About the Author
Nicole Zoltack is a USA Today bestselling author who loves to write romances. Of course. She did marry her first kiss, after all!
When she’s not writing about knights, superheroes, or witches, she enjoys spending time with her loving husband, three energetic young boys, and precious baby girl. She enjoys riding horses (pretending they’re unicorns, of course!) and going to the PA Renaissance Faire dressed in garb. She’ll also read anything she can get her hands on. Her current favorite TV shows are Game of Thrones and Stranger Things.
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Read More of Nicole’s Books
Bedlam in Bethlehem Series
Magical Hunters Academy Series
Blood Haven Academy Series
Moonstone Academy Series
Magical Prison Series
Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunters Series
HEX Unite Series
Age of Dragons Series
Once Upon a Darkened Night Series
The Queenmaker Series
The Winged Beast Chronicles
Magic Incarnate Series
Beyond Boundaries Series
Nicole Zoltack writing as N. M. Zoltack
Join N. M. Zoltack’s Newsletter here for information about new releases and special sales.
In the Eye of the Dragon Series
Nicole Zoltack writing as Nicole Beyer
Magical Awakening Series
Blood Curse
Vampire Mafia: The Boston Clan
Angela Sanders
About Blood Curse (Vampire Mafia: The Boston Clan)
What happens when a witch accidentally drains an entire clan of vampires with one tiny spell?
It just might start a war between the Boston Clan of Vampires and Salem Witches.
Harlow’s tired of being cursed. She’s cursed as a witch with little power. She’s cursed by Mother Nature, and most of all, she’s cursed as the worst witch of her entire coven. She just wants one freaking day of peace. One. Is that too much to ask?
Emilio’s the boss of the Boston Vampire Clan, and he’s pissed. He’s got one mission: find the little witch who almost offed his whole family—and kill her. He doesn’t care if it starts a war with the witches. Emilio’s already got blood on his hands—what’s a little more?
But when he meets Harlow, he feels a spark, and it’s not just freaking magic.
What’s he supposed to do? There’s only one thing, and she ain’t gonna like it.
What do they say about best-laid plans?
Yeah, they never pan out.
Let the games begin in this somewhat comedic, dark fantasy, steamy mafia romance with a twist!
1
Harlow
“What the hell? I swear I’m gonna die.” It would be any moment now—I could feel it. This damn curse was a bucket of suck ass. You’d think being a witch I’d be able to do something about it. A potion? Anything? But no.
I clutched my stomach and curled into the fetal position. Counting backward, thinking of something else—nothing was fucking working. And I had no idea why this was so freaking bad right now. I was only twenty-three for shit’s sake. It’d never felt like I was being ripped to shreds from the inside. Something was terribly wrong.
The wind howled, sounding like an oncoming train barreling through town, and thunder clapped loudly as lightning whipped across the night sky. Huge tree branches from the neighbor’s oak smacked against my window, and I thought for sure they’d crash right through at any moment. Just awesome. A storm raged all around me, and I couldn’t get up off my godforsaken floor.
What kind of witch had almost no powers to speak of? Yeah, that’d be me: Harlow Bishop. Last name sound familiar? It should. Because I came from a long line of witches, and I belonged to the Salem Coven—the one that’d been around since before the Salem Witch Trials. Those Puritan bastards hadn’t even killed witches, they’d killed humans, while my ancestors had gone into hiding, cursing the families of those responsible for murdering innocents.
So, how was a Bishop witch borne into this sacred coven with only a spark of elemental power? Your guess would be as good as mine. And by a spark, I mean maybe lighting a match. Maybe, on a good day. My parents, Gilda and Reginald had basically shunned me as their daughter, while my younger sister Annabelle was the perfect child in every way. They never let me forget it, either. Needless to say, my familial relationship was somewhat strained on the best of days.
Lying on the stained black-and-white linoleum floor of my shitty studio apartment, I rolled to the side again, and an idea sparked. Pun totally intended, since my magic was craptastic. If I could get my hands on the coven’s Book of Shadows, then maybe, just maybe I could get rid of this curse. At least the curse of Aunt Flow. She was a real bitch. Yeah, it seemed like a stupid idea, but if anybody knew of the pain flowing through my body, they’d do anything to make it stop. I could barely lift myself up to grab my cell from my bedside table. If not the book, then I’d have to wing it. And seriously, nobody wanted that.
“Jemma.” I struggled to say, and it autodialed. Thank the gods and goddesses for Smartphones.
“Hey, Harlow. What’s—”
“Jemma, I… need your help.” I cut her off in a breathless stammer, getting straight to the point.
“Um, Har, you sound like shit. What’s going on?”
“Get Frankie, and—son of a bitch.” I slammed my hands against the floor, embracing the excruciating agony exploding throughout my lower abdomen—and suddenly, the lights in my makeshift bedroom flickered, while the candles on my dresser ignited of their own accord. Um… that was new. And just what the fuck?
The flames grew to at least two feet.
Holy. Shit.
What was happening to me? Was this some sort of wacked-out poltergeist fuckery? I so did not need this right now.
“Harlow! Are you all right? I’m on my way over.”
“No. I mean, no.” I breathed heavily like I was in a Lamaze class. This was freaking insane. Somebody had to be playing a magical prank on me. Oh, paybacks were a bitch. “Please…just listen.” I inhaled a sharp breath as another wave of pain blanketed over me. This was not normal. “I need you and Frankie to go through the Book of Shadows from the altar room. Look up the spell for the Blood Curse—it’s near the back…snap a picture.” I paused, taking another shuddering breath. “In and out so you’re not caught.”
I’d seen it a few times in the past when the coven leader, Nannette, had attempted to teach me the basics of using the elements: earth, wind, air, fire, and water. It was supposed to be a simple spell. So simple that she’d cast me aside as unteachable after only a few weeks.
Yep, that was my life. Only a spark of fire after I’d damn near cut my finger off in Potions and Herbs class. Don’t ask… And that’d been when my parents had essentially disowned me from their “prominent” magical line.
“Why the Blood Curse spell?”
Why did she have to ask so many damn questions? “Jemma, I don’t have time to—holy mother of—!” My shriek was interrupted when the electricity blinked off, and I cried out again—if this was what labor felt like, I doubted I’d ever have kids—and the angry storm picked up outside. “Please, just…get the damn spell,” I panted. “It’s the only thing… I know… I think…that can make this go away.” Words were getting harder.
“Whatever you say, Har. Be there soon.”
I ended the call without saying goodbye and threw my head back against the floor, dark-brown hair clinging to my sweaty face. This sucked balls.
Then, in the span of less than a minute, orange and blue flames danced across my fingertips and rested within my palms. My eyes felt like they’d bulged from t
heir sockets. I blinked several times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Nope. Not hallucinating.
Not even a little.
I. Freaking. Produced. Fire. From. My. Hands.
What in the actual hell?
And it didn’t seem like a fluke.
My mouth fell open, and I just stared, bringing my blazing hands to my face. I’d created fire magic.
In my entire life, nothing like this had ever happened before.
Closing my eyes, I willed the fire and misery away. I didn’t know if I had enough time to wait for Jemma and Frankie. Everything around me grew fiercer and more demanding: the storm, the surging of electricity, and though I’d been a bit dramatic before, I was sure something was going to happen now. Something that would definitely harm me. A growing sense of foreboding washed over my entire body, and I could feel it in my bones, streaming from my marrow as if it were a tangible tether.
I knew in my gut I would die or wish I were dead if I didn’t cast a spell—any spell.
Thinking back to the meager training I’d received by the coven, I recalled an incantation for getting rid of blood, pain, and healing cuts. I wondered if I tweaked it a little if it would at least alleviate this torture and whatever the hell I was bringing down around me.
Harsh winds and heavy rain battered against the windowpanes, and when I glanced up, the oak tree seemed to be bending to the elements will. The weather was out of control!
Screw it. No time for tweaking. I only hoped I got the damn thing right.
Picturing the Book of Shadows in my mind’s eye and trying my damndest to suck up the almost unbearable throbbing in my abdomen, I recited the spell as best I could from memory:
“Blood to blood,
Life for life.
Remove the curse of nature’s blight.
By the elements of earth, air, water, and fire,
Make it right.”
All the lightbulbs shattered in my bedroom and the windows flew open, the storm outside erupting into a crescendo. My body began to levitate from the floor as bright-white light burst from my pores like that of the sun’s rays. Open-mouthed and in shock, I stared, watching as the spell did its business. I mean, I thought I was casting a blood spell, not a light show, but whatever.
No sooner than the thought crossed my mind did my body slam onto the floor, hard, knocking me into oblivion. The last thing I heard was the sound of my windows banging closed.
Then it was lights out for me.
2
Emilio
“Boss, what the hell’s goin—?” I heard my consigliere as his speech was cut off, and I turned in my seat to see his face draining of all color.
“Nicky, you all right?” I snatched the disoriented human woman from his lap and gently set her on the opposite side of the booth. His eyes were rolling back in his head, and he started foaming at the mouth.
What the fuck? Had he been poisoned by bad blood? We screened all willing donors who came to our club, Crimson Inferno—it was mandatory!
“Nicky!” I slapped his face a few times, but he just groaned, and his huge body slumped in his seat. Upon closer inspection, I could see his face had become ashen, like he hadn’t fed in weeks. Like there wasn’t a bit of blood coursing through his body.
Standing from my crouched position and glancing around the club, I noticed Nicky wasn’t the only one. My whole fucking family seemed to be drained of blood. How was that possible? I fisted my hands at my sides, rage filling me. Nobody dared fuck with my clan. We were daywalkers, unlike the other vampires in the area. All because of my blood, more specifically, my family’s blood. I’d come from a magical bloodline mixed with vampirism, but only Nicky knew that secret—the real secret—nobody else. This had always been our advantage and why we’d remained the most powerful vampire mafia family on the East Coast.
But there was one secret I held close to my chest. Nobody knew, and I planned to keep it that way. This was my advantage and what made me a good boss. Until tonight. I hadn’t seen this coming, and I was pissed.
Strolling across the dimly lit club, everything had come to a halt. Humans had quickly made themselves scarce, and all that was left were my men. They were barely alive. This had been a hit—I could feel it in my bones.
The first name that came to mind was my nemesis, and the man who’d wanted my territory for decades: Victor Barone. He’d raided several of my businesses in the past in an attempt to (unsuccessfully) take over smaller districts, but this—whatever he’d done—was a call to fucking war.
Victor Barone and his whole damn family would die as soon as my men recovered. The son of a bitch would never see it coming. We’d live up to our name as monsters of both day and night, and I, Emilio Conte, Boss of the Boston Vampire Clan, would be the last fucking face that fat prick would ever see.
Storming toward the bar, I pulled out my cell, called my clean-up crew, and had our private doc sent over immediately to tend to my men. They needed blood as soon as possible, or they’d go into stasis sooner rather than later. Not on my watch.
Wondering why the hell I hadn’t been attacked, I rummaged behind the bar for a bottle of Scotch and poured three fingers into a glass. Tossing it back, I drank it down in one go. The burn of the whiskey didn’t do much for the blind fury coursing through my veins. So, I poured another, but before I could pick up my tumbler, a vision slammed into me, almost knocking me to my knees.
A storm raged outside a small apartment. It looked like Salem, and I could hear magic whispered on the wind. My vision grew sharper, and a young dark-haired woman’s face came into view—she was chanting a spell. Yet, she seemed to be struggling and in pain. Panning out farther, I observed she was alone and lying on the floor, her hands alighting in flames. I couldn’t hear all of what I assumed was a spell, only one part: “Blood for blood. Life for life.”
My eyes snapped open, and a low growl rumbled in my chest. I knew exactly where the woman was. It hadn’t been Victor who’d drained my men, but a mere witch. He’d get his for stealing from me when the time was right, but now was not that time.
I slammed back my whiskey and grinned, fangs bared. “I’m coming for you, little witch.”
3
Harlow
I awoke to a loud knock at my door. What time was it, anyway? Why had I slept on the floor? Good grief, I got on my own damn nerves sometimes. Had I gotten drunk again? Nah, I didn’t have a hangover. I felt fine. Better than fine, actually.
“Coming.” I picked myself up off the floor, stretched my arms over my head, and went to the door.
“Hurry up, Har. It’s Jemma.” She banged again, louder this time. “You okay?”
“What’s got your undies in a bunch?” I asked, unlocking the four deadbolts to let her in.
“Harlow, what the hell happened to you?” Jemma’s brown eyes widened as she scanned me up and down, and her short pink hair looked like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket.
“Um, I dunno. I just woke up on the floor.” I shrugged, closing and locking the door behind her. “Why?” Suddenly, everything that happened last night—or was it still the same night?—came flooding back to me. “Oh, shit. Uh, Jem, I sort of cast a spell…” I plopped on my hand-me-down red-and-black striped sofa, then speared my fingers through my long, tangled hair.
“You did what?” Jemma nearly shouted in my face as she sat next to me. “That’s why I’m here—to bring you the spell you asked for. Frankie had to be the lookout; he’ll be here soon. Do you have any idea what we went through to get it for you? It’s almost dawn.”
Uh-oh. She looked pissed.
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I peered up at her. “Sorry. I can only imagine. I would’ve called, but I passed out, lost time, or whatever.” I shook my head and took her hands in mine. “But, do you wanna hear some good news? Crazy news?” I met her gaze, nearly bouncing in my seat as I remembered the flames that’d flared from my hands. I still couldn’t believe it. And wait. I wasn’t
hurting anymore, either. The pain, it was gone.
Holy. Shit.
“What? What is it?” She squeezed my hands, excitement lacing her tone. “Did your powers finally manifest?”
“Jem, the spell I cast? It freaking worked! And, yeah, I guess so, in a weird sort of way, just not what I expected. I created fire magic for the first time ever.”
“Are you serious? What did you do? And how? What happened exactly? You weren’t clear on that part.”
Realizing I’d been slim with the details, I filled her in and gave her the cliff notes version.
“You what?” Jemma’s brows rose to meet her hairline. “Are you effing kidding me? That’s, that’s… it’s unheard of!”
“I know, right? But I remembered something I’d seen in the Book of Shadows. I think it’s a version of the spell I asked you to get. Anyway, I knew I had to do something, and so, I did.” I waved my arm, gesturing to the mess that was now my apartment. “Jem, I’d never felt so horrible in my life, not to mention the overwhelming sense of dread that accompanied it. Like serious harm or danger was heading straight for me. Not exaggerating—it was nothing like I’d ever been through before.” I shuddered at the memory. “Anyway, I thought for sure I screwed up the spell, but it’s all gone. I’m okay now. The only side effect was me passing out.” I lifted one shoulder. “No harm done, no consequences, or price for using magic. Win-win.”
Jemma stared at me and shook her head. “Well, now I know what caused that freaky storm. It had the whole coven thinking we were under attack. Your mom said it was supernatural. Guess she wasn’t wrong.”
“What do you mean ‘supernatural’? You’re saying I caused that storm?” She’d lost her damn mind if she thought I did that. Please. “Come on, Jemma. That’s impossible. We’re talking about me. My practically ‘nonexistent’ magic.”
Supernatural Syndicate: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Mafia Stories Page 18
