Sweet Nightmare, page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Epilogue
Preview of Crave
Acknowledgments
About the Author Also by Tracy Wolff…
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Tracy Wolff. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher. Preview of Crave © 2020 by Tracy Wolff.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
644 Shrewsbury Commons Ave
STE 181
Shrewsbury, PA 17361
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Entangled Teen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Bree Archer and LJ Anderson/Mayhem Cover Creations
Stock art by Envato Elements 3D, Duda Vasilii/Shutterstock, and powerofforever/GettyImages
Interior design by Britt Marczak
Deluxe Edition ISBN 978-1-64937-701-2
Hardcover ISBN 978-1-64937-706-7
Ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-702-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2024
Sweet Nightmare is a fast-paced, paranormal romance with horror elements set at a school for rogue paranormals. As such, the story includes elements that might not be suitable for all readers. Graphic violence, gore, death, blood, vomit, fire and burning, drowning, venom and poisoning, bullying, hallucinations, profanity, monster attacks that relate to common phobias, and natural disasters are depicted. Death of family members is discussed. Readers who may be sensitive to these elements, please take note.
To everyone who’s faced their worst nightmare and come out stronger on the other side.
This book is for you.
Prologue
Night After
Night-Mare
- Jude -
I know your worst nightmare.
No, not that one. The other one.
The one you don’t trot out at parties.
The one you don’t whisper to your best friend late at night.
The one you don’t even acknowledge to yourself until it’s three a.m. and the lights are out and you’re too paralyzed with fear to even reach your arm out and flick on the bedside lamp. So you lay there, heart racing, blood pumping, ears straining for the slide of the window, the creak of the door, the footstep on the stairs.
The monster under the bed.
The monster inside your head.
Don’t be ashamed. Everyone has one—even me.
Mine always starts out the same.
Full moon. Hot, sticky air. Moss hanging low enough to brush your face on a late-night walk. Waves crashing against the shore. A cottage—a girl—a storm—a dream, forever out of reach.
I know it doesn’t sound like much, but the story isn’t in the setup. It’s in the blood and the betrayal.
So fall asleep if you dare. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Because the only thing I can promise is that my nightmares are worse than yours.
Chapter One
No Such Thing
As a Quick Escape
- Clementine -
Of all the punishments this school for misfits and fuckups could throw at a person, I can’t believe I’m stuck with this one. Just last week, one of the new vamps nearly drained a witch and all she got was dish duty.
Ironic? Absolutely.
Fair? Not even close.
Then again, here at Calder Academy, fair is pretty much a nebulous concept, right up there with safety and good judgment. Hence the reason my mother—aka the headmaster not-so-extraordinaire of this not-so-extraordinary establishment—thinks assigning me to chrickler duty is actually a reasonable thing for an administrator to do.
Spoiler alert: it’s not. It is, however, absolutely miserable. Not to mention dangerous as hell.
Still, nearly three years of this nightmare have taught me a few tricks—chief among them, to walk softly—and slowly—and carry a really big bag of kibble.
A quick scan of the large, shadowy enclosure shows me the food has once again done its job. The little monsters are actually distracted—at least for now.
With that thought in mind, I take a small, calculated step back toward the door. When none of the chricklers raises so much as a furry eyebrow, let alone actually looks up from their long troughs full of kibble, I take another. And another. The old, wooden door that separates me from the basement hallway is almost in reach. A couple more steps and I might actually make it out of here without losing any blood.
Hope, like assholery, springs eternal.
A drop of sweat slides down my spine as I take another cautious step backward. Then I hold my breath as I reach behind me for the old-fashioned latch that keeps the chricklers—and me—locked in this cool, dark pen.
But the moment my fingers touch the lock, a huge clap of thunder rumbles across the sky.
Shit, shit, shit.
Hundreds of heads lift at the same exact time—and every single one of them turns straight toward me. Eyes narrow. Teeth flash. Growls echo off the rough stone walls.
And just like that, I’m totally fucked.
Nails skitter across the floor as they race toward me as one.
Fuck slow and steady. I whirl around and dive for the door just as the first wave reaches me.
Nails rake down my calves as I fumble for the door. I shake off the first few then gasp as teeth tear into my thigh and hip. Reaching down with one hand, I rip several more of the little bastards off of me.
But one enterprising chrickler manages to hang tight as it climbs up my back. It’s got long, pointy teeth that scrape a gash across my shoulder while its longer, even pointier claws drag straight down my right biceps as it tries to hang on. I muffle a yelp as fresh blood—my blood—hits the toe of my battered but beloved Adidas Gazelles, but I don’t bother trying to pull it off a second time. Freedom is right here. I just have to reach out and take it…and avoid getting swarmed yet again while I do. I flounder around trying to flip the iron latch. The lever is ancient and likes to jam—but I’ve done this enough to know all the tricks. I push the left side in, jimmy the right side up, and pull as hard as I can. The latch gives way just as another chrickler—or maybe the same one, who can tell at this point—bites down hard on my ankle. To shake it off, I kick straight back as hard as I can and wildly thrash my leg around while simultaneously yanking on the door, also as hard as I can. It’s heavy and my shoulder is throbbing, but I ignore the pain as the door finally moves. I rip the last chrickler off my shoulder and dive through an opening barely wider than my hips before slamming the door close behind me.
To make sure nothing follows me out—chricklers are sneaky like that—I throw my back against the old wood as hard as I can. Just as I do, my best friend, Luis, saunters into the dim light of the basement hallway. “Looking for something?” He holds up my first aid kit, then stops short as he finally gets a good look at me. “Damn, Clementine. Has anyone ever told you that you really know how to make an entrance?”
“Don’t you mean an exit?” I rasp, ignoring the horrified look on his face. “The incoming storm must have riled up the chricklers more than usual today.”
“‘Riled up’? Is that what you want to call it?” he shoots back but is nearly drowned out by a loud, animalistic crying coming from behind the door. “What is that godawful noise?”
“I don’t know.” I glance around, but I don’t see anything. Then again, this entire hallway is lit up by exactly one sad, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, so it’s not like I’ve got a fantastic view. Like the rest of this school, darkness is definitely the basement’s friend.
But the crying is definitely getting louder…and now I can tell it’s coming from inside the pen.
“Oh, shit.” As I slide the last lock into place, I see a small chrickler paw caught between the door and the frame.
Luis follows my stare. “Fuck, no. Clementine, don’t even think about it!”
I know he’s right, but— “I can’t just leave the poor thing like that.”
“That ‘poor thing’ just tried to eat your entrails!” he shoots back.
“I know! Believe me, I know!” Considering how many parts of my body are currently throbbing, it would be impossible for me to forget about it.
He rolls his silver wolf eyes so hard I’m a little surprised they don’t actually disappear into his skull.
By now the crying has turned into muffled little yelps and I can’t just leave the thing like that, monster or not. “I have to open the door, Luis.”
“Damn it, Clementine!” But even as he says it, he’s moving behind me to back me up. “I want the record to state that I oppose this decision.”
“The record shall so reflect,” I tell him as I take a deep breath and reluctantly flip open the lock I just closed. “Here goes nothing.”
Chapter Two
At Your Beck
and Calder
“Keep your hand on the door!” Luis urges as he leans over my shoulder to micromanage, something he tries to do in so many areas of my life.
“I’m planning on it,” I answer, wrapping one hand around the handle and bracing the second one directly above it so I can push the door shut as soon as the chrickler’s paw slips free.
I pull what I’m hoping is just hard enough, and the second the paw slips back through the opening, I throw all my weight behind the door and slam it shut again as hard as I can. By some miracle, I actually manage not to create a new disaster.
A chorus of outraged yowls arises from the enclosure, but nothing escapes.
I’m safe…at least until the next time.
Exhausted now that the last burst of adrenaline has left my body, I lean back against the door, slide down until my butt hits the floor, and then breathe. Just breathe.
Luis sinks down next to me, nodding to the first aid kit he’s dropped a few feet away. He’s taken to bringing it down here for me every day that I have chrickler duty—and, unfortunately, I’ve rarely not needed it. “We might want to get started patching you up. The bell’s going to ring in a few minutes.”
I groan. “I thought I was getting faster at this.”
“There’s faster and then there’s fast,” he says with a rueful grin. “You really don’t have to make sure every single one of the little monsters’ bowls is filled with perfectly cold ice water. Room temp will suffice.”
“It’s September. In Texas. Cold water is a necessity.”
“And what thanks do you get for your concern?” His black hair flops over his left eye as he looks at the shredded sleeve of my T-shirt—and the deep scratches below.
It’s my turn to roll my eyes as I reach for the first aid kit. “The headmaster stays off my back?”
“I’m sure your mother would understand you giving them room-temperature water if it means saving yourself copious amounts of blood loss. She is the one who insists on boarding these damn things, after all.” He eyes the large Band-Aid I’ve extracted from the kit as we’ve been talking. “Want help with that?”
“Maybe,” I answer grudgingly. “Just do the one on my back, okay? And I think the whole point of chrickler duty is that it’s a punishment, so I am not sure my mother has my feelings at the top of her list.”
He snorts in acknowledgment of this truth as he drags the collar of my red uniform shirt down just enough so that he can slap the bandage on my scratched and still-bleeding shoulder. “But it’s not like you got yourself sent to this school for some nefarious deed or big, bad behavior like the rest of us.”
“And yet here I am. The joys of being a Calder…”
“Yeah, well, Calder or not, you’ve got to lay off chrickler duty or I don’t think you’ll actually make it to graduation.”
“Oh, I’m making it to graduation,” I tell him as I slap on a few more bandages, “if for no other reason than I can finally, finally, get the hell off this island.”
I’ve been counting down the days since freshman year. Now that I’m finally a senior, I’m not about to let anything stand in the way of me getting out of this hellhole and actually starting a life somewhere where I don’t have to watch my back—and every other part of myself—every second of every day.
“One more year,” Luis says as he holds out a hand for the first aid kit. “Then we’re both out of here.”
“More like two hundred and sixty-one days.” I shove the box of bandages back in the first aid kit and hand it to him. Then I push to my feet, ignoring all the places that hurt.
As we start down the depressingly dank hallway, the lightbulb starts to sway and sizzle in the completely still corridor. “What the hell is that?” asks Luis.
“A strong suggestion that we get a move on,” I answer, because lingering in the Calder Academy basement/dungeon is never a good idea. But before we can take more than a few steps, the bulb makes a popping sound. Seconds later, a bunch of sparks explode out of it—right before the hallway is plunged into darkness.
“Well, this certainly isn’t eerie at all,” Luis deadpans, coming to a complete stop to peer hesitantly into the black.
“You can’t honestly be afraid of the dark, can you?” I can’t resist goading him as I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Of course not. I am a wolf, you know. I do have night vision.”
“Doesn’t make you less of a chicken,” I tease.
I swipe my thumb across the flashlight app on my phone and shine the light straight down the hallway.
After all, the chricklers aren’t the only monsters down here—just the smallest and the nicest.
As if on cue, the door directly in front of Luis shakes violently on its hinges.
We don’t need any additional motivation. We both take off running, the beam of the phone flashlight bouncing along with my strides. As I look behind me to make sure that nothing is following us, the beam catches what looks like a hulking shadow in the adjacent corridor. I swing the light in its direction, but nothing’s there.
My stomach clenches because I know I saw something. But then a loud thump comes from the room on the left, followed by a clatter of chains and a high-pitched, animalistic screech that doesn’t seem muffled—at all—by the thick wooden door between us.
Luis picks up the pace, and I join him as we pass several more doors before the one in front of us starts to vibrate so violently that I’m afraid it could shake off its hinges at any second.
I ignore it, forcing myself to stay calm. One more turn, a mad dash, and we’ll be at the staircase. Home free.
