Where Monsters Hide: An Academy Bully Romance (The Monster Within Book 1)

  Where Monsters Hide

  The Monster Within: Book I

  Eden Beck

  Where Monsters Hide by Eden Beck

  © 2019 Eden Beck

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of including brief passages for use in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For permissions contact:

  authoredenbeck@gmail.com

  Ebook ASIN: B07T6SK26P

  Also by Eden Beck

  Hawthorne Holy Trinity

  Dirty Liars

  Dirty Fraud

  Dirty Revenge

  The Monster Within

  Where Monsters Hide

  Where Monsters Lie

  Contents

  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

  A Note From The Author

  Chapter One

  There are few things in the world more terrifying than discovering the truth.

  Sometimes, it’s even worse than discovering a lie.

  As a child I found safety in the fact that the stories my aunt told me about my parents couldn’t actually be true. Her stories painted my parents as heroes battling monsters; real life adventurers who only chose to settle down once they’d had a tiny baby girl, me. I knew they weren’t really pulled in for one final kill, one last hunt … never to return again.

  And then, one day, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  As I look up at the sprawling, white brick building beyond the wrought-iron gate at the top of the hill, I think a part of me always knew, deep down, that I would find my way here. To them. To the Saint Marcellus Academy for Monster Hunters

  I brush my thumb across a well-worn photograph I keep in my pocket at all times. My aunt claimed no photographs of my parents survived—but in that was her single lie. I think part of her always hoped that in telling the truth I would never suspect it. But then I found a photo, tucked behind one of me on my first birthday from the family album.

  In the photograph, my mother stands proudly beside my father—the massive severed head of a gorgon hung between them. I knew right then and there that it wasn’t some prank. I looked into the eyes of that medusa, her head severed roughly from her body, and I knew that even in death she could kill me with a single glance.

  And I knew, in that moment, that all the so-called-stories my aunt had told me were true. One perfectly posed question and my aunt’s shocked silence gave me all the confirmation I needed.

  My parents were killed by a monster; not a monster dressed as a man, a literal, real-life teeth and claws creature. I don’t know what one, but I’m determined to find out.

  And when I find it, I’m going to kill it.

  After all, it’s my destiny. I was born to this. Like my parents before me, I was bred to be a monster hunter.

  “Money. American. Money!”

  I’m pretty sure by now that these are the only English words my taxi driver actually knows. I sling my backpack up onto the hood of his car and fish in the front pocket for the last of my money. For one gut-wrenching moment, I feel nothing but the rough polyester fabric. I swore I pulled out enough cash in Bucharest to pay for a taxi once I got to village closest to the school.

  The taxi driver smacks one hand on the top of the wheel and starts ranting at me in Romanian, or whatever local dialect it is they speak this far out. While my fingers move to the next pocket up, I wonder, and not for the first time, why I couldn’t have just picked the North American school to attend. It would have been a hell of a whole lot easier. Then I feel the soft fold of crumpled bills and pull out a slightly-smaller-than-I-remembered wad of cash.

  I know it isn’t enough, and so does he.

  He swears in English and swipes the bills from me before peeling off in a cloud of dark dust. I wait until he glances up into the rear-view mirror before I wave both my middle fingers at him and snatch my bag from where it flew off into a nearby ditch.

  “Fuck you too!” I shout at the back of his retreating car. I kick at the dirt edge of the road and send another cloud of dust up onto my already dirty self.

  The gate stands imposing as ever in front of me when I turn around. I know that the invitation did say that the entrance exams to Saint M were closed … but I’m still surprised not to see a single other soul between the gate and the academy at the top of the hill. I must have gotten here earlier than I thought.

  I smack the top of my bag and cough as I’m enveloped, once more, in an even coating of end-of-summer dirt. So much for a good first impression, I guess. I reach for my phone for a second and fiddle with the power button even though I know it isn’t going to turn on. I knew better than to play a certain candy-themed matching game the whole flight over.

  My only consolation is that, even without the name of the world-famous monster hunting academy’s name emblazoned across the top of the gates, this is unmistakably the right place.

  As if to confirm it, a deep growl echoes down the hill to greet me.

  That’s as good as any invitation.

  I swipe the ID card I was mailed to unlock the gate to Saint M and push it open. Now that the taxi has already driven off I realize what a miracle it is that I got here in such good time, or really, that I got here at all.

  Navigating Bucharest to board my train was one thing, but trying to find a taxi driver in the local village that didn’t balk at where I pointed on the map was another. Maybe if I could speak a single lick of Romanian it wouldn’t have been such a problem.

  I was pretty sure I was going to have to hijack a car or resign myself to walking the four-odd miles up to the academy when I finally found the one driver who mistakenly thought all Americans are made of money. That’s his fault, not mine.

  I just wish I’d insisted the taxi take me the rest of the way up the driveway. He certainly charged me enough. I’m already covered in dirt and a fine layer of recycled plane air, and now, not even halfway up to the academy courtyard, a fine sheen of sweat too.

  The air high up here in the mountains is thin. I felt a pressure building as the taxi drove up through the winding, tree-lined roads. By the time I reach the edge of the courtyard I’m a little short of breath and the outer corners of my vision look a little fuzzy.

  Damn. I should have thought of that before. I kick myself for the oversight and end up with even more gravel in the back of my shoes.

  Now that I stand directly in the shadow of the massive old building, I get a better look at it. It’s ancient, classic Gothic architecture if I have to take a guess. Symmetrical, with a b
ig bell tower in the center surrounded by gargoyles that were probably modeled after actual, real-life versions of the winged rooftop monsters. That’s one creature I’m not particularly keen to meet.

  The school itself looms at the end of the long courtyard, its two sections extending like featherless wings to either side.

  I adjust my backpack and pull out my map of the school. Prospective recruits are supposed to be meeting in the courtyard, but it’s currently empty. I take another glance up at the gargoyles on the roof. I’m not sure I want to turn my back to them, not, at least, until I am entirely sure they aren’t real gargoyles.

  I tuck the map into my pocket and stride through the courtyard to the main building. So long as I’m waiting for everyone else to arrive, I might as well explore.

  The big double doors are propped open and the entrance hall beyond is just as grand and imposing as the outside. It’s old, and time has not treated it kindly. Once painstakingly-painted grand stairways now peel away in tiny gold-flecks. The cream-and-navy checked tile floor is marred with years of scuffs, burns, and even claw marks. A few vintage pieces of furniture sag in corners where they look like no one has dared sit in them for decades.

  And, like the courtyard, there’s no one here, either.

  The echo of my footsteps is my only companion, and when I stop to double check the exam schedule again, they’re gone too.

  A cold breeze blows in through the open doors behind me. It carries with it the scent of centuries-old snow caps and the far-off whistle of air squeezed through tight mountain passes. I shiver, but only half from the cold.

  This place looks like it was abandoned suddenly, without warning … some sign of a tragedy so recent I’m the first to discover it.

  As I stand here feeling jet-lagged and confused, trying to push my murky thoughts into clarity, the silence is shattered by the clatter of more footsteps. I look up from the scheduled and turn in time to see three boys my age round a corner.

  Judging by their builds—broad and muscular with a certain air of recklessness not only common but necessary for the monster hunting profession—they are either students here already, or more applicants like me.

  Either way, they are the only living thing I’ve spotted thus far.

  They all hesitate for just a moment, their steps faltering before they rush past me, sneakers thumping against the tile. The one at their head catches my eye as they pass, meeting my gaze with his sharp, glacial blue eyes.

  He brushes me aside with a quick sweep of his arm and I stumble back a few steps.

  “Wait!” I yell, before they can barrel back out of sight again without giving me some kind of answers. “Where are you going?”

  The one who brushed me aside, their ringleader I suppose, says nothing.

  “Come on,” he whispers, stepping to the side the wave the others on through the next door. “We’re going to miss it.”

  I step back up.

  “Miss what?”

  The tallest of the three, a boy with shoulders like massive knotted tree roots, is the only one to pause and look back. I suppose it’ll only take him a couple extra strides to catch up to the others.

  “To the second trial,” he says, before darting out after the other two with surprising speed.

  “The second …”

  And then it hits me.

  I’m not early. I’m late.

  I have no time to stand stupidly, wondering. I take off after them, heart pounding. The second one? I’ve missed the first test and possibly my chance to get into Saint M.

  I didn’t come all the way here to not get in.

  My brain kicks into gear as I run. The first part of the test is a written exam and I probably wasn’t going to do great on it anyway. I studied, of course, but there was no way to know for sure if any of the information I was able to get ahold of was even accurate in any sense of the word. If I score well on the next three trials, I might still have a chance. But I have to get there first.

  I follow the mysterious boys out a side door and spot them disappearing down a trail leading to the woods. My thoughts should be elsewhere, but my eyes keep lingering on their muscled calves and broad shoulders. The big one’s shoulders look like might bust out of his shirt at any moment. I only caught a glimpse of their faces as they ran past me; nowhere near enough to get a good look.

  Get a grip, I tell myself. I need to focus.

  I’ve already missed one trial. I can’t afford to miss another.

  I know what’s coming next, even before I see it flashing between the trees up ahead. The obstacle course.

  I can still see the boys jogging along before me, sticking to the path on their way to the next test. I’ll have plenty of time to ogle the big one’s muscles once I’ve dominated that course. Something inside tells me I have to get there first.

  There’s a break in the trees to the side of the winding path, and without thinking, I duck down it. I throw my backpack to the side, taking note of the trees and rocks around it so I can circle back for it later, and dig my heels into the dirt. I was always a fast runner, and something about the pressing pattern of trees makes me run even faster.

  It’s a straight shot through the brush and overhanging branches. They catch at my skin and clothes, leaving me bloodstained and bruised when I burst out into those gathered at the edge of the clearing.

  It’s a small crowd; a collection of students and teachers watching the new recruits file up to start the first physical challenge. Those closest to me start and glance back at my arrival, but I don’t have time to explain.

  A few of them cry out as I push past them to where a man stands apart from the others at the start of the course. He has to be in charge. He’s sweating in his business suit and adjusting the Saint M pin on his lapel when he catches sight of me barreling toward him.

  There is a large electronic board hanging above the start of the course displaying the students’ scores from the first test. As I watch, a new recruit’s score flashes up further on the list as they complete the second test. One glance at the board confirms my worst fear—I’m nowhere on it.

  I shove my way past the recruit set to go next and plant myself in front of the test administrator. I’m breathing so hard, my words come out broken and incoherent at first.

  “I need to be added to the list,” I say, pointing up at the board. My chest heaves.

  The girl behind me opens her mouth to complain, but I shoot her a murderous look and she quickly clamps her mouth shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see some large, burly men starting to step up from the edges of the crowd. The boys are just now arriving at the head of the path. I see them stop and glance my way, clearly confused how I got here first.

  The test administrator snorts. “Do you think a werewolf is going to give you a second chance if you’re late to the hunt? There’s no such thing as a second chance when monsters are involved, Miss …?”

  “Black. Avery Black.”

  Recognition flickers across his face, and he suddenly glances back down at the chart in his hands. His mouth works silently for a moment, as if he’s choking on his own words.

  The burly figures are getting closer. The girl behind me isn’t the only person growing restless. If I wait for this man to make up his mind, it’s going to be too late.

  I’ve come too far to just be turned away without a chance. The first security officer reaches us and starts to move between me and the course, one arm outstretched to bar my way.

  It’s now or never.

  I duck under his outstretched arm and dash onto the course.

  He shouts after me, but I’m gone, out of his reach. Security follows after me along the outside of the course, ready to pounce at their first opportunity, but their presence only draws more attention to me as I reach the first obstacle.

  A series of platforms line the walls of a pool, tilted down towards the water. I snort.

  Easy.

  Without breaking stride, I leap onto the first one and grab t
he edge with one hand. With the other, I scoop up some water and splash it onto my hot face. I’m not quite dressed for exercise; I’m wearing my good skirt, pantyhose, and a black button-down blouse. It’s far from ideal, but I don’t even have time to pull my hair back to keep it from whipping around my face, let alone change.

  I push off the first tilted platform to the next, kicking off one of my wedged boots in the process. It lands with a splash in the water and I pull off its twin and toss it in after the first. I don’t give two shits that I’ll never get them back.

  The next platform is a challenge; my pantyhose makes it hard to grip with my feet and I nearly slide off and into the pool. I waste precious seconds tearing a hole for my left foot before hopping to the next platform where I can rip the other foot free.

  I clear the rest of the platforms neatly.

  Security has nearly caught up with me at the end thanks to my little hang-up. They aren’t the only ones following. Even though there are more recruits coming after me, some of the onlookers have started moving along with me to either side, their eyes trained on me as I throw myself into the mud for the next obstacle.

  It’s a classic—army-crawling beneath barbed wire. The wicked barbs catch on my hair more than once, forcing me to tear full locks from my scalp in painful tugs. Head burning and spluttering from inhaled mud, I tear a strip from my already ruined pantyhose and finally tie my hair back from my face as I stumble towards the next task. The gathering crowd has slowed security, and unless I’m mistaken, I catch one of the other recruits purposefully stepping out to block their path under the guise of an untied shoelace.