PREORDER Nightbound (Widdershins #6) - Signed Paperback

Valen:
Three centuries teach you discipline—over hunger, over steel, over desire. I’m at Widdershins Academy as a Resident instructor, coaching the fencing team and keeping to the shadows. No attachments. No slipups. Then Archer Quinn steps onto the piste—quick, bright, defiant—and one clash of blades tells me the truth I don’t want. Fate has marked him mine.


It would be easy to walk away if his laughter didn’t feel like a long lost sunrise, if his pulse didn’t steady the beast in me. But the academy’s code forbids Residents from fraternizing with students, and his coven forbids him from even speaking to the undead. I’ve broken a lot of rules in my life.

I don’t want to break him..

Archer:
I came to Widdershins to keep my head down—win meets, pass exams, make my coven proud. Vampires are untrustworthy and therefore off-limits. That’s the first lesson my coven taught me. And then Valen Crowe corrects my form with a gloved hand and everything I know about following the rules goes sideways.

He’s wrong for me in every way—older, dangerous, the enemy by tradition. Yet when our blades meet, my magic sings to his darkness like it’s been waiting. If I choose him, I risk my scholarship, my standing, my future. If I don’t… I’ll spend the rest of my life pretending I didn’t feel destiny bite down.

Nightbound is a rich, high-heat dark academy romance. Fated mates, enemies-to-lovers tension, and an age-gap spark that defies every rule. Perfect for readers who want sharp banter, stolen midnight lessons, and a love that chooses itself even when no one else will.

Excerpt from Chapter One: Valen

Chapter One: Valen
“This is a syllabus,” I said, holding up the small packet of paper for the whole room to see. “To you it may be just a piece of paper you plan to throw away the moment you leave this room.”
That got a few chuckles. It always did.
“But what it really represents is the struggle of the paranormal world to keep up with the mortal one.”
Silence.
Perfect. I had their attention.
“For thousands of years, the paranormal world was the envy of all mortals,” I continued. “That’s why they built statues for us, buildings, and wove us into their mythology. We lived side by side until the beginning of the Renaissance, usually to our benefit and not theirs. Which probably explains why they began hunting us.” I walked around the room, still clutching the syllabus in my hands. “We took to the shadows, happy to continue to think we were the superior species. But in the past two hundred years, that has changed.”
I stopped at the front of the room, looking them over one by one.
“Magic is no longer king in this world. It is powerful, yes, but technology grows far swifter than our magic can.” I held up the syllabus again. “It took a team of witches nearly fifty years to figure out how to copy paperwork, at scale, without the use of enchanted typewriters. In that time, mortals have gone from typewriters to smartphones. And since magic and technology seem to be completely incompatible, they continue to outstrip us, growing far faster than magic ever could.”
I couldn’t help but smile, knowing I had my students full attention.
“So, next time you go to throw your syllabus away, remember how much time and effort it took to create.” Then, with a wider grin, I added, “And please read it. I don’t want to be answering the same question about grading all semester.”
The laughter that followed was warmer this time, more genuine. I set the syllabus down on my desk and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was an actual analog clock, because digital ones were absolutely fucking useless around concentrated magical energy. Twenty minutes left in the period.
“Now, since we’ve covered the tragic history of paranormal technological incompetence,” I said, earning another round of chuckles, “let’s talk about why you’re all here. Advanced Paranormal History isn’t a requirement for graduation. It’s an elective that most students avoid like a particularly nasty hex.”
I leaned against the edge of my desk, crossing my arms. The movement made my dress shirt pull slightly across my chest, and I didn’t miss the way several students’ gazes lingered. Occupational hazard of being a vampire professor, I supposed. The supernatural pheromones were impossible to completely suppress, even after three centuries of practice.
“So either you’re genuinely interested in learning how we went from gods among mortals to hiding in academies like Widdershins,” I continued, “or you heard this was an easy A and figured you’d coast through with minimal effort.”
A hand shot up near the back of the room. I nodded at the student. He was a werewolf, judging by the scent, and probably a sophomore.
“Professor Crowe, which category do you think we fall into?”
Smart kid. Turning the question back on me. I grinned, letting just a hint of fang show.
“Oh, I already know which category each of you falls into,” I said. “The question is whether you’ll prove me wrong.”
I watched as several students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while others sat up straighter, as if accepting a challenge. The werewolf who’d asked the question was grinning now, and I made a mental note that he might actually be one of the interesting ones.
“But before we dive into the real meat of this course,” I said, pushing off from the desk, “I want to establish some ground rules. First, this isn’t high school. I’m not going to hold your hand or remind you about assignments. You’re adults, or close enough to it, and I’ll treat you as such.”
I began pacing again, a habit I’d picked up somewhere around the nineteenth century when lecturing became a regular part of my existence.
“Second, if you have a problem with learning history from someone who actually lived through most of it, there’s the door.” I gestured toward the exit. “I’ve had students complain that my perspective is ‘too biased’ because I was actually there for the Revolutionary War, the founding of the first paranormal academies, and both World Wars. Apparently, firsthand experience doesn’t count as academic credibility anymore.”
A few more chuckles, but I also caught some wide-eyed stares. Right. Sometimes I forgot that my age wasn’t immediately obvious to everyone. The perks of being turned young and having decent genetics.
“Third,” I continued, “participation matters. This isn’t a lecture hall where you can hide in the back and sleep. I know all your names, I can smell when you’re hungover, and I will call on you randomly. Consider yourselves warned.”
I glanced up at the clock again. Ten minutes left. But I was happy with what we’d covered.
“Does anyone have any questions about the syllabus?”
No one raised their hand.
“Alright. Before I let you go early, I have one piece of homework for you all.”
That was met with groans. I always got that on the first day of class. I couldn’t help but smile.
“I want you to think of a time period in history that you’re most curious about. Write it down, and bring it with you to our next class.” Relief washed over the room slowly as they realized just how easy that assignment was. “I teach my classes with any open mind to questions and curiosity. So tell me what you want to learn about and we’ll learn it all together.” I gave them all a wave. “Class dismissed.”
Everyone gathered up their bags and headed through the exit. To my surprise, not a single person dropped their syllabus in the trash on the way out. I must’ve been getting better at that opening speech.