Big Bad Academy

By Sophie Stern

In a world where vampires rule the night,
In a place where werewolves roam free,
In a universe where anything could happen,
You have to be ready.

I'm a writer. I'm not a fighter, or a hunter, or the kind of girl who carries a sword. I've never shot a gun and I've never even gotten in a real fight before. I dream up love stories; I don't cause trouble.

At least, I didn't think I did.

But when Flynn Richardson marches into my book signing and hauls me off into the night, I realize that my books have done more harm than good and I'm forced into a school where the monsters I write about are real.

They actually exist.

And not a single one of them likes me.

Welcome to Big Bad Academy.

It's going to be a bad year.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sophie Stern
• Release date: Jan 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201282400

Book preview

Chapter One

Heather

F ive minutes, folks ! Jenna walks around the ballroom, smiling and giving last minute directions to authors. She points out crooked tablecloths, reminds us of how long we have to speak with readers, and lets us know that in just a few minutes, the doors to the space are going to open. We’re going to be swarmed with dozens of happy, excited, and curious readers who are here for one purpose: to buy books.

It’s my very first book signing as an author and I don’t know whether I’m feeling more excited or horrified. Maybe I’m feeling a little bit of both. My stomach churns, but I know it’s not hunger because I definitely ate this morning. Definitely. I made sure to.

I found this list online that had ten things every writer needs to know before their first signing. One of the first things on the list was to have a good breakfast and to bring snacks. My book signing is in the evening, but I definitely ate right on time all day long and even though it’s nearly seven now, I packed some snacks to tide me over in case I get hungry. Besides, the author at the table next to me is giving away donuts. If I need to, I can always sneak one.

Are you ready? The writer beside me, Sunflower Wilson, leans over and smiles.

I nod, jerking my head up and down. Somehow, I feel like a robot. Since when did normal interactions and gestures become so damn hard?

She doesn’t seem to mind.

Don’t worry. It gets better. The first ten minutes are the hardest, anyway.

I hope she’s right.

The doors to the ballroom open and anxious readers hurry in. I stand up straight and paste a smile on my face. I try not to let everyone know just how nervous I am. I mean, it’s my first book signing. It’s supposed to be fun. Not a nightmare.

So why do I suddenly feel nervous?

My anxiety lasts only a few minutes. Readers start hurrying toward the tables of the authors they really love and want to have books signed by, but then someone arrives in front of my table. It’s a tall, slender redhead and she grins.

Hi! I say. Do you like paranormal romance?

She laughs and shoves a stack of my books at me.

You could say that, she says. "I’ve read the entire Polar Bear Shifters and Their Beloved Mates series three times, and Werewolves Who Love Humans was my favorite!"

Wow, I blush, taking the books from her. That’s so great to hear. I mean, thank you! Who should I make these out to? I ask.

Clarissa, she tells me. She spells it out and I try really hard not to mess up the spelling. How embarrassing would it be to make a mistake like that at my first signing? Pushing the thought away, I finish writing a little greeting, I sign my name, and I hand the books back.

Well, it’s so great to hear you enjoyed the books! I tell her.

My friend Missy is here, too, Clarissa says. So keep an eye out for her. She’s an even bigger fan than me! She laughs and takes her books, grabs a couple of mints from my table, and takes off. As soon as she’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I did it.

I survived my first reader.

A feeling of satisfaction settles in my belly. That wasn’t so bad, after all. Was it? I might be a newer writer, but I have some real fans who make sitting down and working on my stories every day totally worth it.

A few minutes later, another woman comes by with her boyfriend in tow. He doesn’t look bored the way I assume boyfriends at these events would look. Instead, he’s carrying her stack of books and smiles as he hands over a few copies of books I’ve written.

Can you sign these for us? He asks. "We loved Anna and Thad in The Werewolf’s Human Baby."

They were perfect, the girl nods. Truly wonderful. The way Anna and Thad overcame all of their differences and reunited at the end, she swoons and grabs her heart. It was perfect.

I grin.

Thank you! And yes, I take the books from them. You know, figuring out how they were going to overcome her terrible family history wasn’t easy.

What was the hardest part about writing this book? The girl asks me.

Probably trying to find a good way for them to move past her childhood. I mean, she was raised in a society that totally hated werewolves, right?

"And she was so shocked to discover that he was one! The man holding my books shakes his head. I got so into those books that I stayed up until 4 in the morning reading them. I was almost late to work. Wasn’t I, Winnie?"

It’s true, Winnie nods. Not me, though, she laughs. I started reading the second they arrived at the house and was finished before midnight.

That’s fantastic, I grin. A feeling of satisfaction washes over me as we chat about my stories for a few more minutes. Being a writer can be a really lonely journey, but having people who read and enjoy my books makes me feel a little less alone. Besides, it also feels really, really good.

I finish signing the books, and then Winnifred and her boyfriend buy another two from me. I sign them and then the happy couple takes off to meet other authors. For a minute, I’m able to just chill and relax, so I take a chance to sip my water and look out over the room.

It’s crowded: more crowded than I thought it would be. The event I’m signing at is a three-day ordeal with writers from all over the country. Everyone flew in to get together for drinks, networking, and general information-sharing. A few of the more experienced writers even put on workshops, so I got to find out more about how to hire a graphic designer for my book covers and even how to start marketing on deeper levels.

Overall, it’s been a wonderful few days, but for me, this is the highlight.

Spending Saturday night hanging out with other writers, connecting with readers, and signing books before sending them out into the world is a thrilling experience. Part of me never wants this to end.

As I’m looking out into the crowd, I don’t notice the man approaching my table at first. He clears his throat and I turn to look, but I’m caught off guard and I jump back a little. The corner of his lips twitch and he smirks at me.

First time meeting new people? He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Instantly, I bristle. Okay, so this guy is hot. He’s like, rip-off-my-panties and spank-me-until-I-come hot. Why is he here? The models are on the other side of the room, and as far as I know, he’s not one of them. At least, if he is a model, he’s someone I’ve never seen, but oh, I’d love to put him on a book cover. He’s tall, dark, and delicious.

No, I finally seem to find words. It’s not my first time meeting people.

Ah, well, you could have fooled me.

I cock my head and stare at him. Who is this guy? Unlike most of the people who wander by, he’s looking at me: not my books. Most people who read care about what the book looks like: not the author. He doesn’t even seem to notice my books at all. Instead, his gaze is just centered totally on me, and it’s making me really, really uncomfortable.

So, I say, searching for an ice breaker that isn’t Do you have a girlfriend already or may I apply for the position?

So.

What kind of books do you like to read?

Oh, I like a little bit of everything, he says. He reaches out and traces one of my covers. He doesn’t look at the book, though. Instead, his eyes stay on mine, but I’m drawn to his hand. He’s careful with my books. He touches them gently, almost in a caressing way.

What would it feel like to have him caressing me with those hands?

That’s great, I swallow. Suddenly, my mouth feels really dry. Well, there are quite a few choices available, if you like paranormal stories, I point out.

Where do you get your ideas? He asks, interrupting me.

Excuse me?

Your ideas, he says. Where do they come from?

It’s a question I get a lot, but I can’t quite put it into words without sounding like a total idiot. I mean, I’m definitely not going to tell this guy that I have dreams about werewolves and vampires and secret worlds that exist alongside our own. That would be crazy.

Right?

I’m not going to tell him that these dreams started when I was thirteen or that I’ve been spending the better part of my adult life trying to get the stories out of my head so I can live a normal life.

For me, writing isn’t just about entertaining the reader.

It’s about survival.

There are way too many stories spinning around in my brain for me to ever be able to stop writing. For me, it’s therapeutic to get all of the words out that I need to.

Oh, well, a writer can get ideas from anywhere. Some writers get ideas when they’re at the supermarket and some find that the ideas seem to flow when they’re having fun or trying new things. Some people-

He slams both of his palms down on my table and looks right at me.

I didn’t ask you where other people got their ideas. He practically snarls at me as he says this, and suddenly, I get the distinct impression that this guy isn’t a fan after all. "I asked where you get yours."

I open my mouth and close it again. There’s no way he could know about the dreams. No way, no how. There’s no chance that a guy like this knows anything about a girl like me, but it’s on the tip of my tongue just to tell him.

I shouldn’t.

That would be a horrible idea that wouldn’t end well for any of us, but there’s a very strange part of me that just wants him to know.

Hey, is everything okay over here? Sunflower is leaning over, looking at me and my strange visitor. Are you two all right? She looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

Yeah, we’re fine.

You sure? Because I can call Jenna over here if this guy is bothering you.

Jenna is the organizer of the event and she’s thought of everything. She’s got security and she’s got snacks and water bottles and she’s got absolutely everything else anyone could possibly want or need. She’s got it all.

Do I need her security guys?

The man in front of me waits. He doesn’t look at Sunflower Wilson. He just keeps staring at me like I’m the only person in this room he cares about. My panties are soaked, but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. A guy like this could be very, very dangerous.

I’m okay, I say.

You sure?

I’m fine.

Okay, because I can-

She said she’s fine, the man snaps. He finally looks over at Sunflower, and she juts her chin out.

Fine, then, she tells him. But I’m not afraid of you.

Pity, he says. Perhaps you should be.

Then the man turns and walks away. He slips into the crowd, and both Sunflower and I stare at him until he disappears from sight.

What the hell was that about? She asks. Her pink hair bounces as she shakes her head. I can’t tell if she’s scared or disgusted by that man’s appearance, but one thing is for sure: he’s not a reader.

Why did he come here to ask me about my ideas?

More importantly, why do I have the feeling that this won’t be the last time I see him?

BY THE TIME THE BOOK signing ends and I’ve finished packing up my leftover books and swag, it’s nearly midnight. I’m exhausted, practically dead on my feet, and I wave goodbye to the other writers as I