“What exactly are the rules?” I ask.
“It’s simple.” Marie flips her thick braids over her shoulder. “The person making the deal has to be fully coherent at the time of accepting it. Not mentally ill, drunk, medicated, or under the influence of drugs.”
I stare between the two women, refusing to dare to hope. “I was literally all of those things at the time.”
Their side glances are anything but amused.
“Fine. Three out of four,” I admit.
“You don’t understand. That would make your deal—”
The lawyer in me jumps right on that. “Null and void?”
My witch slams her hand on the kitchen island, eliciting an amused smirk from Marie, one she ignores in favor of glaring at me. “That’s impossible.”
I stomp up to her and scowl down into her eyes. “You want me dead that bad?”
“Maybe,” she shoots back.
Tension builds in the space separating our bodies, a tumultuous energy that heralds disaster.
I want her. Oh, do I fucking want her. But I know that having her would be catastrophic.
For her as much as for me.
I’ll fucking wreck her if I get my hands on her.
My narrowed glance travels the length of her gorgeous, possibly fragile body. “Are you even immortal?”
She places her hands on her hips. “Why? Having preposterous fantasies about killing me before I can kill you?”
I bit into my bottom lip, eyeing her golden, bared thighs. “Something along those lines.”
“Children, please. This is serious. We’re talking about a possible breach.”
“Of contract,” I say, much to my witch’s vexation.
Throwing her hands in the air, she spins away from me. “It’s not possible! It would mean they gain nothing from your transformation, or your death.”
“Except coming after you.”
“They could’ve turned on me at the coven. Would’ve been simpler for them, too. They never would have succeeded, of course, but why not try to take my head in my sleep?”
Take her head in her sleep. Jesus. What a fucking world to live in. “Whatever. I don’t know why your kind does anything, but I swear to you I was a seventeen-year-old drug addict. Do you honestly think your little witch friend caught me during a rare sober moment and offered me that deal? Whether you believe me or not, I woke up the next morning thinking it was a fucked-up dream.” One of many I’d continue to have over the years.
It doesn’t need repeating. I’ve already confessed about the ones starring her. Not the sexual ones, where I’ve fucked her in ways that would shame us both, but where I saw her coming to kill me and failing.
She knows enough.
“Would Seril dare do this, Sin?” Marie asks in a gentle tone.
My head snaps in her direction. “Sin?” Just as quick, I bring my focus back to my witch. “Is that your name?”
“A dog with a fucking bone,” she grumbles, grabbing a kitchen rag off the rack and flinging it at my chest. “It’s a nickname. Calm down.”
A nickname that makes more sense than anything I’ve ever encountered. She walks like sin. Breathes like sin.
Probably fucks like sin, too.
She’s still a brat to me, but I find myself oddly fixated on this new name for her.
And more obsessed than ever on finding out her real one.
“Sin?”
“I don’t know, Marie. If she is, that would have to mean The Bestowers are in on it. There’s no other explanation. The surveillance of him was approved. His kill was sanctioned. We knew for years about him, like we do every deal, and the exact end date when his life would be due.”
Surveillance.
Sanctioned kill.
Not only does it trip my mind to hear a mythical creature talking in such tactical terms, but to also imagine an entire coven of them waiting years for the day I’d die?
While I went about my life unaware?
“Y’all have no right,” I grit, fighting back the violence that wants to break forth. On the surface, I was glad to have escaped my previous life, but it was never enough.
Could never be.
Not without her.
Her kind did that. Forced a new life upon me and made damn sure to taint it with the visual of what could never belong to me. Presented the sexiest woman alive, dangled her in front of a damaged, teenage boy, then unleashed me on the world to yearn every damned second for her.
Fuck these assholes.
“Shush, child. There are more important issues to deal with.” Marie waves me away. “Baby girl, would it be surprising, though?”
Sin crosses her arms, appearing oddly vulnerable, and a good chunk of my bitterness leaks away. “After how they ran you off for becoming more powerful? No. I guess it wouldn’t. But . . . they also allowed you to live in hiding away from the others. Didn’t they?”
Marie jerks her eyebrows in a bitter expression. “And what choice did they really have, mon petit? I’d rain true death down upon them.”
“As shall I,” Sin vows fiercely, clawed nails digging into her arms. “They know that.”
Marie drags her nails along the ridges of her staff. “Hmmmm. Maybe it’s time I speak with them directly.”
“Wouldn’t that be a mistake? You’re with us. We could be exposed,” I say.
“We’re in your home, boy. They can’t ever get us here.”
“You said the rules are being broken on this deal.”
“How the deal was made, sure. According to your version of the story. But the rest of the procedure stands. You were watched. Studied. You were changed into your most monstrous form.”
“And the second group of assassins they sent after him couldn’t get in. I incinerated them outside his door.”
Marie nods, satisfied. “Then this is officially the safest place in the city for us.”
“Looks like the home I built with that money you hate is coming in handy after all.” I smirk bitterly at Sin.
She bares her teeth in a mock-smile. “You could’ve still been living in that shelter, and it would’ve been off limits to us, too.”
What the fuck did she see in my past that made her dislike me this much?
And why do I give a damn what she thinks about me? “Fine. Do whatever you want.” Waving my hand around sardonically, I add, “My home is all yours.” I start heading toward the door leading to the back patio.
“Werewolf, you’re only safe within the bounds of your home,” Marie tells me.
“Does that extend to my backyard?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Good. Like I said, make yourselves at home.” I slam the door on the way out. The sound of glass cracking follows me as the panels of the door break apart.
1 week later
Night turns into twilight as the streets of New Orleans continue reveling outside.
Mardi Gras started tonight. It’ll be mayhem out there for the next two weeks.
Well, more than usual. My city is a wild one, no doubt about it.
I’ve been out here every day for hours as I get to know this new body of mine. The changes continue to assault me in quick succession.
I always took care of myself, hit the gym pretty hard. At a hundred-and-eighty-five pounds, I managed to keep my body fat pretty low and maintain a decent amount of muscle.
I must’ve put on ten pounds overnight and the scary part is that it consists of even more muscle.
My jeans are starting to fit too snug. My shirt feels like it’s going to shred down the middle with one wrong move.
The speed . . . dear God, the speed. Every time I believe I’ve reached the limit, I become even quicker. Reflexes are off the charts. The transformation into a wolf is equal parts instinctual and conscience, a process I now control with frightening certainty.
No more shifting out of it naked, either. I can manifest clothing with nothing more than a passing thought.
It’s like I’
ve been a werewolf my entire life, instead of two weeks.
My eyesight is near microscopic. Anything I focus on, I can willingly magnify, zooming in on the most minute detail.
I spent nearly five minutes hypnotized by the ridges of a Hibiscus flower.
Yet, as the days and nights passed, and I focused on trying out these new “gifts”, the presence in the corner of my eye didn’t go unnoticed.
Presences, to be exact.
Like the hospital, there’s a multitude of them, dressed in outfits from different eras. There’s flickers of them during the day, but it’s when the sun goes down that they truly show themselves.
They’re here because of Marie.
Or . . . and this is a scary thought . . . I can now see them due to what I’ve become.
An entire city of the dead, centuries of lost lives, bared to my gaze.
It’s why I’ve ignored them this long. Why I refuse to look directly at any of them. My skin prickles with a cold fear. Maybe they can’t hurt me, maybe they can, but the terror of them is inborn in my psyche.
Seeing proof that ghosts are also real freaks me out on a cellular level.
An insistent woman moves closer to the gate, her form flickering. The tignon wrapped around her head is bright white, as white as the collar and broach around her throat. Her skin, pale as it seems, still retains its cafe au lait tone.
The ghost trying to get my attention is obviously of mixed race, but then again, too many freed people and slaves were back then.
A ripple of awareness calls my attention away from the ghosts. Looking over my shoulder, I find myself staring up at my bedroom window on the second floor.
The lights are ablaze, the curtains pulled back.
And there she stands, that goddess of fire and madness, leaning against my windowsill as if she owns the place.
She pretty much has the last week, stomping around like a queen in her castle.
Heck of a fantasy that is. Perhaps one I secretly harbored in the back of my mind for the better part of ten years. The thought that eventually she’d turn out to be real, I’d have a chance to make her mine, and I’d get to share everything I fought to build with her.
Fucking idiot.
Her skin shimmers in the bright lights of my room, her tanned flesh as alluring as ever. She’s also mixed, but whatever her heritage is escapes me. Something about her reminds me of the Hispanic women I met in South America, their skin as kissed by the sun as hers.
No name.
No history.
No idea who she really is.
Only this raging desire to consume her while she takes everything I have to give.
She uncrosses her arms and moves away from the window. That triple Goddess symbol on her back is the last thing I see before she moves further into my room.
That’s all it takes. After days of ignoring her and with the sky beginning to lighten at my back, I head back into the house through the kitchen door. Marie is nowhere to be seen. My ears twitch as I expand my senses, listening.
No sound, but I know she remains within. Her aura is undisputable, packed with as much power as Sin’s.
As apt as that nickname is, it rubs me wrong. Can’t a man be allowed to at least have an actual name for his fixation?
I clear the first floor in a second and find myself in front of my bedroom door even faster. It’s open, the richly decorated room bared. I look over the gleaming hardwood floor, the plush carpet beneath my king bed. The white covers and gray pillows are undisturbed. The black fireplace in front of the bed is off.
As well as the TV mounted above it.
Only the chandelier and recessed lights were left ablaze.
The golden lamps on the nightstands, too.
My room is the same as it always was, but it only takes one more step into the threshold for me to realize how fundamentally changed it is.
Her scent is everywhere. On every surface. Like the little imp went around purposely rubbing her skin against everything.
Like she wanted to finish tormenting me into oblivion—steal the last of my peace prior to whatever tragic end she has planned for me.
Ears twitching, I hone in on the sound of water rippling.
It’s coming from my bathroom.
Sounds like the tub, actually.
Breath fails me at the conclusion that follows, a jolt in my heart that leaves me near dizzy.
The nerve of that woman. She’s in my home, in my bathroom, in my tub, naked and tempting as hell itself . . . don’t do it. Don’t go in there. You’re already fucked as it is.
But I can’t resist giving in. It’s impossible. A doomed endeavor if there ever was one.
This pull goes against every ounce of rational logic, yet it is what it is. I’ll go to her from now on, wherever she is, whatever the outcome.
Especially if she’s naked as the day she was born.
CHAPTER 10
I’m never going to adjust to the displays of witchery she loves to bombard me with.
This particular display isn’t even as over the top as the others I’ve seen, but it roots my feet to the floor regardless.
She’s in my tub as I predicted, practically swimming around the seventy-two inch, recessed space. The first thing my eyes do is bounce to take in whatever glimpse of her the water affords—there’s none to be found.
The water she’s swimming in is pitch black.
I feel suspiciously like a kid on the verge of some kind of tantrum, and that only aggravates me more.
The lights in the bathroom are off and the main source of illumination happens to be the dozens of candles floating in the air above my head. Shadows play off the white paint, the distressed, exposed brick wall behind the tub.
My hackles rise with that warning again—her kind is dangerous. Can’t be trusted.
Hair slicked back from the water, she throws a look over her shoulder mid-spin. “Trying to catch a peek, pervert?”
“You’re the one buck-ass naked in my tub, Sin. I’d tone it down with the insults for now.” I walk over the gray and white filigree designed tiles toward her.
She snaps to attention, unrealistic eyes narrowing. “You better not even think of coming in here.”
I’m not.
But I’d fucking love to. Not gonna deny that.
Stopping in front of the tub, I hold a hand out behind me and manifest a white bench to sit on.
Her gaze turns shocked, focused on the seat, even as I lower myself to it. “What the fuck, werewolf?”
“Silas. My name is Silas. You know this.”
“I honestly don’t give a fuck what your name is. You’ve only been immortal for two weeks.”
“Less,” I chirp in, getting nice and comfortable. A week and a half, if we want to get technical.
Her pretty jaw pulses as she grinds her teeth and drags her stare back to my face. “You’re adjusting too fast. And—” When her eyes move over the length of me, then back up to take in the width of my body, there’s no hiding the way my erection strains my jeans; on purpose, I casually let my legs fall wide in case she wants to take a gander. “Did you gain weight?”
“You guys made me into this. I didn’t choose. And I believe the correct term is mass.”
The hatred in her glare would be hilarious if I wasn’t so desperate for her to want me.
Hell, at this point I’d take her liking me just a little.
“What exactly is your problem with me? Or do you end up disliking all your targets this much?”
She settles against the side of the tub, arms rising from the black water to drape over the back. The move accentuates the curves of her breasts, ebony water lapping along them. The drops sliding down her face, neck, and chest appear grayish.
I’d lick every single one off her if she let me.
“Get your mind out the gutter,” she snaps.
I lean forward and brace my arms across my thighs. “Can you read my mind?”
“No. But you could be a li
ttle more polite in the way you look at me.”
I laugh at that. “Why? I want to fuck you in ways that’ll boggle your mind, and my days of living are almost over. If I can’t have my mouth between your thighs, at least let me fantasize about it.”
She rears off the side of the tub, moving with such force that black water rushes onto the white floor.
I wish I could say that she rises out of that water and lets me see every naked inch of her, but as mad as she seems, she makes sure to keep herself hidden beneath the surface.
Pausing in front of me, she looks up at me with hardened eyes, hands gripping the edge of the tub. “Go ahead. Eye-fuck me with those sad eyes . . . Imagine a creature like you owning a demon like me.”
Her tone conveys what she left unsaid: as if it’ll ever happen.
Why can’t I shake the feeling that it will, though?
That as much as she pretends to want me dead, she’d love nothing more than my mouth on her cunt.
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking again.
Either way, something about these backs and forths with her amuses me. Chuckling lightly, I reach to wipe a drop off her cheek, that simple touch making my dick pound. “Demon, huh? I thought you’re a witch. Although it is apt, I won’t lie. As apt as that nickname of yours, Sin.”
She doesn’t bother knocking my hand away.
As a matter of fact, she doesn’t react to my touch at all.
“Your eyes are changing again, wolf.”
“Hmmm. You don’t say.” It’s like a stretching in my pupils and my vision grows sharper each time it happens. “I feel it. They get bigger the closer I get to changing, don’t they?”
“Yes. But it’s not just that. You haven’t seen yourself as a wolf yet, have you?”
“Not sure I want to.”
“Well, you’re huge. Black. And your eyes consist of four colors instead of just gray-green.”
“Meaning?”
“There’s a reddish-bronze stain across your irises, wolf.”
That isn’t a disturbing image. No, not at all.
Shaking it off, I continue caressing her face. “Give me your name, cher.”
Cursed Page 9
