The Cursed (The Unearthly)

by Laura Thalassa

  His nostrils flared and he lifted his chin as he scented the air. His pupils dilated. “What is that smell?”

  “What smell?”

  Andre let me go, only to walk further into the room … towards the rumpled bed. I’d had one of those “Do Not Disturb” signs outside my room, so the maid hadn’t come in.

  Andre fisted the sheets and brought them to his face.

  Ah. Oh. He could smell Oliver’s scent mixed with mine.

  Rage crackled off of it the second he lowered his hand. “What. Is. This?”

  I did probably the worst thing I could in that moment. I laughed. But I mean, seriously? Oliver and me?

  “You think this is funny?” He practically growled the words.

  I tipped my head back and forth, weighing his words. “Kinda?”

  Oliver chose that exact moment to come barging into the room. “Lover bunny!” he shouted as he skipped inside.

  Next to me, Andre went rigid.

  “You’ve been ignoring me all day, and I want to have fun with you …” Oliver’s words died on his lips when he saw us.

  He stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t know you two were in here getting jiggy with it.” Oliver looked like he was going to say more. I shook my head and drew my hand across my neck.

  Confused, Oliver glanced at Andre, who still clutched the rumpled sheet in his hand and was flashing the fairy a look that promised retribution.

  Understanding dawned on Oliver’s face. He backed away. Smart fairy. “I’ll just leave you—”

  “Have you been sleeping with my soulmate?” Andre cut in, his voice low.

  “Errr, not like that. Although she does have nice boobs,” he said thoughtfully. After a pause he added, “Only pair I’ve ever fondled and enjoyed.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Oliver just …”

  I saw Andre’s muscles tense to attack Oliver, so I did something Andre himself had taught me to do: I tackled him. We tumbled onto my bed, wrestling to get the upper hand.

  “Stop. Being. Possessive,” I ground out.

  Andre rolled on top of me. “You push me too far, soulmate.” Well damn, he didn’t even sound winded.

  Oliver made a small noise, and then I heard the sound of his retreating footfalls. My door opened and closed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least Oliver had the sense to get out of the warpath of my raging boyfriend.

  Andre didn’t make any attempt to go after him. Instead he stared down at me, his eyes dark pools. “Soulmate, how could you?” Betrayal laced his voice.

  I raised my brows. “Did you really think I did anything with Oliver? Oliver?” I asked.

  “You’re a siren,” Andre replied. “Anyone—man or woman, gay or straight—can be attracted to you.”

  Well, I could’ve used that piece of knowledge before this morning’s grope session.

  “So you assumed that I’d cheat on you?” I said. “Me, your soulmate.”

  I could see some of the anger drain from Andre’s features. Beneath it was something vulnerable. Dare I think it? Was Andre … unsure of himself? That was new.

  I hooked a leg around his hips and flipped us, readjusting my body so that I straddled his torso and pinned his arms. “You are insane if you think that anything happened,” I said, then backtracked. “Well, okay, Oliver did grope me,” Andre stiffened beneath me, “but on accident while we were asleep.” I rushed the rest out.

  “On accident?” Andre looked murderous. He began to push me aside, his focus on the door.

  I tightened my grip. “Chill, Andre, it’s not a big deal.”

  His expression begged to differ. “I will not chill.”

  I wiggled my hips and bent over him. I smiled slowly as his attention refocused itself on me.

  “Having you beneath me is kind of … hot,” I said, gazing down at him.

  His eyes smoldered. “You think you have me trapped?”

  “Last I checked, I’m the one pinning you down.”

  His trapped hands curled around mine. That … wasn’t supposed to happen. “You’ve gotten good at grappling,” he said, “but you still have a ways to go, young grasshopper.”

  My eyes lit up. “Hey, that was a pop culture reference and a joke! I’m officially impressed.” Playful Andre was a rare treat.

  Faster than I could react, Andre hooked a leg around me. I let out a small squeak when he flipped us. Within seconds I’d gone from holding him down to being pinned beneath him.

  “Your words are insulting,” he said, his hair tickling my cheeks as he bent over me, “but I forgive you.” He nuzzled my neck. His lips brushed over it, trailing kisses down to the hollow of my throat.

  I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, reveling in sensation of his mouth on my skin. He hesitated against me, and I felt the air in the room change from playful to serious.

  His mouth hovered over the base of my throat for what felt like an eternity. “I love you,” he whispered against my skin.

  I didn’t move. Had I heard him right? ’Cause it sounded like …

  Andre drew his head back and stared me in the eyes. “I love you, Gabrielle.”

  Chapter 12

  My gaze locked with his.

  He let go of my hands and caressed my cheek. “I have for a very long time—”

  “I love you too.” The words just slipped out, as though my mouth had consulted my heart, not my head.

  He pulled back just long enough for me to see his astonishment.

  “What, you though this was a one-way thing?” I asked jokingly. But I was far from joking. Adrenaline swamped my system.

  Instead of responding, he dipped his head down and pressed his lips to mine. The connection between us throbbed, and my skin pulsed. This kiss was more intimate, more raw, than our others. I could’ve sworn I felt him tremble as he held me, but perhaps that was my imagination. I knew that my heart was trying to leap from my body.

  His hands wound themselves into my hair as he deepened the kiss. My lips parted and he brushed his tongue against mine. I let my hands trail over the sculpted muscles of his arms, wishing not for the first time that I could feel the press of his bare skin against mine.

  With a final press of his lips, the kiss ended. “I’ve never had this,” he whispered against my lips. “Relationships, yes, but never, never this.” He cupped my face like I was some precious thing.

  I reached up and traced his lips with a finger, wonder at him—at us—filling me. “Neither have I.” We both smiled at that, Andre’s lips rubbing against my finger.

  Tentatively his thumb touched the soft skin beneath my eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

  There was no use lying to him. “No, not really.”

  “Are you still having dreams of him?”

  I licked my lips. “Sometimes.”

  Andre made a noise low in his throat. “Sneaky little bastard,” he muttered.

  It took everything I had to keep a straight face at his words.

  He exhaled and gathered me close. “Tonight I get the night off from the trial, so I can be with you the entire night—if you’d like that.”

  I couldn’t stop the wide grin that broke across my face. “Naw, that sounds awful.”

  Andre squinted. “Is that sarcasm?”

  I rolled my eyes, and he let out a bark of laughter and squeezed me tighter. “You are such a strange creature. I think that’s what I love best about you.” He gazed at me tenderly.

  “You better watch yourself, punk,” I said, even though happy laughter bubbled inside my chest.

  “Punk?”

  I couldn’t tell whether Andre’s expression was more amused or insulted.

  “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

  And then
we were rolling and laughing. “Someone needs to wash that mouth of yours out,” Andre said, pinning my arms again.

  “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

  He stole a kiss. “Damn my wicked soul, but I do. I absolutely do.”

  “Can you help me?” I asked Andre several hours later. We were still laying together on the bed, but we’d spent most of the time chatting and laughing. For being bossy, and protective, and old school, Andre was actually pretty freaking fun to be around. His looks didn’t hurt either.

  “Always, Gabrielle,” he said, entwining our hands. “You never have to ask for something like that.”

  His words warmed me to my core. I pushed off the bed and padded over to the desk in the room. “I know you’re busy, but I’ve been placed as an expert on this case, and I don’t really know what I’m doing.” It hurt a little to say those words, especially to Andre, who badly wanted me to quit.

  Andre followed me over and scanned the papers. He flipped through them, and then picked up the files I had on our two victims. He pulled out a photo of the victims and compared them. For a long time he studied them.

  “This looks like an old ritual they used to do hundreds of years ago.”

  My breath froze in my lungs. This was too good to be true. “What was the ritual?”

  Andre’s brows drew together. He placed the photographs back on the table and rubbed his jaw, still staring at them. “Three mortal wounds inflicted on the victim simultaneously. This,” he tapped the photos with his index finger, “this is a threefold death.”

  My eyebrows shot up. Andre had managed to piece together in less than a minute what we hadn’t been able to in days.

  I came to his side. “Threefold death?” I repeated.

  He nodded to the photo. “Here you have asphyxiation, an incomplete beheading, and partial impalement.

  “Why haven’t we ever heard about threefold death?”

  Andre handed me the photo. “Well, it’s an old ritual—and an obscure one, at that.”

  “Ritual,” I repeated, unease tightening my muscles.

  “Triple death represented the killing of the three parts of man—the body, the soul, and the spirit. It was a symbolic way of completely eradicating a person’s existence. Usually it was reserved for people of importance—specifically, unpopular people of importance, if I remember correctly. It was the ultimate punishment for those who’d done bad things or pissed the wrong person off.”

  “That sounds like a line from The Mummy,” I said.

  Andre gave me a funny look. Guess he’d never seen the movie. “In certain areas of the world, it was considered the highest dishonor you could do to a person.”

  “But these victims are angelic, so why do this to them?” I asked.

  He frowned. “I have no idea.”

  We both stared at the photos. “So whoever is doing this has religious motives?” I asked. We’d fallen back to the investigative team we were all those months ago.

  “Probably.”

  I thought back to last night’s encounter. “One of the women at the club smelled like ash and roses. Have you ever come across a scent like that before?” Perhaps learning what she was would help us figure out her and her partner’s motives.

  His lips thinned. “I vaguely recognize it, but I have no idea what being it belongs to.”

  I scrubbed my face. These were all dead ends. We had so many clues—I even met the freaking killers—but we couldn’t pin down anything.

  “Andre, even if we were able to prove that woman’s guilt, how do you detain someone like that—someone you can’t control?” Someone like me.

  Our gazes locked. “You don’t want me to answer this,” Andre said softly.

  “Tell me.”

  He worked his jaw. “How do you capture someone who can wield absolute power over you? You don’t,” he said. “You kill them.”

  The next morning I met Caleb and Oliver in the inn’s dining room.

  “Oh look who it is,” Oliver said as I sat down, “Miss I-Sexile-and-Ignore-My-Friends Fiori.”

  “Do you seriously want to go there?” I said. I’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed—a.k.a., without Andre—and I wasn’t taking it well.

  “Oh, I’m already there.” Oliver snapped his fingers and rolled his head, and he did it all with a straight face. This little fairy was serious.

  “Listen Pixie Sticks, you can’t just barge into Romania while I’m working and expect me to entertain you.”

  “Oh, so that’s what you were doing last night? Working? I didn’t realize Andre paid you for sex.”

  “Whoa,” Caleb said, raising his hands. Guess he’d never seen me and fairy boy duke it out.

  I snorted. “That’s real good coming from you,” I said to Oliver.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “No,” Caleb interrupted us. “It’s too freaking early for this.”

  Oliver ignored Caleb and fixed me a glare. “Better watch yourself, harpy, or you’re going to find yourself hexed.”

  I snarled back at him. “Do your worst, Sparkles. You’d be improving my luck.”

  Caleb’s chair screeched as he stood up, and then his hands slapped over my mouth and Oliver’s.

  Oliver and I blinked at each other as Caleb closed his eyes and sighed. “Finally some peace and quiet.” His eyelids snapped open. “You two are friends,” he said to us, “so please try to act like it. Also, I’m way too fucking young to be the mothering type, so this is the last time I’ll be nice about it. Next time my hands are getting involved.”

  Oliver’s eyebrows shot up and he cocked his head, looking thoughtful at the idea of Caleb getting his hands involved. Caleb noticed.

  “Damnit Oliver,” Caleb said, “I can read you like a book, and right now it is disturbing as hell.”

  Oliver just winked at him, and I started to laugh behind Caleb’s hand. Oliver’s twinkling eyes flicked to me and he extended his pinkie. I reached out and hooked mine with his.

  Seeing that we were playing nice, Caleb dropped his hands and shook his head. “You two are so weird.” That was the second time someone had said that to me within the last week.

  “What do you expect?” Oliver said. “We’re BBFs—best bitches forever and ever.”

  “Hug it out?” I asked him.

  “Oh my God, yes times a million, bosom buddy.”

  So we hugged in the middle of the dining room as random hotel guests looked on.

  I squeezed him. “Oliver, you can still sleep in my room,” I said. He’d refused to enter it last night after the little scuffle with Andre, instead spending the night in Caleb’s room.

  “Nuh uh. No way,” he said, still hugging me. “I’m staying with Caleb from here on out.”

  My eyes moved to Caleb, who shook his head furiously back and forth.

  I rolled my eyes at the both of them. “It’s going to be fine, Oliver,” I said, patting him on the back. “Don’t let Andre intimidate you.”

  Oliver stepped out of the hug and cocked his hip, raising his eyebrows skeptically. “Easy for you to say. If he gets angry at you, he’ll what—spank you for being naughty? Me, however, he’ll drain dry.”

  “He wouldn’t; you’re my friend.”

  “Um, clearly you didn’t see the psychotic look in his eyes,” Oliver said. “Nope, I’m staying far away from your room.”

  “Fine, then as my Christmas gift to you, I’ll get you your own room.”

  Oliver’s face lit up. “Really? You’d do that?”

  I smiled. “Duh.” It wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it.

  Oliver clapped his hands together joyfully. “Can we get rooms that connect?” he asked. “Best bitches forever need rooms that connect.”

  Chapter
13

  Not long after I’d gotten Oliver his own room—thankfully not one that connected to mine—my phone buzzed.

  “Hello?” I answered, leaning back in my room’s chair. This desk was quickly becoming a second home.

  “Gabrielle, it’s Grigori.”

  “Hey,” I said, letting the chair fall back on all four legs, “what are the plans for today?”

  “We got a call in last night that two women fitting the description of our suspects were loading a van outside of a warehouse here in Cluj.”

  I sat up straighter. A lead. A shiver rushed down my spine. Some part of me had assumed that the voice that beckoned to me last night was the woman. But if she had an alibi …

  “When a couple of officers checked it out, they found packing supplies large enough to hold an altar. We have inspectors there at the moment,” he continued, “but I wanted to bring you and Sergeant Jennings over to see if anything stands out.”

  “We’ll be ready to go as soon as you can come,” I said.

  “Then I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Great. By the way,” I said, “I think I have information on the murders.” I hadn’t had time to look into Andre’s theory, but it was the only lead we had.

  “Go on.”

  So I told him about the threefold murder theory.

  “You could be on to something,” he said. I could hear the excitement in his voice. “I’ll pass the information along. See you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  I clicked off the phone and packed up some of the things I’d need for today. We were one step closer to catching those women.

  “The Politia doesn’t pay me enough for this shit,” Caleb yelled over the howling wind as we stepped out of Grigori’s car and into the blizzard. I was surprised that we’d managed to drive at all, given the weather conditions.

  We trudged over to the roped off warehouse, keeping our chins tucked in and our arms held close to our bodies. I’d grown up in warm Los Angeles, so I’d never experienced a snowstorm, and I was woefully underprepared. Woefully.