Super Dark 3 (Super Dark Trilogy)

SUPER DARK 3

By Tanith Morse

Copyright © 2013 by Tanith Morse

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For you, my constant reader.

About this Book

In this stunning finale to the trilogy, Super Dark 3 finds Sam Harper battling against the odds to preserve all that she holds dear. Torn between her conscience and the boy she loves, Sam must make a heartbreaking decision that will change not only her life but the lives of those around her forever.

This is BOOK THREE of The Super Dark Trilogy. It is not a stand-alone novel. If you have not read Super Dark (Parts 1 and 2) you need to do that first for the best possible reading experience.

Praise for Super Dark

First thing first this South London raised woman can write a book! Tanith Morse has left me waiting and wanting more more more! Super Dark is her first YA novel so far but I am here to say that I CANNOT WAIT for Super Dark two Nikki’s Book Blog

Your book left me begging for more of your work! The book had equal parts romance, mystery and horror, simply amazing. I loved the chemistry that Samantha and Elliot have together, flawless Amazon Review

This book was a total surprise. Super Dark is a sensational read from start to finish. With a first-class writing style throughout, Super Dark contains a marvelous plot to keep you intrigued from beginning to end. On the whole this was a magnificent read Goodreads Review

I loved discovering the secrets and reading as Sam figured it all out. It was a very interesting book and had a brand new supernatural creature in it, at least new to me. Major cliff-hanger ending YA Teen Readers Book Blog

4.5 Stars. A brilliant paranormal romance for Older YA. This is different to most books I have read, the premise is unusual and the book screeches at you from the start, like nails down a blackboard Goodreads Review

This is literally one of those can’t put it down books. I was completely enthralled and I will definitely purchase the next book when it comes out!!! Amazon Review

I could not put this book down, I ended up staying up late one night to finish it. I can’t wait for the next book. It was so refreshing for the supernatural to be something different from most everything else out there Goodreads Review

Can’t wait for the sequel!! I am literally checking every day for the release date of part 2. Great story and keep the books coming!!! Amazon Review

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

About this Book

Praise for Super Dark

Join My Facebook Group!

ONE Back to Black

TWO Heat

THREE Nice and Slow

FOUR The Dinner

FIVE The Sting

SIX Truce

SEVEN Gorgeous

EIGHT Abracadabra

NINE The Uninvited

TEN Close Call

ELEVEN The Plot Thickens

TWELVE Light and Shadows

THIRTEEN Crimes and Misdemeanors

FOURTEEN Showdown

FIFTEEN Three Months Later

Thank You!

About the Author

Also by Tanith Morse

ONE

Back to Black

"Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?"

I looked up from my book. The boy standing over me had warm brown eyes and a cute face but I didn’t return his smile. He was the new kid from my English class who kept staring at me. Until today, I’d managed to give him the brush-off. Now that he’d cornered me on the benches behind the Science department, there was no escape.

I’m reading, I said sourly.

Meaning?

Meaning I’m not looking for company.

You could always make an exception.

You’re not too bright, are you?

Undeterred, the boy sat next to me, stretching out his long, tanned legs. It must have been about eighty-two degrees and beads of sweat had soaked through his shirt and shorts, making the material cling to his body like a bathing suit. I also noticed that he had little blond hairs along his thighs.

Gosh, it’s hot, he said, closing his eyes against the sun. I’m Tom. We have English together.

I know. You sit next to that boy with the perpetual line of snot around his nose.

Tom sniggered. What’s your name?

I didn’t answer.

Samantha Harper? he prompted.

I rolled my eyes. If you already knew my name, then why bother asking?

I just had to check. He looked at me furtively. Listen, I know this might sound bold, but are you the girl who was—

Yes, yes, I snapped. That was me in the newspapers—the girl who was kidnapped. And no, the police haven’t found any trace of Elliot, but if you have any press-related queries, my publicist is the great Clifford Maxwell. For the right price, he’ll be more than happy to share with you the catalogue of disaster that is my life. Now please, if the interrogation is over, I’d like to return to my book.

Tom blushed. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I’ve never met anyone famous before and I thought it would be cool to talk to you.

I was incensed. If meeting me is the biggest thrill of your life, then you really need to get out more. But I digress; I’ve got a History exam in forty minutes and I really need to study. So, if you don’t mind …

Tom gave a lopsided grin. Oh come on, don’t be like that. I’m only trying to be friendly. I just wanted to know if—

I gave him no chance to complete the sentence. Closing my book, I got up, slung my bag over my shoulder, and stormed toward the cafeteria. Anything was better than another bloody grilling.

As I approached one of the crumbling outer buildings, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. This was the second time in two days that I’d had to shield off unwanted attention from boys. It wasn’t fair. Despite my self-imposed exile, the opposite sex just kept on coming to bother me. They were drawn to me like a magnet—something that only made my crazy predicament even worse.

Grimacing, I looked down at the huge wedding and engagement rings on my finger. The metal sparkled brightly in the midday sun and, despite the heat, I felt a cold shudder. The rings served as a constant reminder of my dark past—a past that still cast a long shadow over my future.

It hadn’t always been this way.

Less than four months ago, I had been a relatively normal seventeen-year-old (albeit with anger management issues caused by a childhood trauma). At that point, a series of shocking events had forced me to marry Elliot Marsh, my childhood best friend who just happened to also be a Gresvelt—a shape-shifting creature so hideous he could give Satan nightmares. Unknown to me, the vows I’d taken during the wedding ceremony were a black-magic ritual that had bonded me to Elliot for life, meaning I couldn’t so much as kiss another guy without experiencing the effects of a heart attack. And I do mean that literally.

I’d tried to find a way to break the curse; gone so far as flying in a psychic healer from Japan to perform an exorcism, but nothing had worked. Apparently, Gresvelt black magic was the strongest in the world and there wasn’t anything anyone could do for me. Now it looked as if I was doomed to stay married to Elliot forever, which wouldn’t have been too bad except every time we got physical, he turned into a Gresvelt. Any strong emotion—lust, anger, fear—could trigger his monstrous transformation, killing any hopes we had of a love life.

The sound of strident laughter brought me back to the current moment. Turning, I saw a gang of boys from the rugby team walking in my direction. One of them called out to me, asked me to come over and talk, but I ignored him. I just couldn’t take any more confrontations right now. Not so soon after the Tom debacle.

Hurriedly, I marched through the shadowy corridors of St. Mary’s High School toward the cafeteria. As I approached the entrance doors, I felt a sudden pang of nerves and wondered if I was really ready to do this. I heard the chatter of voices from within, the chink of plates and cutlery, and asked myself if I was crazy.

For a while, I hesitated. Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled up my hood, pushed open the cafeteria doors, and did a quick survey of the place. It was packed as usual and there were barely any free seats.

Biting my thumbnail, I crossed to the long serving counter and scrutinized what was offered today. I hadn’t had much of an appetite for weeks and certainly wasn’t in the mood for any of the junk food on display. In the end, I settled for a solitary apple and a bottle of water, taking my tray over to the checkout. After I’d paid for my lunch, I made my way across the crowded room to a small, secluded table, where I hoped to be as inconspicuous as possible. Adjusting my hood so that my face was more obscured, I pulled out a chair and sat down. Keeping my head low, I proceeded to eat my apple, taking small mouse-like nibbles, my eyes fixed on the table in a trance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I sneaked a peek at the large table in the middle of the room reserved for the popular crowd. I could hear Becky’s raucous laughter, Hannah’s high-pitched staccato, and Jermaine’s dull baritone. Once upon a time, I had sat at that table and been part of the ‘in crowd.’ Not anymore. Now because of the Gresvelt curse, I had distanced myself from everyone and confined myself to my own little bubble. The main reason was Frasier Harrison—my one-time best friend at St. Mary’s. A couple of weeks ago he’d told me that he was in love with me, but being around him right now was impossible because of the Gresvelt curse.

I felt bad because we used to have such a close friendship, but of late, Frasier’s clingy behavior and wistful stares during class had become too much to take. As a result, I now spent every day at school trying to avoid him, going out to lunch and leaving class early whenever I could.

It was a horrible situation. Locking him off had meant having to distance myself from Becky and the ‘in crowd.’ Frasier was a popular guy—the center of attention for both his acerbic wit and bombastic fashion sense—so cutting ties with him was akin to social suicide.

I hated myself for being such a coward. I hated myself for not being able to look my wonderful friend in the face and tell him the truth about everything. I knew that Frasier deserved better, but right now, I couldn’t deal with any more stress in my life. The Gresvelt curse had plunged me into the worst phase of depression I’d ever experienced and there was nothing anyone could do to raise my spirits. When I felt like this the only thing I wanted was to be alone. I couldn’t cope with large crowds; I couldn’t cope with maintaining the facade of normality—when inside I felt like screaming. I had to have time to myself to work things out my way, in my own time.

The bell sounding the end of lunch snapped me from my reverie. I packed up my stuff and made my way with the other kids toward the gymnasium where the History exam was due to start. Luckily for me, I’d studied the Russian Revolution at my previous school so it had merely been a case of sifting through old coursework notes to familiarize myself.

As our teacher, Mr. Treagus, babbled on about remembering to switch off our cell phones, I took a desk at the back of the room, hoping to stay off his radar as much as possible.

Fat chance.

Hey, you there at the back, Mr. Treagus boomed. Kindly take your hood down. This isn’t the street, you know.

Reluctantly, I pulled down my hooded sweater and endured the unwanted scrutiny of my classmates. Mr. Treagus was one of those annoying people who liked the sound of his own voice and never missed an opportunity to humiliate you. The old me would have shot back with something smart, but as I’d promised Mum to be good, I kept my mouth shut.

Moodily, I took my pencil case out of my bag and waited to get the go-ahead to start.

All right, you may begin, Mr. Treagus declared, glancing at his watch.

Quickly, I turned over my exam paper to see what the questions were. I blanched. The subject heading read: The English Civil War 1642

I was in trouble. Big trouble. I’d had it from a reliable source that this exam was about the Russian Revolution, but it looked as if somewhere along the line, I’d got my wires crossed. I’d never studied the Civil War in my life and hadn’t a clue where to start.

For long moments I sat staring into space, nibbling my pen tip, trying to work out what to do. Decisively, I started writing. The vast majority were multiple choice questions so I figured I may as well take a crack at it. On lucky guesses alone I reckoned I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting at least a pass.

The first hour flew by without a hitch as I waded through the paper, randomly ticking whatever boxes took my fancy. Toward the end things started to go awry. I ran out of multiple choices and was left with nothing but a blank space to fill in.

I stared dumbly at the final question: What contribution did the Irish Rebellion have on the build up to the Civil War?

Licking my lips, I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Ten to four. I couldn’t be bothered anymore so just wrote the first answer that came into my head.

I don’t bloody know. Do you?

With an exasperated sigh, I slammed down my pen and folded my arms—a sign that I was finished. Mr. Treagus strutted over and took the paper from me.

You may be excused, he whispered icily.

I couldn’t get out of the place fast enough.

Hurriedly, I left the gymnasium and rushed to the locker room to get my things. Just as I was closing up, I heard quiet footfalls and the gentle rustle of clothing. Startled, I turned and saw Frasier standing beside me. He was wearing a black bowler hat with a purple fitted jacket and a leopard-print cravat. Typical Frasier. Only he could pull off such a crazy ensemble.

Hey, he said uncertainly.

Hey, I said, closing my locker and facing him.

So, how are you doing?

I’m good. Really good. In fact, I’ve never been better.

How did your History exam go?

Don’t ask!

He gave a faint smirk. My face remained placid.

For an interminable moment, we stared at each other. I felt a terrible twinge of guilt. Frasier’s eyes were so mournful; I found it kind of heartbreaking. It was almost enough to melt my black heart. Almost—but not quite.

Why have you been avoiding me? he blurted.

I’m not, I lied. I’ve just had a lot of stuff going on at home. Personal issues and stuff. I needed some space to get my head together.

Chewing his bottom lip, Frasier took a step forward and closed the space between us. We were now almost touching and it made me feel a little out of my depth.

Why are you acting so cold toward me? he asked quietly. Why don’t you return my calls or go to lunch with me like we used to? Everyone thinks we’ve had a major bust-up.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels, fixing my gaze on the floor. It’s got nothing to do with you, Frasier. Honestly, you’re lovely. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. I’ve just got a lot of personal stuff stressing me out at the moment. But the two of us are cool.

Frasier’s tone hardened. Don’t insult my intelligence, Sam. I know when you’re lying, so just give it to me straight, okay? You don’t have to skirt around the issue.

What issue?

I know you don’t fancy me. I know you’re in love with Lee and right now you can’t see beyond that. But hey, that’s cool. I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak so I’ll just have to deal with it. But please don’t cut me out of your life completely. What we had was special, Sam—and I’d rather have your friendship than nothing at all. Please come back to me. Becky misses you … I miss you. We want you back in the fold.

I maintained a steely reserve. Look, if it’s about the money—that five hundred pounds you loaned me—then fine. I’ll pay you back every single penny. I don’t want you holding it against me.

It’s not about the bloody money! Frasier shouted. "I don’t want the money. I want my friend back—my beautiful, smart, funny friend who likes Star Trek and thinks the Star Wars prequels suck. I want the girl who gave me a reason to wake up in the mornings, my partner in crime. He closed his eyes briefly to contain his emotion. Look, we’re not in kindergarten so quit playing games, huh? Just give it to me straight. I can take it."

I looked at him with muted exasperation. He just won’t quit, will he?

It’s Lee, isn’t it? he said softly.

My back stiffened. ‘Lee’ was the alias Elliot used around my friends and none of them, not even Frasier, knew his true identity. The charade had gone on for so long even I had trouble keeping up with how many lies I’d told.

Have the two of you had some sort of bust-up? Frasier probed.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Please Sam, you can talk to me. I know something’s not right. You don’t speak. You don’t eat. You’ve lost a ton of weight and walk around school with a face like thunder. You’re clearly suffering badly and I don’t like the idea of you having to face this alone.

Your concern overwhelms me, I said bitterly.

Has Lee dumped you? Frasier asked outright. Is that what this is all about?

I wiped away a tear. No, he hasn’t dumped me. We just can’t be together, that’s all.

So it’s definitely over between the two of you?

Yes, I mean, no … oh I don’t know. Everything’s so bloody complicated.

How can he treat you like this? Frasier asked fiercely. How dare he make you cry? How can he cast you aside as if you don’t matter? Sam, I swear to god if you’d only give me the chance I’d show you how—

I flung up my arms in despair. Please, Frasier. No more! I appreciate your concern but this is something I have to deal with on my own. I’m in a very bad situation and I wish to god I could share it with you, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous.

Dangerous? Frasier frowned. What do you mean dangerous?

No, I’ve said too much already. Adjusting the straps on my bag, I marched up the hall toward the foyer. I’m sorry; I need to catch my bus, but thanks for caring. Softly, I added, I love you. You’re the best.

I didn’t wait to see his expression.

After the History exam fiasco I needed to unwind so I took the bus to a new gym that had opened on the other side of town. I’d started working out at home a year ago, after my doctor had said it was a better cure for depression than medication. She was right. During the time I spent exercising, I barely thought about my problems. It was the only time I felt totally free. The only time I felt completely in control—despite all the chaos around me.

I arrived at Connections Gym around four-thirty p.m. I walked through a set of automatic doors to a plush reception area, and asked the blonde behind the counter about memberships. She signed me up for a month’s trial and gave me a free day pass. Afterward, I went to the changing rooms and threw on an old sweatshirt and shorts. Taking a deep breath, I entered the main gym area. The air was filled with the grunts and groans of self-inflicted pain as hordes of men with brown tans and rippling muscles worked out. I stalled by the door a while, watching them flexing their glistening bodies on the work benches.

I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the mirrored wall. The gaunt figure peering back looked so pale and scrawny I immediately felt my confidence evaporate. I’d once had a figure to be proud of—the kind Frasier had described as ‘bootylicious’—but lack of sleep and zero appetite had seen me lose fifteen pounds in as many weeks.

Feeling low, I turned around and went to the adjoining room where the exercise bikes and treadmills were. The majority of the people there were women so I felt a little less self-conscious. I found a secluded corner and proceeded to do warm-up exercises on a rubber mat. I wasn’t sure if I was doing them right, but it was all I could remember from my P.E. classes at school.

After fifteen minutes I hadn’t even begun to work up a sweat, so I took a swig of water from my plastic flask and returned to the main gym area. I stood hesitantly in the doorway, wondering which machine to try out first.

Sorry, can I get past please?

I turned and saw a tall redhead with a friendly face standing behind me.

Quickly, I moved out the way to let her pass.

Thanks, the stranger smiled.

My eyes followed her. I watched her sit down at a work bench and proceed to lift a hefty chrome dumbbell. I was awestruck. The woman had the perfect build—not overly huge and pumped like she’d taken steroids, but natural, toned, sculpted, and strong.

After completing two sets, the woman carefully rested the dumbbell on the mat between her feet and stood. She caught me staring at her.

You’re new here, aren’t you?

I nodded.

What are you looking to do? Do you wanna tone up?

Yeah. I want to be like you.

The woman broke into a laugh. That’s sweet of you to say. If you want, I’ll put together a training program for you.

Thanks, that’d be great, I smiled.

The woman shook my hand. She had a strong, firm grip. I’m Julie by the way.

Sam.

Okay Sam, let’s get you started.

For the next hour, Julie took me through a standard fitness regime. We spent the bulk of the time lifting weights and doing abdominal workouts, followed by twenty minutes of cardio. A lot of what we did I was already doing at home, but it was still good to get some professional guidance.

"Now, the key is not to burn yourself out too