The Vampire's Witch

  The Vampire’s Witch

  A Witch Between Worlds

  Emma Glass

  Contents

  A Witch Between Worlds…

  Also by Emma Glass

  1. Clara

  2. Clara

  3. Clara

  4. Elliott

  5. Clara

  6. Elliott

  7. Clara

  8. Elliott

  9. Clara

  10. Clara

  11. Elliott

  12. Elliott

  13. Clara

  14. Clara

  15. Elliott

  16. Clara

  17. Elliott

  18. Clara

  19. Clara

  20. Clara

  21. Elliott

  22. Clara

  23. Elliott

  24. Clara

  25. Elliott

  26. Clara

  27. Elliott

  28. Elliott

  29. Elliott

  30. Clara

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  Also by Emma Glass

  A Witch Between Worlds…

  Haunted by vivid nightmares, British schoolgirl Clara Blackwell suffers a miserable and downtrodden life. When a simple act of kindness leads her astray, a chance encounter casts her across the dimensional barrier between worlds.

  Clara is thrust into a captivating realm of vampires and magic, desperate to tear her apart. Awaking in a mysterious castle under a cosmic sky, she quickly learns that the beauty of this new world is matched only by its immense peril.

  Ripped from her nightmares comes Elliott Craven, her dream savior. Cold, logical, and deeply suspicious of her intentions, the dark lord of the castle will be her only chance at survival… if only he can find a way to save her.

  But the subjects of his castle aren’t the only danger of this strange new world. If word of her arrival spreads, the entire world could erupt into a brutal war over Clara’s fate.

  After all, there hasn’t been a human in this vampire realm for thousands of years, and that’s a very dangerous position for a teenage girl…

  Also by Emma Glass

  A Witch Between Worlds Series

  The Vampire’s Witch (Book 1)

  Trials of the Vampire (Book 2) - Available Now

  A Vampire’s Fate (Book 3) - Coming SOON

  1

  Clara

  The darkness was full of terrors, and I ran.

  Thin, unfamiliar trees flew past as I forced myself down the trail, avoiding the underbrush. My lungs were already at their limit. Every gulp of air inflicted a brand new punishment, filling my chest with acid and fire. My bare legs struggled to carry me deeper into the woods, raw from stray branches and thorns. I even fought the traitorous stitch in my side in my desperation to keep going.

  One simple fact kept my feet pounding.

  If I stopped, I would die.

  Cracking branches behind me sent a new wave of terror across my heart. To look back was to be utterly destroyed, and I was determined to get out of this foreboding forest alive.

  Up ahead lay my sole salvation. When I’d seen this place in my dreams, there was always a lit clearing this way. Under the safety of the piercing moonlight there, I knew that I could somehow find a way to rescue myself.

  My foot caught a root, and I tumbled. Oh God, I gasped in panic. This is how it ends…

  But I caught myself from hitting the ground, stumbling yet staying on my feet. Grateful for my luck, I threw the last of my energy into one final, painful burst of speed. I could already tell that the gap was nearly closed between us. In my fright, I struggled to hold out against the fire in my lungs just a little longer.

  The terrifying danger was right at my heels...

  As I finally broke out of the trees, I suddenly stopped in my tracks. Dust kicked up from under my shoes as I barely controlled my momentum. Just one more misguided step, and I would have tumbled down to my death.

  This was no clearing.

  The low, shining moon showed me the truth: I stood on the edge of a cliff against the ocean. Far beneath the midnight skies, thunderous waves crashed hard against jagged rocks. To my horror, I realized that there was nothing on the horizon... except a distant island that called to me.

  But the cracking of another branch reminded me that I had to focus on the here and now. I could hear terrifying sounds from my lurking pursuer, stalking me from the trees. Every last crackle of a twig hit my ears with the promise of a cruel end. My choice became clear: die, or be killed.

  No, I told myself. I will not go out this way.

  Defiantly, I turned back to face my enemy. If I had to die, then my last breath would come on my terms. I refused to perish without finally gazing into those feral, murderous eyes…

  To my astonishment, I was no longer alone. Standing before me was the blurry silhouette of a darkened stranger, shrouded in shadow. The hazy shape must have stood six feet tall as it bore down upon me with the only feature I could plainly see: powerful and radiant eyes, burning like a blaze…

  When the moonlight clipped the hazy shape, I saw that this was a man. Those beautiful eyes scorched brightly into my mind as he glowered at me, and he shouted in a dark, powerful voice:

  “What are you waiting for? GO!”

  Before I could respond, the shadowy stranger turned his back on me and ducked into the trees. He vanished in a heartbeat, but I could hear the telltale signs of a vicious struggle.

  He is fighting for me, I realized.

  The least I could do was heed his warning, but there was nowhere else to go. All that awaited me was a watery grave far below, with the sea itself as my casket.

  My eyes turned back to the faraway island.

  Something about it drew my attention. I felt like it was where I needed to go, but there was no safe passage across the water. Anxiously, I tried to scan to the left and right for any way down that didn’t involve a blind leap of faith.

  “Why are you still here?” The furious voice of my champion snarled out within the trees. Their battle sounded like it was crashing hard against the trunks. Under the parting clouds and the light of the moon, I realized that several nearby trees were swaying under the stress of their clash. “Do you have a death wish? For the last time – GO!”

  Casting aside the last of my fear, I turned the only direction I could. With my arms thrown out, I leapt from the cliff, feeling the rushing wind as the ocean rushed up towards me…

  Plastered with sweat and gripping the covers, the blaring morning alarm suddenly yanked me out of my midnight cliff dive.

  This was the third week of the forest dream.

  What exhausted me the most about it wasn’t the running or even the fear. Nor was it the way that this entangling nightmare haunted me like a stalking predator in my mind, creeping up to overtake my dreams every night.

  It wasn’t the way I feared that it might have been even longer than three weeks. I never really remembered my dreams before, not until I started writing this one down. Part of me was afraid that it’d been quietly haunting me for months, maybe years, and that I just never noticed before…

  Shakily, I rose up from my bed.

  I peeled off sticky pajamas in the tiny closet of a bathroom across the hall. Still trembling from the horrid dream, I washed my face with the freezing water of the basin.

  An enduring, weakened gaze stared back at me in the mirror’s reflection. I’d become lucid to a degree of cruelty. While asleep, I could always remember this dream – but I’d never realize in the moment that maybe I was asleep again. And so, I slept in terror every night, telling myself every morning once it was over the same blindly false reassurance: next time, I’d be stronger.

  It was never enough to no
tice the shackles.

  This nightmare had made me its slave.

  No, out of this recurring horror, none of these details were the thing that exhausted me most. I tried my best to comfort the tired, frightened girl staring back in the bathroom mirror… but it wasn’t enough, because I could already hear movement from downstairs.

  No, what made my nightmares such hell was that they never really stopped when I woke up.

  Twenty minutes after jumping to my grave for the twentieth time, I was restlessly staring off into space at breakfast. My sleep deprivation was taking its toll on me. I was losing focus in school. Even my best friend Peter was starting to suggest I see a doctor.

  Unfortunately, I zoned out for too long.

  “Go on, Clara,” My stepfather Harold grunted in annoyance and poked his fork towards me. A greasy, overcooked sausage was stuck on the end, helplessly skewered on the prongs. “Cooked for you, didn’t I? Slaved over a hot stovetop, yeah?”

  Harold scowled, stabbing another grimy bite of thick sausage into his heavy jowls. It made a sickening noise. “Eat your bloody breakfast.”

  I glanced down at my plate.

  Undercooked, cold, runny eggs (bleh) slowly dribbled across the chipped plate, pooling near a pair of roasted mushrooms (ugh), fried tomatoes (double ugh) and burnt beans on toast (actually not awful; I’d quietly grown to like how he made them, although if I said anything, he’d just change it just to spite me).

  “I’m not too hungry,” I weakly lied.

  “Nonsense,” my portly stepfather gnashed at his sausage. “You’re a growing girl, you are, and you’ll damn well eat what I put in front of you.”

  That was a cue I’d learned to not miss.

  Without another word, I snatched up a piece of toast and sank my teeth into the burnt beans. The last time I’d absentmindedly missed the subtle threat, he’d rapped my knuckles so hard I could barely hold my pen in class all day.

  Should have started with the tomatoes, Clara, I grumbled to myself. Once this slice of toast was gone, I’d be left with nothing on the plate to look forward to...

  “Can’t bring you to school today,” he casually told me between bites. “There’s a morning special on today, and I ain’t missin’ it.”

  I almost choked on my bite.

  “That gonna be a problem?” He looked over at me with a sadistic smile. “Got a bus stop out there. Unless that’s not good enough for the little miss.”

  “I’ll rummage for bus fare,” I spoke dejectedly.

  “Good girl,” Harold sneered as he scooped up a forkful of beans. “Knew I didn’t raise you to be a bloody freeloader.”

  I took another bite, making a mental note to text Peter. He was going to be disappointed. There was some kind of school celebration coming up, and mutual friends made it sound like he wanted to ask me to it this morning. As a date.

  I’d given up on thinking about him that way a few years back, but it had been all I could think of since school let out before the weekend. The idea had cruelly grown on me.

  “Oh. Before I forget.” After swallowing the bite, he jabbed the end of his fork at me again. It always bothered me that he did that, but I knew better than to bring it up. I’d learned the hard way that Harold staunchly hated criticism, no matter how careful. “Don’t expect me to pick you up this afternoon, either. I’ve got cards with the boys.”

  My spirits collapsed.

  The ‘boys’ were just as bad as he was, and they always got him way too drunk. The man was hard enough to deal with when he wasn’t sloshed, but now I had my whole night cut out for me…

  Well, better tonight than Wednesday. I’d given no thought to attending the school social, but this planted seed about Peter had changed that.

  “Okay,” I nodded quietly.

  I felt his hard gaze on me as I concentrated on my plate. While he loudly gnashed his food and studied me, I kept my attention on stomaching the cold, borderline disgusting breakfast.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” he finally replied.

  We ate in silence for the rest of the miserable meal. I knew the routine, and had nothing to look forward to when it was over. There were cleaner kitchens in active warzones, but cleaning it paid off my debt for simply being fed. This time wasn’t any different than usual. In fact, he’d gone for broke by hitting a couple of beers before I’d even made it downstairs.

  Sighing, I emptied out the quarter-full bottles into the sink and tossed them in the glass-recycling bin before sponging down the stovetop and emptying the sink.

  Harold’s early hours were a concession of his old construction job, from before his disability. Like clockwork, he rose with the dawn; it gave the man plenty of time to drink before my alarms. Thanks to his notorious mid-day naps, my short-fused stepfather didn’t even have the common decency to spare me at night during the week.

  Precisely when I needed the peace the most.

  As I wondered how many adorable puppies I must have kicked in a past life to deserve any of this, I snatched up my things and dug out a few coins for bus fare.

  Still avoiding him, I scampered out the door. At least he didn’t stop me again, I thought.

  Judging from the all-too-familiar voices and the laugh track wafting in from the den, Harold’s idea of a “morning special” was an ancient re-run of BBC comedy. It was infuriating that he had chosen to abandon me to find my own way to school, but if that’s what kept him out of my hair for the rest of the morning…

  I started walking the half-kilometer to the closest bus stop, my head preoccupied with the harshest lesson my childhood had taught me.

  No matter how small…

  Take every victory you can.

  2

  Clara

  I jerked awake, face pressed to a bus window.

  How long was I out…?

  Panic gripped me when I glanced at the time. I hadn’t even realized that I’d fallen back asleep, and I’d missed my stop by over half an hour. After I figured out how to head back the other direction, I was going to be at least an hour late for school.

  Worse, I’d forgotten to text Peter. There were a few new messages from him, and they sounded about as disappointed as I expected. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. Sorry, Peter. But I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now…

  There was nothing at all familiar about the shopping street outside the window; I must have slept on the line long enough to be in the next little town over. Across the street, I could see the stops for heading the other way back, but realized that I’d spent all my change getting onto this bus in the first place. I wondered if I could just talk one of the bus drivers into letting me ride back without fare.

  It was as good a plan as any.

  I pressed the stop button and gathered up my bag, squeezing out past the stranger in my aisle. Trying to keep my footing steady, I made my way down to the side exit and held onto the pole.

  Slowly, the bus lurched to a stop. Flashing across the LED strip was the name of a street I’d never heard of, which wasn’t exactly what I’d call ‘promising.’ Lacking for other options, I took a deep, calming breath and quietly waited for the doors to fold apart.

  Once off the bus, my first step was to cross the road and track down a way back. I glanced around to catch my bearings, wandered over to the nearby crosswalk, and made a steady beeline for the opposite bus stop.

  Out of the large group of people already there – scattered shoppers, a businessman, a few tired mothers shepherding their children – only one of them seemed to acknowledge me. He was a tall, lanky guy in a windbreaker, wearing a backwards cap with a skateboard tucked under an arm.

  He awkwardly smiled at me.

  Politely returning the smile, I scrutinized the board of bus routes and times. The busses ran on fifteen-minute intervals in this part of town. By the looks of things, this one was running late, which meant I was in luck.

  And here it comes.

  I patiently stayed back to let everyone els
e get on the bus first so I wouldn’t hold up the line; I hoped that would help my case with the driver.

  I stepped on after the crowd.

  “Excuse me, I fell asleep and missed my stop,” I explained to the disgruntled handler behind his protective glass. “I used up the rest of my change trying to get to school. Can I bum a lift?”

  The driver grimaced at me.

  “This ain’t a free ride. Pay up or get off.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “Then get off.”

  “My stepfather’s an alcoholic.”

  He quietly glared. “Already running late, kid. Welcome to England. Everyone’s an alcoholic.”

  I quickly reached for my sleeve, pulling it up to show off a blotchy bruise. It was fairly fresh; thanks to sleeping through an alarm earlier in the week, Harold had grabbed me, dragging me out of bed and halfway down the hall. I’d never know if he’d meant to be that rough with me, but it helped sell the story.

  “No. I mean my stepfather’s an alcoholic.”

  The driver pulled his stony gaze from the mark, silently cursing under his breath. “Fine, kid. But you cause me any trouble, you’re off.”

  “Thank you,” I told him appreciatively as the doors folded closed behind me. He grumbled in response as I made my way down the packed bus.

  Every seat was taken, and there wasn’t much room to stand. I pushed my way into a crowded corner next to a young mother, who was trying (but failing) to console her wailing toddler.