by T C Galinari
Curse of Night
T.C. GALINARI
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 Teresa Carol Galinari Crumpton
Published by T.C. Galinari
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or other status is entirely coincidental.
Ebooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever known, not known or hereafter invented, or stored in any storage or retrieval system, is forbidden and punishable by the fullest extent of the law without written permission of the author.
For more information, contact the author at
http://www.tcgalinari.com
Published: T.C. Galinari 2019
Cover Design: Gray Publishing Services
Formatting: Kristen Hope Mazzola
Edited by: Stephanie Taylor
To the Vampire lover in all of us…
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Note from the Author
T.C. Galinari’s Curse of Night Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
YA Titles from T.C. Galinari
Prologue
Giselle
Exiting the student center building, I pull my sunglasses off the top of my head and slide them over my eyes before zigzagging my way across the quad to a big tree in the center of the yard. Last night when I arrived, I searched the campus for the one place where I’d be able to see just about everyone as they go to and from class. This tree was it, and thankfully, it’s big enough that it shades a bit of the ground.
Dropping my oversized purse onto the ground, I take a seat by the tree. Legs straight out in front of me, I cross my ankles and lean back against the bark. Even on this college campus, I don’t want to be noticed. It could be dangerous. If my kind realizes I’m not in one of two places, they’ll hunt me, which is pretty ironic since I’m a hunter myself. But when you’re the only hybrid vampire-witch––and a vampire hunter to boot––powerful and stupid people are always trying to catch or kill you.
Reaching for my purse, I rummage through it until I find my phone. Waking up the screen, I check to see if I’ve missed any messages. I haven’t. Not surprising, but still annoying. Pulling up my message screen, I type out a quick text.
Me: I’m at his college, and it’s a bright, sunny day here, but I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that I’m being watched. Do you think they’ve found Sebastian and are waiting for me?
Not expecting an answer right away, I close out of my messages and open my Pinterest app. As I’m scrolling down through my interests, I spot a freaking kickass pair of vintage boots, and I quickly save them to my boot board. Continuing my search, a text notification pops up on my screen.
Drac: It is possible they may have found him already. However, I am positive if that was the case, your connection would have been severed.
Me: You're probably right. I'm just tired of this place. I'm ready to be back in Charleston, or even Brasov.
Drac: Little one, you will be home soon enough.
I roll my eyes even though Țepeș can’t see me.
Why does he always say weird things like that as if he can see into the future? It’s almost as freaky as I am.
Even from a continent away, I know Țepeș is grinning at me, which is still a little unnerving even after all these centuries. Though he's not as scary as everyone makes him out to be in stories and movies. Except when you call him Dracula even though that is his surname. Between the books and movies, he's over being called Dracula, and I think it's freaking hilarious, which is why I have him listed as Drac in my phone.
Drac: Or perhaps I will come to visit you in Charleston in a week or so. Have you made the decision as to what you would like to pursue for your education?
Me: No, so I signed up for basic classes and crossing my fingers something catches my interest.
Drac: We shall continue this conversation when you are not occupied by searching for your dream walker.
Me: ‘Night, Țepeș.
I exit the message and go back to my Pinterest addiction. As I scroll past more shoes, a gorgeous black and white picture of a woman dressed in a gothic dress walking up a staircase draws my attention. In fact, I'm pretty sure there’s a similar picture of me when I was a child, either in Țepeș’s fortress or in the Charleston mansion.
My phone buzzes and a message notification pops up on my screen.
Drac: Goodnight, my child.
Tears build behind my eyes at the sentiment, and I fight them back. No one needs to see my bloody tears. It’s times like this that I choose to forget all the horrific deeds he’s done in the past for the people and country he loves.
Being Țepeș’s ward has never been easy. Hell, being me has never been easy. But when you’re considered a “freak” even among the outcasts, that’s saying something. Țepeș is the scariest of our kind. Well, his kind. There is no other like me, and there never will be again. Vlad and Alonso De Salazar Frias made sure of that. However, that is a tale for another day.
Today, I have to find Sebastian. I would never have thought when I first began this journey to find the literal man of my dreams that it would take me this long. Since my reawakening, Sebastian has been a staple in my dreams. His first appearance came when he was five. At that time, I was in a centuries-long hibernation. At least that's what I call it now. My benefactors, Vlad and Alonso, called it protection. Accurate, seeing as I'm the only hybrid vampire-witch alive. Not to mention that I’m an abomination in most––okay, all––circles. My existence is thanks to my long-dead mother. Trust me when I say, it’s a good thing Alonso hunted her down and killed her. My mother was a truly badass witch of the black magic variety, and Alonso was one of the best witch hunters of all time. Why he spared my life is still a mystery, but the biggest mystery of all is why he joined forces with Vlad in order to train and to protect me.
A tingling sensation, almost like a spidey sense, starts at the nape of my neck and travels down my spine, pulling me out of my musing, and I glance up. Coming toward me is the man I’ve only ever seen from a distance in my dreams, but I’d recognize him anywhere. The one thing I will admit is that he’s cuter than I was expecting. We make eye contact briefly before he passes in front of me.
Climbing to my feet, I watch as he enters another building. I close my Pinterest app and open my messages to Țepeș, quickly typing out a message.
Me: Found him. We need to talk about the funky feeling I got when he came close to me.
When I finish, I slide my phone into my back pocket and leave the campus.
Chapter 1
Sebastian
"Sebastian, I'm coming. I'll find you." The alluring voice floats through my mind.
That voice––so soft and soothing––I'll never get tired of hearing it.
A figure with long hair steps out from the crop of trees, heading toward town with urgency. As she nears Main Street and the stores come into view, her pace slows. It's very early in the morning in this sleepy to
wn, but a few of the shops are starting to show signs of life. Strolling down the center of the road, the young woman stops at every open shop.
"Excuse me," she says, stepping into the first shop. "Can you tell me where to find Sebastian Lake?"
Why is this beautiful woman asking for me now? I've seen her time and time again in my dreams, but she's never been searching for me.
The woman straightening the store turns to look at her and shakes her head no in response. In the next handful of businesses she walks into, the young woman receives a variety of the same response.
I'm not surprised that the female shop owners don't tell the stranger where I live. Most of them were friends with my mom, and since her passing, they've taken me under their wings, so to speak and are quite protective of me. The girl passes the last retail shop and heads toward the local hangouts. As the young woman gets closer, her features sharpen into focus, and the recognition slams into me.
She’s the girl I saw today sitting under the tree on campus. What was the girl from my dreams doing there?
Crossing over Second Street, the woman heads for the first group of people she sees, two men standing in the middle of the road looking as if they're lost.
"Excuse me, do you know where I can find Sebastian Lake?" she asks once again, glancing between the men.
They both shake their heads, and she moves on. As she goes, those men watch her every move, and even though I watch from afar, there's a niggling sensation in the back of my mind telling me these men are up to no good.
Further down the street, delivery trucks start to open, and men begin unloading supplies for the restaurants and bars scattered in this part of town. Even though I can clearly make out the men’s faces on the street as she approaches them––many of whom were friends of my dad––something keeps blocking my view of the woman. I watch as she reaches them and asks the same question she’s asked everyone else she’s come in contact with. Those same men, chefs and barkeeps accepting their early deliveries, point her down the road.
“The Lake house is a few miles down the road. It’s the last reddish-gray brick house on the right.”
“Thank you,” she responds politely in her soft, musical voice. As she walks away from the last establishment, three strange men follow her, as do the first two men she came in contact with. The further away from the main road she wanders, the more talkative the men behind her become.
“Maybe we should take her with us. Isn’t she the one everyone talks about? The hunter?” one of the men murmurs.
They're coming for you! Be careful. Protect yourself, I whisper as I watch the men corner her.
Startled by a ghastly scream, I wake from my slumber tangled in my sheets.
Was this just another dream, or was it real? Will it ever end?
I've had the same damn dreams so many times now; it’s getting harder to tell what is real and what’s not.
Sweat beads on my brow as I lay silently on my bed, trying to fall back to sleep. Punching my pillow, I toss onto my side and close my eyes just as another scream sounds. I immediately jump out of bed. This time, I know the scream is real––it’s freaking right outside my bedroom window.
I can't still be dreaming, can I?
Running for the window across the room, my mind fills with wild and dreadful images. Images of dismembered, bloodless bodies scattered across the street. The carnage I saw in the dream only minutes ago. Peering out one of the beveled vintage 1920's glass windows, all that’s visible is a dim, white light in the middle of the road making a low buzzing sound. Pushing open the window, the early morning sounds of crickets, chirping birds, and two crowing roosters can be heard along with the hoot of a single owl. The hoot sounds as if it’s an ominous warning to my ears. The wind rustles the trees as my eyes adjust to the morning rays just breaking through the treeline. A faint voice calls out, and I realize it’s calling my name over and over.
Is that the voice from my dreams? Is she real?
Bewilderment strikes me, making my skin tingle as my breath catches in my chest. Frustration and curiosity hit me like a sledgehammer. I want––no, I need––to see what's happening, but the viewing angle from this old window isn’t allowing me to see much.
If I go downstairs, I’ll be able to see what the hell is going on.
Eager to investigate, I dash from my window, tripping once over a pile of dirty clothes and shoes on the floor, before I’m finally able to make my way out of my bedroom. Shaking my head, I get about halfway down the stairs before my steps falter, and I hear my mom's voice in my head.
"Sebastian, you need to pick up this pigsty. One of us will break our necks if we trip over your piles. Do you even know what's clean and what's dirty?"
Mom would have a field day if she was here to see this mess. I really need to clean my room.
I try––and fail––to walk and not run the rest of the way down the steps. Stepping onto the fifth step from the bottom, my chest begins to ache at the thought of my parents. It's been a couple of years since their passing, yet I sometimes forget that they’re gone. All it takes is one stupid, insignificant thought for me to remember, and my mind flashes back to the night the officers came to our door to tell me my parents’ plane had crashed. For a brief minute, I allow the pain of losing them, and the pity party of being alone, to take over before fortifying my mental and emotional walls again.
They’re gone, and there's nothing I can do to change it. Now, I just need to make them proud of who and what I can become.
Before I can finish my pep talk, the house rattles on its foundation, followed by a supersonic bang as the French front doors explode open. Debris flies in as the doors hang askew on their hinges. Stumbling backward, I lose my balance and fall hard on my ass onto the step above me. With ringing ears, I examine my arms, legs, and torso, making sure none of the debris injured me.
What the ever-loving hell?
Voices that I can’t fully make out filter in through the broken doors.
Cautiously, I reach for the banister and pull myself up. It takes several long moments for me to get back on my feet. With an aching back from falling against the steps, and a spinning head adding to the discomfort of my ringing ears, I slowly venture through the entryway and step onto the front porch. The scene before me is not what I expected, considering the damage done to my family’s home. Nothing is out of place except my own house. All the houses that surround mine are still intact, and there’s very little debris on the ground.
How was my house the only one affected?
A small group of people gathers in the illuminated street, but I don’t recognize any of them. Nor do I recognize the men walking toward the group. When the newcomers join the others, collectively everyone, except one person, takes a few steps back. The person left standing in what becomes the center of a circle spins around facing the men that just arrived.
“Leave. Now!” an angry female voice calls out, and it seems as if it belongs to the person being circled.
"We know why you’re here. Where is the boy named Sebastian?" a male voice questions, his words carrying on the light breeze.
“You know he’s protected. Your master can’t have him. Leave!” the melodic female voice hisses.
“What makes you think my master is going to listen to a half-breed like you or your blood-thirsty freak of a benefactor?” another male voice demands with an edge to his voice. “Both of you are outdated. They should have put you down all those centuries ago like they did your parents.”
With everyone’s attention focused on each other, I make my way off the patio and down to the street.
“Hunter,” calls the first male voice, and the woman stiffens. “You’re outnumbered. There is no way you can win this battle. Go home and leave the boy to us.”
A musical chuckle fills the space between the group and me.
“Oh, Nikolas, has my uncle taught you nothing? Even after all these centuries, he’s stopped tangling with me,” the woman taunts, sl
iding into a fighting stance.
“Little girl, we will crush you," the man growls.
"Nikolas, the only thing you have that will crush me is your stench!" she retorts.
The man she called Nikolas snarls before barking out orders. "Bring me her head and get the boy!"
Glancing over her shoulder, the woman gives my family home a once-over before she spots me. Her eyes lock on mine.
“Run!” she bellows at me as half of the group rushes her. Three men turn toward me, and I dart from my spot as they take up the chase.
Chapter 2
Sebastian
Behind me, grunts, groans, curses, and the sound of breaking bones tell me the fight has begun, but I don’t look back. I can't. Fighting every instinct shouting at me to turn back and help the woman, I push on. Some part of me recognizes that I have no choice but to do as she said. She told me to run, and for once, I listen without argument.
Why am I listening to her without argument? My parents taught me better than to leave a woman on her own. Especially one surrounded by men intent on hurting her.
“Come here, boy,” one of the men roars, and I push myself even harder to pick up my pace as I head up the street toward the hill.
Feet, don’t fail me now!
At the base of the hill, my thighs and calves start to burn as my right knee begins to ache from last year’s track injury. Maybe if I was at one hundred percent and back to playing football, I wouldn’t be this winded or in so much pain. Regardless, I keep running. It feels as if the men are right on my heels with their heavy breathing and footfalls just behind me as I struggle to keep up my pace as the hill grows steeper.
