by R L Medina
GRIMM Academy
The Complete Series
R. L. Medina
Contents
Shifters and Secrets
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
Acknowledgments
Vampires and Werewolves
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
Acknowledgments
Witches and Wizards
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
Epilogue
Author’s Notes
Acknowledgments
Also by R. L. Medina
About the Author
Shifters and Secrets
Book One
Copyright © 2020 by R. L. Medina, Moon Dragon Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For all the dreamers out there still waiting for adventure to find them. Go. Do. Live.
1
Hor-ri-fic. I glared at the high collared, boxy dress Tía Teresa laid out for me. Apparently she didn’t find my goth style appropriate for a funeral. Ironic. Grabbing the dress, I shoved it in the back of my closet. At least she got the color right.
Black.
The color of my hair inherited by a mother I’d never known. My wardrobe was made up of various shades of it—jet, obsidian, onyx, etc. One red dress stood out among the others like a rose smothered in shadow. I swore I’d never wear it.
Tonight, I would. For Papi.
He couldn’t see it now, but I would wear it all the same. Pulling it off the hanger, I forced down the wave of sorrow threatening to rise. Tears wouldn’t bring my father back. Life pushed on, dragging me along with it.
I held the dress up to myself. It was soft, flowy, and dark like the color of the wine, we so proudly produced, and the flower Mama and I were named after.
A knock on my door startled me. “Rosita, que tú haces?” came my tía’s voice.
I rolled my eyes. Contemplating burning your fugly abuelita dress, I wanted to tell her.
“Getting ready,” I replied instead.
Her heavy sigh made me bristle. Three days since she’d arrived, and she still didn’t get it. Pushing me only made me more stubborn and orders, yeah—I didn’t follow them.
Como hablarle a la pared—like talking to a wall, Papi used to say.
“You need help?” she asked in her accented English.
“No.”
Maybe she would stop trying to get me to speak Spanish. It felt wrong to speak it without Papi. The fact that I’d never hear the deep timbre of his voice again made my chest ache.
Steeling myself, I shed my giant tee and pulled the dress over my head. I stood before my floor length mirror and smoothed out the red fabric. Its low cut, high waist, and softness were at odds with my cropped cut hair and athletic frame. I didn’t really know what kind of woman my mom had been, but from the pictures I’d seen, I didn’t inherit her stern face nor her love for ridiculous gowns.
“Rosita?” Tía Teresa’s voice broke my thoughts.
I stiffened. “Rose.”
A clucking sound came from outside the door—her disapproval of my untraditional nickname. I didn’t care. Only Papi could call me his little rose, and now he was dead.
I never wanted to hear Rosita again.
Too lazy to make the trip into the bathroom, I dipped my fingers into an old cup of water and combed them through my hair. Dipping them again, I wiped the smudged black eyeliner off from under my eyes and grabbed my liquid pen from my shelf to reapply more. Black lipstick next and some black velvety flats for my feet, then I was ready.
“Rosi—”
I thrust the door open and cut her off.
Her eyes widened as she took in my appearance. I arched an eyebrow in challenge.
“Ready.” I marched past her, ignoring her heavy sigh.
“Where is the dress I bought for you? This is not a party. It’s your papa’s vigilia.”
Her words struck me cold. Party? I paused and slowly turned to face her, anger unfurling fast. “Oh, it’s not a party? ‘Cause I’m obviously having the time of my life right now.”
She flinched. “I know what it is to lose a father. I was younger than you—”
“This dress… it’s a birthday gift he gave me.” A sob caught in my throat. I forced it back down and scowled. “I’m not changing.”
She pursed her thin lips together but nodded. A look of pity flashed across her face, but I turned away before she voiced it. No more, ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘he’s in a better place.’
I didn’t want to hear those words.
Taking a deep breath, I collected myself. A wave of nausea hit as I stared over the balcony. Happier memories played out, making my chest tighten. Papi carrying me on his back, pretending to be my horse. Jumping from pillow to pillow to avoid the ‘lava.’ I’d grown up in this house, but how could it still be home without Papi?
Behind me, my tía’s heels clicked against the smooth wooden stairs. I squared my shoulders and continued the rest of the way, blocking out the memories. My eyes landed the multicolored vase in the wall niche. Fresh roses replaced the dead. Papi was the one to change them out. Who would do it now? A lump grew in my throat. Was this what life would be like now? The universe constantly reminding me of my loss?
“Rosi—Rosa,” Tía Teresa called. She’d already made it past the foyer.
I opened my mouth to correct her but shrugged it off. Rosa was still better, though it was my mom’s name. Turning my back on the flowers, I followed her into the hall toward the living room.
“Wa
it here with your cousins please. I’ll tell the driver to bring the car.” She waved me forward and disappeared back down the hall. Her long, black dress swished as she went.
My youngest cousins, Cristina and Juliana, sat together in the leather loveseat. Their long-sleeved, black dresses, stockings, and Mary Janes made them look like morbid dolls. They watched me with large brown eyes. With their silky black hair, lighter skin, and oval faces they were miniature versions of my tía. For three days they’d kept their distance, but their stares and whispers followed me. I couldn’t blame them. Ten years ago, they were still in my tia’s belly and if Papi hadn’t died, we’d probably still be strangers.
A clank sounded. I turned to see the golden framed picture of Mama flat on the glass table. Flushed, my cousin picked it up and set it upright.
I blinked in surprise. Javi? The towering hulk before me looked nothing like the scrawny boy I remembered. His deep brown eyes darted back and forth, uncertainty written on his face. His eyebrows were dark and thick, and his prominent chin made him look much older.
He ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair and cringed. Wiping his fingers on his black pants, he gave me a sheepish grin. Not used to wearing gel? I smirked. For some reason, that set me at ease. Maybe he was still the laid-back kid I remembered.
“Rosita.” He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. His cologne choked me and though we were cousins, the familiarity made my stomach knot.
It had been too long. We were strangers now.
“Rose.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Sorry. Rose… I’m sorry about your… dad.”
I stiffened. We hadn’t seen each other since we were seven. Now I was supposed to pretend that he cared… cared about me? Cared about my father? No. He was there—they were there out of obligation.
They were the only family I had left. My chest tightened.
Javi’s gaze flicked to my nose stud, but he didn’t say anything. Judging by their neat and prim appearance, such piercings were not allowed in his family.
“Papa said he was killed by a shifter.” My little cousin broke the awkward silence.
Her twin jabbed an elbow into her side. “Shh! You’re not supposed to tell her yet.”
I frowned at them. “A what? He died from a heart attack.”
They shared a knowing look and fell quiet.
“What are they talking about?” I glanced at Javi.
He smiled and shrugged. “Who knows? They’re weird.”
They stuck their tongues out at him in unison and pulled out their cell phones. The room grew quiet again. Javi shifted on his feet and loosened his tie. Sweat stained the pits of his light blue dress shirt, though the air was running full blast. Was it guilt? Discomfort?
Tía said he’d been delayed in coming because of something with school. Something apparently more important than rushing to my side to console me with enough tamales to feed an army like she had. Despite her need to obsess over everything and boss everyone around, I was thankful she’d taken control.
Someone had to. I knew jack squat about planning a funeral.
“Listos?” Her voice sounded behind me.
No. I wasn’t ready.
“Mami, where’s Papa?” one of the twins asked.
“He’s waiting at the church, mi amor.”
My mouth went dry. The church where Padre Santos would hold a candlelight vigil for Papi. Everyone in town would be there to say goodbye. It was better than hosting in our home, but how could I face them with their watery eyes and well wishes? I’d be reminded again and again that Papi was gone. Gone forever. A chill crept over me.
“Rose?” Javi touched my arm, startling me out of my paralysis.
I met his eyes and nodded. His forehead creased in concern. I flashed him a smile.
Don’t worry about me.
Inside I was crumbling, but I wasn’t going to break. Not here. I dug my nails into my palms, letting the pain steel me.
Hold it in. You will survive this.
“To the car, por favor. Vamos.” Tía Teresa’s shrill voice pierced through my thoughts.
Javi waved me first. The perfect gentleman.
“Does no one in your family drive?” I muttered to him as I passed.
Tía Teresa and the twins followed behind me, their shoes clapping loudly against the Spanish-tiled floor.
Javi caught up to me and grinned. “I’m grounded from driving and Mama…” He leaned in closer. “She’s scared of driving.”
I glanced at her stiff back. Was that what was beneath her strict, strait-laced personality? Fear? I didn’t remember her well, and I’d always thought of her as the unlucky woman who’d married Mama’s bully of a brother—Tío Javier.
Dismissing away the memories, I turned to Javi. “What did you do to get grounded?” My voice echoed down the hall.
My tía and cousins glanced back at us.
Javi flashed a sheepish smile. “Broke curfew.”
“I’m impressed. Thought you always followed the rules.”
His grin broadened. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, prima.”
Before I could respond, he quickened his pace and opened the front doors for us, letting us pass through. The early October California air was cool and crisp, but not cold enough for coats yet.
It as harvest time and without Papi the thought of enduring the rest of the season made my stomach ill. Sure, we had plenty of workers to see to it and our manager, Jose, was more than capable, but harvest time was Papi’s favorite.
Our favorite.
“Rosa, vamos.” Tía Teresa’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
I blinked at the black limo she’d rented. The driver stood with the door open, waiting for me. Fighting off another wave of nausea, I forced myself to slide in. The last time I’d been in a limo was two years ago for my friend’s quince, where we’d spilled her mother’s smuggled bottle of tequila all over the seats and our gowns.
The somber faces of my tía and cousins stared back at me, snapping me back to the present. There would be no dirty jokes and cheesy pop songs on this ride. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared out the window. Their pitying stares made my skin flush.
I didn’t want their damn sympathy.
Too little. Too late.
It wasn’t until after my mother’s death fifteen years ago that they reached out to us and it was only the occasional holiday or reunion where they remembered to invite me and Papi. Until Tío and Papi’s falling out ten years ago.
Now it was just me.
My tía’s voice droned on as she instructed us on proper behavior for the prayer vigil. ‘Proper behavior,’ I rolled my eyes. Though I was thankful for the noise filling the silence. Silence meant remembering, and remembering meant pain.
As we pulled up to the church, I grew numb. Clenching my eyes shut, I took a deep breath.
You can do this. You can do this.
Without warning, the door opened, and I froze.
“Miss?” The driver offered his hand.
I fought the urge to slap it away. He was just doing his job, but panic set in and all I wanted to do was run and hide.
“Give us a minute.” Javi motioned the driver back.
My rapid heartbeat drowned out the slam of the car door.
“Rosa, everyone is waiting. We must go.” Tía Teresa’s eyebrows pinched together.
Javi frowned at her. “Mami, tranquila.”
She snapped her mouth closed and shook her head at us.
My eyes met Javi’s. He reached across and held out his hand for mine. I didn’t budge.
Seeing my apprehension, he gave me a nod of understanding and let his hand drop.
“Take your time, prima. You don’t have to do this, you know.”
Tía Teresa scoffed. “Si. Ella tiene que hacerlo, Javier. It is her Papa’s vigilia.”
Cristina and Juliana stared in rapt attention, mouths agape.
Javi sighed. “Mami, ja. Give us a minute, plea
se.”
My tía huffed and waved a finger at me. “You must come in, Rosa. You will regret it forever if you don’t.”
With that final warning, she knocked on the door and motioned for the twins to slide out with her as the driver opened the door for them.
“Just come outside with me, Rose. We don’t have to go inside the church.”
I took a deep breath and followed Javi. The cool air landed on my exposed arms and back. We watched as tía led the twins inside and the driver nodded at us before pulling away to find parking.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I looked up. The Spanish cathedral towered above us, the light from the waning sun casting shadows on the cobblestones below.
Javi shifted on his feet. “I… I don’t know what to say. I know you probably don’t want to hear anything anyone has to say anyway, and if you don’t want to go in, I’ll tell the driver to take you back to your house.”
His dark eyes shone with concern and a protectiveness I’d forgotten about. I appreciated his concern, but a part of me still burned with anger. We hadn’t been a part of each other’s lives for a long time, and though he was trying to be nice, I hated that he saw me like that. I could read the pity in his eyes, and it made me feel weak. A lick of anger curled in my chest.