Eternal Choice: (The Cursed Series, Book 2)

by Kara Leigh Miller

  My eyes fluttered closed at his demand for submission—not that I was fighting him off—and then I heard the distinct clicks of numerous cell phones as people snapped pictures, and probably videos, too. It wasn’t every day the girl Simon Parker liked stood in the middle of his house, during his party, kissing another guy.

  This kiss was unlike any other we’d shared—it was hard and demanding. Possessive. He was claiming me, and he wanted everyone to know it. Me included.

  Because I’m his soulmate.

  I knew I should care. I wanted to care. But that was hard to do with Trent stealing every breath I took and occupying every thought I had.

  We were at his house, in his room, on his bed. I was straddling him, kissing him. And then the view changed. I was seeing myself through his eyes as he gazed up at me, hands behind his head. Sheer awe for my beauty, for the way my hair hung around my shoulders, the way my lashes framed my eyes, the way my lips were pink from his kisses.

  Pride and arrogance for knowing he was the one I had chosen. And the lust! It nearly choked me, it was so strong. I could see the things he wanted to do to me, the ways he wanted to touch me. I could feel what he felt—every inch of his skin was alive with energy, crackling with need. His desire was euphoric. It consumed him.

  And now it was consuming me, too. I ran my hands up his chest and hooked them around his neck, forcing him closer to me. He didn’t deny my request—then again, he never had.

  “I’d drive a stake through my heart right now if you asked me to.” His words formed unbidden in my mind.

  Then it became clear—that’s what he wanted me to know, that he’d do absolutely anything for me. All I had to do was ask.

  I pulled away, breaking the kiss and our connection, and moved my hands to his face. “Trent,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

  God, I had no idea what to say to him. Whatever anger I’d felt moments ago was gone, and now, my heart just hurt. For him. For me. For Simon.

  “I love you, Chloe.”

  I hung my head, fighting back tears.

  “Hey, look at me,” he said softly. He lifted my chin, and my breath caught at the love radiating from his gaze. “I realize I have no right to barge into your life like this, and believe me. I never meant to. I’m sorry, but regardless of how you feel about me, there are still things you need to know.”

  “I—”

  “But”—he interrupted me—“considering your current… commitments…” His gaze darted over my head, then back to me. His eyes had darkened considerably. “This has always been your choice.” He took my hands and held them for a second before giving them a gentle squeeze and releasing me. “And it’s your choice now, too.” He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and put it in my hand. “That’s where I’m staying. Come find me, if you want to.”

  He pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek, and then he was gone. I spun around to go after him and came face-to-face with Simon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY:

  Revelations

  “SIMON.” DESPITE THE PARTY NOW BEING dead silent, my voice was barely audible.

  He stood there staring at me with utter confusion and hurt. I did this to him—I caused that hurt playing out across his face. Pain sliced through me at that knowledge. I never wanted this. Simon didn’t deserve this.

  I cleared my throat. “Simon. I—” I cleared my throat. “Can you please take me home?”

  He nodded. “C’mon.” He spun on his heel and marched toward the front door.

  I rushed after him, keeping my gaze straight ahead, not wanting to see what looks I’d get from everyone. I could only imagine what they’d say about me once I left. I wasn’t sure I even cared.

  Silently, I climbed into Simon’s car. He pulled out of his driveway like his tires were on fire. I twisted my hands in my lap, too afraid to look at him.

  “I knew he liked you. I could see it every time he looked at you, but I didn’t know you felt the same way,” Simon said. His voice was level and much too calm.

  “I don’t know how I feel about him,” I lied, not wanting to hurt Simon any more than I already had.

  He finally looked at me, and part of me wished he hadn’t. “That’s not how it looked when you were kissing him,” he said.

  There was no way I could tell him the truth. With a deep breath, I said, “I’m sorry.” Because what else could I say?

  He didn’t speak for the remainder of the drive to my house. He pulled into my driveway but didn’t shut off the car.

  The silence stretched for much too long, and when I was positive he wasn’t going to speak again, I said, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” Then I got out of his car and raced inside, slamming the door behind me.

  Dad and Larissa were cuddled on the couch. “You’re home early,” Dad said.

  “Yeah, um, I wasn’t feeling well.”

  That wasn’t a total lie. My head ached from the onslaught of memories, my heart splintered from the overload of emotions, and my eyes burned with impending tears.

  “Oh, well, you should probably go lie down,” Larissa said.

  With a curt nod, I ran upstairs, but instead of going to my room, I went into the office. The room and the boxes of pictures had quickly become my sanctuary, my refuge from my thoughts.

  Locking myself in the office, I rubbed my hands over my face and blew out a shaky breath. My mind reeled with tonight’s revelations. I knew Trent. I’d been his girlfriend.

  I loved him.

  “Oh, God.” I cupped my hands over my mouth. “I love Trent,” I mumbled between my fingers.

  Despite the lost memories and the time apart, my feelings for him didn’t go away—they’d simply been paused—but now that he was back, now that I knew the truth, I couldn’t deny it.

  I was hopelessly in love with Trent.

  A sharp pain stabbed at my temples as even more memories forced their way into my brain. Trent was cursed. He could never have true love. That was one of the biggest reasons I’d asked him to erase my memories—because there was no way we could have a relationship.

  Tears spilled down my cheeks. He knew we were doomed, so why did he come back?

  Part of me wished he never had. Life here wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine, but it was getting better. Yet, a bigger of me was happy he’d come back for me. The gaping hole I hadn’t been able to explain was now gone, and I knew it was because of Trent.

  But… Simon. He’d been so sweet to me, befriending me when no one else would. Granted, he liked me a lot more than I liked him, but he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. He was too kind, too caring.

  What was I supposed to do?

  Every fiber of my being wanted to be with Trent, but that was impossible. And after tonight, Simon would probably never speak to me again. Even if he did, Olivia would only make my life a million times more miserable.

  I couldn’t exactly call Jaxon about any of this, either, because I knew him, too. And I hadn’t liked him all that much. What game was he playing with me? Pretending he needed me to tutor him, spending hours talking to me. I’d confided in him.

  Anger burned in my chest as I yanked my cell phone from my back pocket and sent Jax a text.

  Me: I KNOW EVERYTHING, AND I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU EVER SHOW YOUR FACE IN FRONT OF ME AGAIN I’M GOING TO DRIVE A SHARP STICK THROUGH YOUR CHEST.

  Me: I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU’VE BEEN LYING TO ME ABOUT THIS. I TRUSTED YOU!!!

  Me: SERIOUSLY, I WANT TO SET YOU ON FIRE RIGHT NOW, JAXON!!!! I’M SO MAD AT YOU.

  Groaning, I pushed away from the door and wiped my tears. Standing here thinking in circles wasn’t helping. I needed to get my mind off all this for a little while. I turned off my phone, not wanting to read whatever lame excuse or apology Jax sent me.

  I hefted a box onto the desk and flipped the lid off. Grabbing a handful of photos, I sunk into the chair and began the mind-numbing monotonous job of scanning the pictures.

  Lift the lid on the scanner.
/>   Place the picture face down.

  Close the lid.

  Click scan.

  Save the picture in the dated folder.

  I repeated these motions several dozen times before I stopped cold. My hand trembled. The picture I held was of me, Mom, and Dad. I’d been six, and we’d spent the day at the zoo. That was the last time I remembered all of us together and happy before my father had abandoned us.

  I flipped it over, but there was nothing written on the back. How on earth had this picture gotten into a box full of Larissa’s stuff?

  Turning it back over, I stared at my mother’s smiling face. Her brown eyes were wide and sparkling. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, loose tendrils windblown around her rosy cheeks.

  Raw, debilitating agony stabbed my chest. Fresh tears blazed a hot path down my face. “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I sobbed.

  This wasn’t how my life was supposed to turn out. My mother was supposed to be alive. We were supposed to be living together in Florida, happy and doing our thing. We should be eating pizza and watching scary movies on Wednesdays, volunteering at the shelter and playing putt-putt golf. I should be telling her about my days and listening to her laugh at my lame jokes.

  Instead, I was alone, living with a father who didn’t want me. All my friends were thousands of miles away, and I was in love with a cursed vampire. My one friend wanted more from me than I was willing to give him, and my other “friend” turned out to be a big fat liar who was probably having a blast making fun of me. If it all wasn’t so pathetic, I might actually laugh.

  I let out a frustrated scream and shoved the box of photos off the desk. It knocked into the tower of boxes precariously stacked nearby, and they toppled over, littering the floor with hundreds of pictures.

  Cursing, I dropped to my knees, but I couldn’t force myself to start cleaning up the mess I’d made. Every nerve in my body was numb, and exhaustion was a weight tied around my neck.

  “Chloe?” Larissa’s voice sounded behind me. “We heard a crash. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I just tipped over some boxes.” I kept my back to her so she wouldn’t see me crying. The last thing I wanted to do was have a heart to heart with her.

  “Want some help cleaning up?” she asked.

  “No, thank you.” I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

  Larissa hesitated, and I waited for her to leave me alone. Eventually, she did. I shifted to sit on my butt and reached for a box. I set it up right beside me and scooped up a handful of pictures, ready to drop them into the box when something thin and yellowish caught my attention.

  I tossed the pictures back to the floor and reached for whatever that was. Paper, maybe. I tugged on it, and the entire bottom of the box lifted to reveal a stack of weathered papers and a worn leather journal.

  “What the…?” I muttered.

  Sitting cross-legged, I carefully removed the stuff from the box. The papers were thin and fragile. I gently unfolded the top sheet, the creases weak and torn from having been folded for too long. Smoothing it out, momentary excitement swelled inside of me, but then it quickly deflated when I realized the writing was so faded it wasn’t legible.

  Well, that’s a bummer. I checked the second paper, and it was exactly the same as the first. Ugh. I didn’t bother looking at the rest of the papers, figuring they were like the first two. Instead, I opened the journal and was met with dark, scratchy handwriting. The first entry was dated 1932.

  “Whoa,” I whispered. My heart raced as I began to read.

  I cannot believe my entire life has been a lie! My “mother” is not my mother. Not even my name is true.

  That was it? I flipped to the next page, eager to find out what that meant, and who was writing it, but the following page was blank. I flipped through the journal until I found more writing.

  It has been days of angry solitude, but I can no longer bear it. I must know the truth, and the only way to find out is to ask the woman who raised me. What she has told me only enrages me more.

  My birth mother was murdered by the man who claimed to love her. By a vampire! My father—a powerful, benign witch—was robbed of his lover, of his child. Of me.

  I will avenge them both. I swear it.

  My stomach sank, and my hands shook. All this sounded way too familiar, but it couldn’t be. Could it? There was only one way to find out. I flipped to the next page.

  I have finally found him. The vampire who killed my mother.

  Sean Halstead.

  “No!” I gasped and shoved the journal off my lap.

  Clutching handfuls of my hair, I propped my elbows on my legs and breathed deeply. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing everything I’d just read to be some crazy dream, but when I peeked one eye open, the journal was still there, taunting me.

  What was a journal with Trent’s dad’s name in it doing in my father’s belongings? How was this possible?

  With trembling hands, I reached for the journal. Nausea swept through me, and I swallowed the urge to vomit. The next several pages were crudely drawn images of bloody stakes, fires, and vampire teeth. Whoever wrote this was insane. I forced myself to keep flipping pages until I found another entry.

  I now know why my surrogate mother changed my last name to hers, and I no longer hold any ill feelings toward her for it.

  Rector Zoya + Annmarie Lewis = me (Jim Lewis-Zoya Jones)

  Me + Lisa Woods = Dan Jones

  The love of an amazing woman has changed me. I can no longer continue this life of vampire hunting. Not when I have a son on the way. He will not know a life of hatred and vengeance, nor will he be burdened with this legacy, for I must protect him at all costs. From this day forward, we will forever abandon the Jones name. I will never tell him our family history, but it will live forever between these pages for we must never forget.

  I rest knowing Sean Halstead will be forever cursed.

  I started to hyperventilate. Rector Zoya and Annmarie Lewis. I knew those names. Memories of things Trent had told me crashed into me with the force of a thousand tidal waves.

  “The Zoya-Lewis bloodline died with the baby. The Zoya ensured there would never be a descendant. Believe me, we’ve tried finding one.”

  According to this journal, that wasn’t true. Jim was the baby Rector and Sean thought was dead. And he’d had a son. What ever happened to Dan?

  I frantically flipped the page, and there it was—a family tree, written in list form, the handwriting much neater than previous entries. I scanned it quickly, desperate to confirm what my gut was telling me.

  Rectory Zoya + Annmarie Lewis = Jim Lewis-Zoya Jones

  Jim + Lisa Woods = Dan Jones (changed to Miller)

  Dan + Debra Denton = Frank Miller

  Frank + Sarah Benson = ??

  My head swam, and my vision blurred. Who was Frank Miller? That couldn’t be my dad—his last name used to be Madison, same as mine, before he married Larissa. But… his name was clearly listed next to my mother’s, and to my knowledge, my mother had never been married to anyone else. And even if she had, why would that be listed in a book that was about my father’s family?

  I couldn’t ignore the one name missing from this list, though. Mine. Because I knew that I was my mother’s only child, which meant…

  Trent’s words once again slammed into me. “There’s only one way to break the curse…”

  “The only way to break the curse is to unite the three bloodlines. We need to find a direct female descendant of Rector Zoya and Annmarie Lewis and change her into a Halstead vampire.”

  This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening. But there was no denying what was right in front of me. I was a direct descendant of Rector Zoya and Annmarie Lewis.

  And I was the only one who could break the curse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

  Living Nightmare

  I SPENT THE NIGHT TOSSING AND turning, my mind whirling with what I’d learned. When I did manage to fall asleep, I�
��d jolt awake in a cold sweat. Now that my memories were back, so were the nightmares. I hadn’t missed those. The pain of Hannah taunting me and biting me was still as raw as ever, and more than once, her face had morphed into Trent’s.

  That was my biggest fear. That I’d tell him what I’d found, and he’d force me to turn into a vampire so his family could be free from a centuries old curse. My stance on that hadn’t changed, though—I didn’t want to become what he was. I didn’t want to be a vampire.

  But not changing meant dooming him to an existence of loneliness. Even though I was his soulmate, I would eventually die, and he’d never be able to love again. How could I do that to him? Could I really be that selfish?

  With a huff, I kicked my blankets off but didn’t get out of bed. What was I supposed to do now? Tell Trent the truth? Destroy all the evidence and go about my life like I knew nothing? Did I stay here with my father and tell Trent I didn’t want any part of whatever was going on that brought him back here?

  I rubbed my chest, trying and failing to ease the sudden ache there. The thought of life without Trent was like a knife to the heart.

  “Chloe?” Larissa knocked on my door and then cracked it open. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.” I was far from okay, though, but I wasn’t going to tell her that because she’d want to know why.

  “You were up late last night. Everything all right?” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

  My gaze darted to the other side of my room, to where my backpack rested against the wall. Last night, I’d gathered everything I’d found, stuffed it into an old shoebox, and then hid it in my backpack.

  “Yeah, just couldn’t sleep,” I said.

  She was quiet a moment, then pushed away from the door. “Are you planning to get out of bed today? It’s almost two o’clock.”

  “Yeah.” I yawned and stretched. “Hey, is Dad home?”

  “He’s in the den.”