Wraith captive, p.1
Wraith Captive, page 1
Wraith Captive
Dark Supernaturals Book One
Lacey Carter Andersen
Contents
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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
Welcome to Nightmare Penitentiary
Also By Lacey Carter Andersen
About the Author
Copyright 2020
Published by Lacey Carter Andersen
Cover Design by Christian Bentulan
Formatted By Kassie Morse
This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All characters are over the age of eighteen. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
To my family—thanks for always supporting me
~ Lacey Carter Andersen
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Chapter One
Elizabeth
The light over my desk flickers once, twice, three times, making the words dance on the page and drawing me out of my deep concentration. I blink and look away from the papers on my desk as a chill breeze wafts through my open window. As always, my focus sharpens as I stare at the light bulb, heart pounding.
Instinctually, I hold my breath and wait.
When seconds tick by and nothing more happens, when the room remains empty and silent, I release my breath.
Ignoring the shiver that moves down my spine, I try to pretend that I’m normal. That everything is fine. Because if I tell myself it enough, sometimes it starts to feel true.
I drop the papers on my desk and shiver again against the breeze, my gaze moving to the open window. The last time I looked up the sun was setting, but now the campus was bathed in darkness.
What the hell time is it? My gaze slides to the clock on the wall, and I startle, then check the time again, shocked. Shit, it’s midnight? Definitely past the time a TA should be grading papers.
At least a normal TA, with normal teaching assistant requirements.
Pulling my phone out of my desk, I wince when I see my mom has called three times. Her rule about me texting her before bed is an important rule, one I’ve always kept, no matter if I was texting her out at a bar with my friends. She wouldn’t sleep unless she knew I was safe.
I almost text her back.
But then something makes me dial her number.
She answers in an instant, her soft voice as familiar to me as my own. “Are you okay?”
Guilt chews at my gut. “Yeah, sorry, fell asleep grading papers.”
My mom sighs. “If Professor Dickhead can’t start giving you a reasonable workload, I might have to fly down there and kick his ass.”
“No,” I rush out, knowing my fiery mom will actually do it. “I’ve got another month left and then I’m free of him. Trust me, I got this.”
I hear the sound of her settling back, and I know she was probably reading in bed and waiting for me to call. “How you doing, Liz-bear?”
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly.
Life had taught me that when my mom asked how I was doing, I should always tell her I was fine. I adored my strong mom, but I was her weakness. Her only family. Her only child. And if she thought I wasn’t doing well, it wore on her.
And with me being far away, the last thing I wanted was to worry her.
“No more… incidences?” She asks the question cautiously, as if fearing someone might hear.
There had been one recently. Images flash in my mind of the car accident. Blood. Death. My loss of control. I’m breathing hard when I push the images to the back of my mind and prepare my lie. “No, not a single one.”
She’s quiet for too long, and I wonder if she’ll pretend she doesn’t know I’m lying. “You have to be careful.”
“I know.” But I want to say, like I have a choice.
“Have you seen a lot of supernaturals?”
I tense and lie again. “No. Not around here.”
If my mom knew the truth, I know she’d start to worry again. She’d tell me to just join her editing business, to stay at home, and more than anything, stay away from people. But as much as I know she just wants to keep me safe, I want a life too.
Living with her at home was wonderful, but it felt like a beautiful prison.
“I love you,” she tells me, as if reading my mind.
“I know, mom,” I say, and I mean it. “I love you too.”
“You heading to bed?”
That’s what she wants to hear, even though it’s not true. “Yeah.”
“Good.” There’s a smile in her voice.
“I should go,” I say.
“Uh, before you do...” She hesitates. “Have you seen… anyone? I mean, anything… unusual?”
She’s asking me if I’ve seen any traces of my father, but the answer’s always the same. “No.”
Not that I’d have a clue who he is, even if I did see him. Hell, I had no idea what one of his kind would even look like. All thanks to the secrets my mom keeps.
Because as much as I hate lying to her, I learned my skill from her. The woman is the queen of secrets and lies. I’m a novice in comparison to her.
“Okay,” she says. “You get some sleep.”
“You too.”
And the phone goes dead.
Sighing, I get up and close the window, then pull my jacket on. When did it get so cold and why didn’t I notice until now? Maybe it was all the riveting papers I was grading about Shakespeare.
Looking at the pile of essays I still have left, my shoulders sink. There’s still way too many to get done. I can’t just go home and leave them until tomorrow. The professor will have my ass if they aren’t done in the morning, even though we both know it shouldn’t just be me doing this stuff. It’s easy for him to hand out essay assignments to hundreds of grad students, but then, the dickhead just hands them off to me.
But if I ever want to teach here, I’m going need a good recommendation from Professor Dickhead himself. Which means I can’t just burn the essays and go out drinking with my friends for Thirsty Thursdays…
My eyelids feel heavy, and I blink really slowly as I stare at nothing. I startle again, realizing that I’d swayed a little on my feet.
Groaning, I rub my face, but the blanket of exhaustion lingers. My gaze moves to my desk. Would it be so wrong to just curl up and take a little nap? I could set my alarm and just nod off for an hour or two. Fuck, you’ll never wake up, my inner voice scolds me, and I hate that the bitch is right.
Still, both my bitchy inner-voice and I know I don’t have the willpower to stay up on my own. I need some coffee. Some major coffee. And I know just where to get the best coffee this time of night.
Putting the essays and my phone into my messenger bag, I sling the strap over my shoulder, determined not to let my exhaustion slow me down. As I cross the room, the light over my desk flickers again, and my gaze snaps to it as that familiar rush of anxiety pounds through my veins. My stomach turns, and I hesitate another long moment before releasing the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.
“It’s the damn bulb, and this place. This place no one ever repairs,” I tell myself, but still I can’t escape the unsettling feeling that rises in my stomach.
Leaving my office, I lock the door and start down the hall. The entire language arts building is deathly silent, so silent that my footsteps seem to echo around me. Normally, I’m not the type to get jittery when I’m alone or in the dark. I’ve seen so many bad things that the dark is the least of my worries. But for some reason, I’m on edge tonight.
It’s just the damn flickering bulb. That’s all. Shake it off. But it’s easier said than done.
When I finally escape the building, I take an uneven breath and laugh. “Scared of shadows. Come on, Elizabeth, you’re better than that.”
I then try my best to ignore the pounding in my chest, or the fact that my head snaps in the direction of every shadow. My steps are rapid, given how tired I am, but I pretend it’s just because I’ve got coffee dangling on a carrot stick not far ahead of me.
Lying is sort of second nature to me, so it’s no surprised I try to lie, eve n to myself.
I cross the campus and hit Main Street within a few minutes. Instantly, the air changes. Students walk in all directions, drunkenly going from one bar to the next. Music pounds out of the many clubs along the streets and plenty of the restaurants are still open, appealing to the late night party crowd.
“Elizabeth!”
I turn to see another TA, Brian, waving to me as he rushes toward me. Instantly, I let my gaze scan over his well-built body. Brian is definitely on my list of “bangable guys,” if I ever get the chance to do anything but work. But Professor Dickhead makes sure I don’t have time for an actual guy. It’s gotten so bad that I’m pretty sure my vibrator is on its last leg, and I’ve forgotten what a real dick feels like.
“Hey,” I say as he comes to stop in front of me.
“You’re looking good tonight,” he blurts out, his eyes glazed.
“You’re looking drunk.”
He grins. “Drunk and lonely.”
I can’t help but let my gaze flick to the front of his jeans. “God, you have no idea how much I wish I wasn’t working for the asshole. I’m hungrier than you could imagine.”
And by hungry, I mean horny, but my mom raised a lady, so I keep that to myself.
He leans in a little closer, knowing exactly what I’m not saying. “We could find a bathroom around here…”
I’m not usually the bathroom sex kind of girl, but tonight I seriously contemplate it for a long moment before sighing. “Nah, even if we were quick, I have a whole night’s worth of work to get done still.”
“I could be really quick, Elizabeth. Like so quick you’d barely feel it go in.”
Sexy. That helps to take my horniness down a few notches. “I think I’ll pass. Have fun, Brian.”
He looks like he’s going to protest, but I turn around and head for the coffee shop. When my hand touches the door, I freeze. A bulb over my head bursts, sending glass raining down on top of me. I wince, not because of the glass, but because I know what’s about to happen.
I have a secret hate-hate relationship with light bulbs.
“No,” I groan, even though I know it’s pointless.
Already my muscles are stiffening. In seconds, my body will no longer be under my control, which is a feeling I hate more than I could ever explain, if I were ever to tell anyone about this particular non-human part of my life. Which I wouldn’t, since I like continuing to breathe.
My hand falls limply from the door knob, and after a few muscles spasms, my feet turn me around. A chill rolls down my spine and goosebumps erupt over my flesh as I push back images of what I know I’ll soon see. Images that will fill my nightmares for years to come.
Sometimes I can fight the tugging, but not when it’s this powerful.
Not when death is calling.
“Ms. Elizabeth!” someone greets.
One of my students, a shy woman with many amazing qualities yet an unexplainably low level of self-esteem, comes up to me. Her smile is gentle, and I find myself hoping she’s out here with someone. She seems like just the kind of girl to get into a bad situation without someone watching her back.
“Hey, good to see you. Can’t talk now,” I say, my feet continuing to drag me toward death.
“I was just wondering… Have you gotten a chance to look at my paper yet?”
The truth was that I had, but it wasn’t great. “Not yet. Let’s talk tomorrow before class. Go enjoy Thirsty Thursday!”
Her smile leaves her eyes. “Everything okay?”
It won’t be if you keep following me, because you’re going to see some things you can’t un-see. “I’m fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I know she’s disappointed, and I feel like a real bitch. I didn’t become a TA because I love research. Like a lot of the professors, I’m on this path because I like teaching. I even like my students, even when they act like tool bags. But this girl was one of the good ones, the ones I could really help to become a better writer.
But it’s better that she thinks I’m an asshole than that she knows the truth. No one but my mom knows what I am, and no one can ever know. Not the humans, not the supernatural community that I’ve avoided at all costs, no one. Because, apparently, even the supernaturals don’t like what they don’t understand.
I’d gotten my hands on a supernatural history book as a kid. After a few hundred pages showing unknown supernatural beings strung up, drowned, and tortured to death, I’d decided that I was perfectly happy pretending to be human for the rest of my life.
Every day, I just stuff my hands in my jacket and pretend I don’t know what vampires and shifters look like. I just do my best to blend in, because there’s nothing obvious about me that marks that I’m anything but human.
Except these little “episodes.”
“Ms. Elizabeth.” I hear her sad voice behind me, but can’t turn to look back at her. “Is there something wrong with me?”
I try to fight my steps, but I can’t. “What do you mean?”
“High school was brutal, but I thought college would be different. That I’d have friends. That…”
My heart aches for her. It should be easier. If she could just get out of her own way.
Up ahead, I spot a small group of women. One of them I recognize, and suddenly an idea dawns on me. But do I have time?
“Marcy!”
A dark-haired woman with green streaks weaved through her hair turns in the group, and her gaze meets mine. She grins and rushes toward me.
“Marcy, meet Sharon,” I say, continuing to be dragged forward.
Sharon is suddenly keeping pace with my odd steps. “Uh, hi,” she says.
My gaze locks with Marcy’s confused one. “Sharon has some amazing ideas about Shakespeare and feminism.”
Marcy looks surprised as she gazes at the woman at my side. “Really?”
“Yeah. You ladies want to take her out for a fun night of drinks and intellectual conversations?”
Marcy is smart and probably one of the most empathetic women I’ve ever met. It takes her about two seconds for it to click in her expression that I’m trying to help Sharon make friends.
“Come on then, Sharon. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
I wink at her, and Marcy gives me a slight grin before wrapping an arm around Sharon’s shoulders. The woman looks back at me as she’s tugged across the street towards the other women. I can see she’s nervous, but I also know without a doubt that she’s going to have a good time. Some women could be catty, cliquish, and just plain jerks, but not Marcy and her crowd. They’d include her and make sure she got home safely.
They were the ride or die bitches that I loved to be around.
If only death wasn’t waiting for me, I think, trying not to sigh again.
I continue being dragged off the main road, towards a familiar park near campus. A poorly-cared-for place full of drug dealers and homeless people. Definitely not somewhere for a woman in her mid-twenties to be walking alone. Because even if I’m not technically human, I don’t have any awesome powers to keep me safe from the world, just the knife in my pocket and enough judo classes to break the nuts of a few gropey assholes.
As I continue getting dragged through the park, my feet leave the main path and I move away from the lights. My heart races faster as I move through bushes and beneath trees. The fear of getting hurt is starting to overshadow the fear of watching someone die.
Which is definitely not a good thing.
Suddenly, something in the air changes. I hear the bulbs in the park lamps shatter, and the little bit of light I still sensed from them is gone. Instead, the full moon bathes everything around me in an eerie light.
