Cursed Heart_The Siren Coven

by Kim Loraine

  "Helena?" I say, rushing inside and down the hall.

  The sight that greets me has me at a loss for words. She's clad in nothing but a thin camisole and a pair of my sweatpants. Popcorn is scattered across the floor and a bowl sits upended near the television. On screen, a fight scene plays out between two men in what looks to be Greek armor.

  I look back at my witch, who still hasn't registered my presence. She stares with rapt attention at the screen, and when an actor says something about the other man knowing nothing of love, Helena tosses her head back and cackles. Then she raises a shot glass and says, "That's the only thing you've gotten right this whole bloody film."

  I clear my throat and she finally turns to me, alcohol held to her lips. Her eyes widen and cheeks flush a charming pink before she tips back the glass and downs her shot.

  "What on earth are you doing, love?" I ask, trying to keep the laughter from my voice.

  She sways on her feet and lets out a giggle. "I got tired of waiting." Then she pours another shot and holds it out to me. "Come on, Fallen. Have a drink at my expense."

  4

  Helena

  Tamiel stares at me as though he doesn't know what to do. Behind me, Hector and Paris argue in the most bastardized version of my story I've ever seen. I'd thought it would be fun to play a drinking game when I flipped through the channels and landed on this movie. Now, as the floor moves under my feet while I stand still, I wonder if I'd made the wrong choice.

  "It's a game," I whisper, hoping he'll take the shot I'm holding out because I'm worried I'll drop it any moment. "Take a drink every time they do something wrong."

  Bless him, he takes the shot and downs it. "Looks like I've got some catching up to do."

  I hiccup and grin. He's so handsome. I want to tell him how much I like to look at him. "I like your face." Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

  He raises an eyebrow and smirks. "I like yours too." Then he juts his chin at the half-empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table. "That was full when I left."

  "They got a lot wrong."

  "It would seem so."

  I glance at the screen again and roll my eyes. Letting out a frustrated groan, I lurch toward the bottle and take a pull, relishing the burn of the vodka as it settles in my stomach. "I never loved him. Never." Speaking slowly, I work to get the words out clearly. He needs to understand. "I've never loved anyone."

  Tamiel takes the bottle from my hands and drinks deep. "Neither have I. But you're not doing yourself any favors watching this. Your story is romantic legend, that doesn't mean it's the truth. Now's the time to let it go and move forward."

  I snort. "Forward? I've got months left. How can I move forward?"

  He cups my face and stares at me with a pained expression. "You can enjoy what you have."

  "And what's that?" I fight the eye roll threatening to take hold.

  "Me," he whispers so softly I'm not completely sure I heard him right.

  "What?"

  A wave of dizziness takes hold and I sway. The angel catches me up in his arms, letting the nearly empty bottle fall onto the plush carpet. "Come now, love. Let me take your mind off your past."

  I should fight him, but the alcohol addling my brain won't let me. Instead, I nestle into his chest and breathe him in. "You smell so good. Like fresh air and…rain."

  The vibration of his chuckle tickles my cheek where I'm pressed against him. "That's what you remind me of as well. Rosewater and rain. Fresh and light. Beautiful."

  He walks us to my bedroom, and all I want to do is fall asleep in his arms. No. He needs to stop being so sweet. I can't keep him at a distance when I'm so drunk and he's being perfect. Wiggling in his hold, I indicate I want him to put me down. "That's enough of the pretty words. I won't be fooled by your silver tongue."

  He sets me on my feet and grins. "Silver tongue? So you think I'm charming." The angel steps forward, causing me to retreat until the backs of my knees hit the bed.

  "You're a naughty angel, of course, you're charming. The problem is, you'll use me just like every man has in the past if I let you in." My head swims, partially from the alcohol but I'd be lying if I didn't admit this reaction is mostly due to Tamiel's burning gaze. I lie back on the mattress and close my eyes. I can't use my power when I'm like this and Tamiel could do anything to me right now. Panic settles in my chest as memories of my past lives assault me. They took what they wanted until I finally fought back.

  "I'll never hurt you, Helena. I promise." His words are a breath whispered over my cheek before he presses a kiss to my temple. "Sleep, love. We'll talk in the morning."

  I drift off even as he settles down beside me, his strong arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me close. His promise rings in my ears, but I know it's a lost cause to hope. He's a man. They always hurt me.

  Tamiel

  Helena's out like a light from the moment I lie beside her on the bed. Her breaths come slow and steady, but the frown doesn't leave her brow. It's possible this woman who seems hard as stone is actually more fragile than I anticipated. For all her anger over something as paltry as a film, I saw the shine of tears burning in her eyes as she took her last drink.

  Running my fingers over her cheek, I stare at the lines of her face, memorizing each curve and angle. She's a work of art.

  "I thought you were the formidable siren who ensnared men and used them for your pleasure," I whisper. "But you're broken, same as me."

  She moans and rolls on her side so she's facing me. One arm flings over my chest as she snuggles into me. I don't need sleep, but I'll gladly soak up any time I can get with her. I don't need anything as much as I need her.

  A rattling buzz from the nightstand turns my attention away from the woman in my arms. Her phone. Insistent and demanding. My heart lurches at the thought of her waking right now. Leaning over her, I grab the phone, intending to silence the device, but I see Gwen's name on the screen and my instinct tells me this isn't a call that should go unanswered.

  "Gwen," I whisper, pulling myself from Helena's grasp.

  "Tamiel?" Gwen's utterance of my name holds surprise. "She's letting you answer her phone?"

  I slip out of bed and head into the hall, not willing to risk Helena hearing this conversation. "She's…a tad pissed."

  "Drunk? You got her drunk?"

  I can't hold in my laughter. "She got herself drunk. Her…well, her past came back to haunt her in the form of a steroid-enhanced cast of actors."

  Gwen sighs. "That movie. She can never just pass it by," she mutters. “I’ve developed an immunity to my past. I wish she could.”

  "If you need me to wake her, I'm afraid you're out of luck. I don't think much will get her out of bed."

  "We've got a problem. A big one."

  An icy ripple of dread rolls down my spine at the dire note in her tone. "What?"

  "I know she thinks she's doing this to keep us safe, but I've seen something different."

  "You have? Tell me."

  "You know Helena has been…less than morally conscientious over the centuries."

  I can't help but chuckle at the statement. "I'm aware."

  "Did you know she tried to steal the power of a nearby coven?"

  My thoughts drift to the desperation she must've felt during each lifetime when she had no power, when she wasn't able to connect with her sisters. "I'm sure you made some bad choices of your own when you felt you had no other options. What lengths did you go to when you were spending lifetimes alone?"

  "Tamiel, she did this mere weeks ago."

  I don't respond. I can't. That magic is dark and dangerous. To take another's power means you've lost any respect for the balance of light and dark.

  "I've been struggling to see Helena in my visions since we fought the shifters. Something is hiding her. But today…today I saw her. She was great and terrible. More powerful than Calista."

  "Isn't that a good thing?"

  "No."

  Frustration rolls throu
gh me. "Bloody hell, Gwen. Get to the point."

  "She wasn't a witch anymore. Helena in my vision was a demon."

  I wasn't prepared for that bombshell. A demon. My Helena? No. This isn't going to happen. "You must be mistaken. She'd have to have reneged on a deal with one to be made into a demon."

  "And do you doubt she'd do that? Helena is tenacious. She'll do anything to get something she thinks is important."

  "I won't let her." I bite out the words because the hold on my control is thin and fraying.

  The witch on the other end of the line lets out a harsh laugh. "Helena doesn't ask permission. I'll say a prayer for you."

  I hang up but can't shake the thought of Helena with burning red irises and a penchant for stealing souls. That cannot be the way she breaks her curse. Immortality is well and good, but not at the price of her soul. Peering in through the doorway, I let my chest loosen a touch at the sight of her, sleeping peacefully with a gentle smile easing her expression.

  This woman is not going anywhere. She's not leaving me, not getting a chance to make any sort of deal with a demon. I'll kill every one of them I can to prevent that. Summoning my grace, I transport myself to the brightly lit cacophony of Times Square. It's luminescent chaos, and from where I stand I can see the never-ending supply of people even at this late hour. This city truly never sleeps. I will a circle of my grace to seep into the cement in front of me before I call his name, knowing I need to keep him contained. Summoning a demon in the middle of Manhattan is ill-advised on a good day, but when I plan to torture every ounce of information from him before I return him to Hell, the consequences of him escaping would be…disastrous.

  "Christopher Marlowe, you self-important arse, " I say. Nothing. I know he'll come. He's just biding his time, waiting for me to get frustrated. "Kit, come on. I've got better things to be doing."

  I'm sure I look like a fool, standing in the middle of Times Square, talking to nothing. But, it's New York. No one will question me.

  "Here, kitty, kitty," I tease. He's going to be properly cross now, but Kit will show. He has to.

  It's as though everything around me is set to slow motion all at once. The sounds dim to a dull roar in my ears as the demon materializes inside the circle I've set for him. As soon as he's fully corporeal, everything returns to normal. Cabs honk, sirens wail in the distance, people mill in the too bright artificial light of the city.

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Tamiel. New York?" Kit rolls his eyes and takes a step toward me, but stops when the toe of his oxford boot comes into contact with the edge of my circle. "A circle? Really?"

  It's been a while since Kit and I last saw each other. He knows me as the fallen angel who'd burned all my bridges. My only loyalty had been to myself. Kit liked that about me. "Can't let you out unsupervised. You remember Whitechapel."

  He crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. "Ah, the good old days. Now it's all television and Google. It's not as fun. But, maybe I could start something new and write my own serialized podcast about it."

  "No. Don't even think about it, demon."

  "Are you sure your circle is strong enough? It looks to me like you used your grace. There's not much power in grace from a fallen. I could probably break the spell with a well-placed blow of my own."

  My skin prickles at the thought. If that's the case, I'll have to smite him with Michael's sword. But I don't want the demon to know I've taken up the side of good. Not yet. He's my inside man, and I'll need all the information I can get if I want to keep Helena from making any deals. "What do you know about demon activity in the city?"

  He smirks. "Why do you care? Thinking of joining our ranks?"

  "Possibly."

  "Hm," he says, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. He's a monocle and a pencil thin mustache away from being a stereotypical villain. "If I showed up with you on our side…"

  Oh, no. He's plotting. "Slow down. I'm not throwing my weight in on anyone's side right now."

  "Fine, fine. So…what do you need? You obviously didn't just call me out here so I could bask in your beauty."

  "Who's leading the demon faction here? I need to get in touch with him…or her."

  His perfectly arched eyebrow rises and he smiles. "You don't want to meet her. I promise."

  "How do you know? I like a challenge."

  A harsh bark of laughter escapes him. "She's not a challenge. She's a monstrosity, and she's leading Hell, not just the demons here." Then his expression goes dark and serious. "Our leader will chew you up and spit you out before molding you into her perfect little puppet. Don't go looking for her."

  My chest tightens at the word she. Lucifer is caged. Who is the new leader of Hell?

  He takes a deep breath and smiles. “Mmm, you smell…like magic. It’s mouthwatering. Did you find yourself a little witch to dip your wick in? Feel like sharing? You can fuck her, then I’ll kill her.”

  Stepping closer, I nearly reach into the circle to grip Kit by the collar, but I pull my hand back before it's too late. He clicks his tongue, bringing my gaze to his eyes. They glitter with amusement.

  "Getting sloppy in your old age, Tam." His focus drops to my feet and my stomach drops when I see my shoe.

  Over the line of my grace.

  Breaking the circle.

  Fuck.

  5

  Helena

  Where the bloody hell is that damned fallen angel? It's been hours since I woke and I haven't seen hide nor hair of him. I can't sense him either. I've always been able to feel his presence whether I wanted to admit it or not. His angelic grace has a particular magnetic pull. My heartbeat picks up as anxiety kicks in. Not because I'm worried about him. No. That's not what I'm feeling here at all. But if something happened to the angel, I'll be stuck here all alone, with no entertainment and no added power to my arsenal.

  My thoughts flit from scenario to scenario. Tamiel might have been hurt. He's strong, but his body isn't without vulnerabilities. The truth is, his vessel is still beholden to the limitations of a vampire. The only exception is the sun. Gabriel gave him immunity from that pesky weakness.

  "Damn," I grumble, pulling my jeans over my hips before I slide my feet into a pair of boots. "Now I have to waste my magic on a locator spell for a fallen angel and go traipsing across Manhattan to find him."

  The spell should be relatively easy though. He's still got my blood in him, which means I can use a drop from my finger to search for him. I settle in the center of the living room floor, a map of Manhattan before me and candles set at North, South, West, and East. With the point of a knife, I prick my finger and let a single drop of blood fall. The bead of red liquid hangs suspended in the air until it slowly lowers to my exact location in the city.

  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and visualize the handsome face I've come to crave. Dark hair, a chiseled jaw, cheekbones for days. Tingles run over me at the thought of him.

  "Tamiel," I whisper. His name sends a jolt through every inch of me as the magic takes hold.

  Opening my eyes, I stare down it the paper and wait for the blood to show me the way. But it doesn't move. The damn drop stays stationary even though it's supposed to give me a clear trail straight to him.

  "Bloody hell." My brow furrows as I try to work through what I've done wrong. Everything felt right. If my sisters were here, I'd know what to do. We're always better together. For a moment I consider calling them. I could use the moonstone to help me summon them to me. But then a flash of my dreams hits me. I can't bring them into this now. Not until I've done my job and taken down Calista.

  I'll just have to do the spell a second time. Maybe I didn't use enough blood. Raising the knife, I ready myself to prick my finger again but stop at the sound of something hitting the floor in the entryway.

  "Tamiel?" I call as I rush toward the front door. He's there, crumpled against the door. The man is beaten and bloody, a terrible wound marring his perfect face. It looks almost like…claw mark
s? The skin is torn and jagged. Deep grooves run across his cheek and lips. "Bloody hell, Fallen. What have you done to yourself?"

  He coughs and lets out a weak laugh. "What? You don't like it? I thought it made me look more rugged."

  I roll my eyes. "I swear to God in Heaven—"

  "Shh, He'll hear you. Then He'll know."

  "Who?"

  "My Father."

  Sometimes I forget the immense truth that comes with knowing that angels exist. The lore of the supernatural is vast and never ending. There are many things I still don't know, but I do have the answer to one massive question. It's something humans have fought wars over for centuries. I know, beyond any doubt, that God is real. Unfortunately for me, knowing the truth isn't the same as having faith. He might be real, but that doesn't mean I have any faith in His plan.

  "What did this to you?" I ask, pressing my palm to his chest and grimacing when I feel the blood-soaked shirt. "Did you get into a fight with one of the animals at the zoo?"

  Another laugh falls from him but quickly turns into a cough. "No. A demon."

  Dread curls in the pit of my stomach. Demon's claws are tipped in a powerful poison. Even vampires can't avoid its effect. "Tamiel…how can I help?"

  "Oh, I love the sound of my name on your lips. Say it again?"

  Ignoring him, I carefully help him to his feet and wince at the heat of fever raging through his body from the poison. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

  "Finally," he murmurs. "I've been waiting to hear those words."

  "You're impossible."

  "And yet, you still want me."

  I can't respond. His words hold entirely too much truth. Instead, I help him to the master bedroom. I'm painfully aware of every shift of his body against mine. "I need to see the extent of your injuries. Can you stand?"

  He nods but sways on his feet when I step away. Slowly I unbutton his shirt and peel it away from his skin. I've seen all manner of wounds in my time, but something about the purple bruises and deep gashes of claws on his torso has terrible fear gripping me. Even his arms have blossoming shadows across the skin. I run my fingers over the length of both until they reach his swollen knuckles, obviously broken.