettos—trying to ward off a surprise attack. Who knew, right? A raven vying to get inside may also pack a machine gun. A nervous laugh bubbled from my lips as I cringed. Maybe the pages of that book had some sort of toxin on them and I was simply drugged as my thoughts were scattered and bordering on delusional.

  The bird squawked, and I was sure he actually spoke my name in a deep voice.

  At this crazy thought, the idea of a machine gun slipped from my mind as I stumbled backward. Before I could slam the door, the raven was already wriggling his way through the opening, twisting in obscure angles to fit inside the narrow space. He landed at my feet and pointed his head downward, shaking his head from side to side until his burden of anger shifted and he hopped up and down on the floor with a soft sound.

  Instinctively, I stepped backwards a few feet. Then I stared at the raven, and despite the situation, I imagined him in a bow tie and top hat. I figured he would do a cute little tap dance for me, any moment now, and whisk me around in my fabulous heels. This was definitely some sort of weird drug effect.

  He cocked his head and appeared to glare at me then flew to circle around my head.

  I shrieked as his wing brushed against my face and flung my hands up, shutting my eyes tight. The sound of glass crashing against the floor rang in my ears as I lost my balance and knocked a vase off the table. My frantic movements jarred my eyes back open, and I stumbled backward again, flailing my arms wildly and teetering on one leg. Time stood still as I tried to stabilize myself, but the heel of the boot gave out with a disastrous pop, before I lost my balance completely and promptly fell on my butt.

  No! Aunt Marea’s going to kill me. The raven flew close to my face again and shook his head, judgement in the set of his beak as if he knew all I’d done before he arrived, then he f
lew to the table where Aunt Marea’s mystery book sat.

  He pecked furiously at the papers tearing the delicate edges. Mortified, I kicked the boots off and jumped to my feet.

  “Stop it!” I shrieked, shoving my arms at the bird to shoo it away, but the assault continued.

  Now the fight was on! There was no way I would be defeated by a bird and get grounded for the rest of my life for ruining Aunt Marea’s antique book. I yanked the spine of the book away from the bird, knocking him off his feet. He peered at me as if he were disgusted with our tug of war, then flew in a circle around the room, before dive bombing straight at me and into the book. Instinctively, I ducked for cover but not before knocking the book onto the floor. From inside the pages, the raven grasped the corner of an envelope in its beak and swooped toward my face shaking the envelope vigorously before dropping it at my feet and flying out the door.

  With a quick glance, I saw the envelope was addressed to me. “Wait!” I jumped up and called out to him in desperation as the unkindness of ravens outside gathered behind their leader and flew away, a tangled cloud of black against the gray sky.

  Stunned, I shut the door quickly and stared in disbelief at the envelope on the floor. A black feather floated from the ceiling and landed on top of the thick cream paper. Now I knew for sure I was either drugged or completely losing my mind. The mysterious missive was tightly sealed with a black emblem. The letters RBA had been imprinted in a splash of red on the hardened wax seal. I picked up the envelope and feather and flopped on the couch. Three times I attempted to break the seal and open the mysterious note, but fear gave me pause. Maybe I better wait for Aunt Marea? I set everything on the table next to her strange book and folded my arms. Two impossible events in one day.