Cursed

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  “For what? You can keep making up nicknames. I know what you want to use it for anyway.”

  I run my thumb along her pretty jaw—and she continues to let me, unmoving. Attempting to appear cold. “Uh huh? And what do I want to use it for?”

  “Those unachievable fantasies of yours.”

  Don’t do it. Don’t tell her. Yet how can she not know already? Although, come to think of it, there seems to be a lot her kind lied to her about.

  Because they fear her.

  And, I suspect, they envy her power.

  “Maybe they’re not so unachievable.” I bring my thumb slowly along her cheek, aiming for her mouth, aware that she might not let me make it there, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try. My brain is full of machinations, analyzing loopholes. Possibilities. Multi-tasking at a feral degree.

  How to have her.

  How to escape this death sentence that’s been placed on me.

  Funny, none of my thoughts revolve around returning to my old life. A fact I’ll have to analyze later.

  “Maybe you’re just that delusional,” she says, but she still hasn’t moved.

  “Nope, babe. See? This whole deal thing might have to be voided, and not just because I was high when I made it.” I pause, leaving my thumb at the very corner of her mouth, and hook her stare with mine. “Know why?”

  She doesn’t ask why. Stubborn as ever, she refuses to back down from my eyes, from my touch.

  Good. She’ll need that willpower to handle how I’m going to fuck her. I’ve always been rough in bed, yet I’m no longer human. What’s coming her way is probably going to scare us both. “I’ll tell you why. Because only part of the deal was fulfilled. There’s another part I haven’t been granted yet.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Silas?”

  Ahhh. There it goes. Even when she says it in anger, a little part of me thrills at hearing her use my name. “You’re little friend didn’t just show me a new life prior to my blood touching that stupid paper. She showed me something else. Something much more important.” I pause for effect once more, making her wait for it this time.

  Seconds pass. Perhaps minutes. Each moment interminable.

  Each breath echoed by the furious, hungry beat of our hearts.

  That’s right. I can hear hers now. If she lifted herself out of that water, I know I’d scent just how much she wants me. How ready she is to feel my dick inside her.

  “What else did she show you, then?” she finally forces out.

  “You, baby. She offered me you.”

  Her mouth falls open with the shock of that statement.

  Just what I want.

  Fuck yeah.

  I slide my thumb inside that warm heaven, growling hard at the slick feel of her tongue. With my other hand, I reach between my legs and work at the button of my jeans. “Now, you’re going to be a good girl, stay right there, and suck my thumb while you watch me stroke my dick. Do we understand each other?”

  My life has been nothing but an unexpected series of surprises since last week; I’m sure they’ll be many more before everything is over and done with.

  But what happens next will forever eclipse every one of them.

  Logic says her next move will be something violent. Perhaps she’ll bite my finger off for daring to invade her in any way.

  I’m immune to her fires, true. Doesn’t mean she can’t find some other creative way to hurt me.

  Nothing can prepare me for what she does—

  The first flick of her tongue rips a hiss from me. I tense hard enough to partially lift off the bench.

  Working her jaw, she sucks on me in soft, rhythmic movements.

  “Holyfuckwhatthe—” I gasp as that tongue swirls and swirls. My head spins. Somehow, my other hand continues its previously assigned task and the sound of my zipper lowering punctuates my racing breaths. I reach inside, finding myself engorged, and bring my cock out for her to see.

  She’s expressionless, staring straight at my face. Her cheeks hollow slightly, her mouth working faster.

  I rub my precum all over my tip, and work my fist up and down. “Shit, baby. It’s right there already. About to explode.”

  She rips her mouth away from my hand.

  Too late.

  Despite the loss, I’m too far gone, and the only thing I can do is lean back on the bench, legs spread wide, one hand holding on the back edge of the seat. The other pumps my dick furiously, squeezing the dark pink tip on every upward glide. I stare right at her, beyond the point of shame, wanting her to see what she does to me.

  If she only knew how many times I’ve fucked my hand like this while thinking about her.

  One more stroke, and my back snaps into an arch. My stare with her is broken as my head falls back, my body jerking as I have my first immortal orgasm.

  Yes, immortal orgasm. Nothing else could ever describe this shit.

  My entire body vibrates with pleasure from head to toe, sheer electric shocks pulsing through me and into my heart. The sensations are ten times more powerful than they’ve ever been, as magnified as all my other senses.

  I’m coming all over my floor—possibly my jeans too—and what’s worse is that my erection doesn’t soften after the last ripple.

  No. If anything, it’s harder than before.

  As delicious as that was, it did nothing to ease my ache.

  When I open my eyes, she’s leaning against the side of the tub once more. She tries to appear unaffected once more, but her blood belies her as her cheeks redden. The pulse at her neck pounds furiously.

  As furiously as my own continues to race.

  I’ll deal with her lying self in a bit. First I have to find out what the fuck is wrong with my dick.

  “Welcome to immortality.” Her eyebrow arches. “Still convinced it’s worth staying alive?”

  “If it means another shot at feeling that sweet mouth, hell yeah.”

  She glares at me. “Well, congrats. I’m sure Marie heard you.”

  I jerk my shoulder in a shrug. “Tell me how to get rid of this thing.”

  That brings a laugh out of her. An unwilling one that takes her by surprise, but I find myself smiling back at the sight of it. “I could chop it off for you if you’d like.”

  I shouldn’t be amused by that, yet I am.

  “You need to clean that up.” She motions with her head toward my cock, refusing to look directly at it.

  No way she’s missing this thing out of the corner of her eye. It continues to stand straight at attention, calling for her.

  The first rational thought that goes through my mind should be to stand up and head over to the sink to clean off, right? Instead, that wolffish instinct reigns, controlling my thoughts, and the powers I now possess.

  Just like I can manifest clothing and a bench to sit on, I can now dematerialize objects.

  Well, fluids to be exact.

  I’m left to the gargantuan task of wrestling my erection back into my jeans.

  It doesn’t want to go.

  “This is fucking ridiculous,” I complain, my first spark of embarrassment rising. “Will it stay like this forever?” As long as I’m around her, probably.

  Who am I kidding? Back when I was human, I’d walk around hard for hours every day from remembering the dreams I’d have of her.

  “Werewolves are known to have potent libidos. Even by immortal standards.”

  “Why the hell did you guys have to choose this form for me? You hinted other mythical creatures are real. Why alter my DNA into this?”

  She rings water out of her hair, unconcerned. “You’d rather be a blood-sucking leech.” Vampire. “Or an actual demon?”

  As in hell demon?

  No chance to ask my question.

  “Besides,” she adds. “We didn’t choose the form for you. Your DNA did. I told you.”

  “What are you talking about?

  “Almost all humans have some immortal DNA in their bloodlines, even if it
goes back a thousand generations.”

  I sputter, my mind spinning dangerously at the thought. “You’re talking about twenty-thousand years.”

  “Oh, come on. Your species has been around for two-hundred-thousand years. And the immortals? We’re the precursors.”

  “You mean you’re the originals? The form which the human species was perfected on?” I don’t know much about evolution, and all that crap, but it isn’t hard to make an educated guess.

  “You’re asking a lot of questions for a soon-to-be dead male.”

  “You’re making a lot of empty threats for a female that’s still naked in my tub.”

  She sucks her teeth, lips twisting in disgust. “You’ll die once you’re no longer useful.”

  “And when’s that?” I

  “When my entire traitorous coven is dead and I’m the only one left to feed off your death.” A candle floats near her head and she raises a hand to caress the flame with her finger.

  “Fair enough. Now, my DNA.”

  “You have werewolf somewhere in your genetic code. A powerful line, I’m guessing. Nothing else explains how you’re adjusting so quickly and developing traits of that kind.”

  A million new questions form, yet none of them are important at this moment. Something else has been nagging at my mind. “Your coven kills its members who become more powerful than the leaders, right?”

  “I guess. It was never a spoken rule. It’s only happened twice, Marie being the first case. And although they marked her for death, they didn’t actually kill her.”

  “You knew she was alive this whole time.”

  “Yes. I was the only one outside The Bestowers that knew.”

  “And now you. Didn’t you know this when you sought to grow your power?”

  A storm brews in those ice-blue eyes and I see sparks of her embers beginning to glow within them. “I didn’t choose this.”

  “So you’re like me.”

  “No,” she growls, and all the candles floating above us flare brighter. “I’m nothing like you. You sold your soul. I woke up like this.”

  It’s like watching someone recount a traumatic event. Her body vibrates with tension and agony. The black water around her steams and ripples as it begins to slowly boil.

  The candles are spinning too fast, yet somehow they maintain their bright flames.

  “I went to sleep one night and when I opened my eyes the next day, I was this.” Her hands come out of the water, the tips of her nails highlighted by fire again. “I was cursed, forced to change, and now they’re turning on me for it.”

  Her comment is still ringing in the space between us when footsteps, and the sound of bones jiggling against each other, reaches my ears.

  Marie.

  Laveau.

  Okay, I swear. One day I’ll stop freaking out about that.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  I look over my shoulder, finding the voodoo priestess leaning casually against the doorframe. Don’t know if it’s a witchy woman thing, but they literally go around as if they own every place they step foot in. “Yes?”

  Marie hisses at me. “Insolent child. We have greater concerns than you saking your lust for our girl.”

  Our girl.

  And, great. She definitely heard me coming my brains out. “Did you need something?”

  “Insolent. Child,” she repeats, with all the scorn of a woman who’s two-centuries older than me.

  “What is it, Marie?” There’s a splash of water as my witch steps out of the tub.

  I whirl around. Stupid of me to expect a glimpse. She’s already dressed by the time her foot is on the ground.

  It’s the most clothed I’ve seen her, yet.

  Black leggings.

  An oversized dark gray shirt with a wide collar that hangs off one shoulder. Emblazoned across the front in white letters is the term Moon Child. A black choker and chunky boots finish off the outfit. “It’s not cold outside. You know that, right?”

  “Just trying to help you out with your little problem.”

  “Wouldn’t that be more appropriate for me instead of you?” I point at the words across her chest.

  “You won’t live long enough to experience the next full moon. Consider yourself lucky.” She walks by me, leaving me choking on my questions once more.

  That full moon shit is also real?

  What’s going to happen to me if I live to experience one?

  “Did you manage to connect with them?” Sin asks Marie, stopping next to her.

  I clear the distance in an instant to stand near them. “Who?”

  Marie ignores me, expression full of trepidation. “In a manner of speaking. Child, there’s something you should know . . . I think the coven has fallen.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “My living room doesn’t need to look like this.” I’ve accepted more than most ex-humans would in a short time. Have barely broken, when I know for a fact others would.

  But this is where I draw the line. One-hundred percent not accepting this.

  “You can stop bitching now.” My witch whirls a hand and sends the stack of books on the coffee table flying onto the navy blue couch behind us. Her next wave flicks the vase that was next to them into the air.

  It grazes the bronze chandelier overhead.

  The tinkling of glass punctuates the glare I aim at her.

  She shrugs lightly. “Oops.”

  Oops my fucking ass.

  Marie conjures another addition to the disturbing mess in my living room; a black skull with a crown of red and purple flowers. There are now four of them lining the fireplace mantel, each in a different shade.

  The aforementioned black one with its crown of flowers.

  The brown one with the shimmering jewels running along the brow line and into one of the sockets.

  A beige skull with what appears to be live succulents growing out of its head.

  Lastly, the white, cracked skull, a lone colorful feather sticking out of the jagged separation at the top.

  “Child. Stop glaring at the ancestors like that. Show some respect,” Marie chides. She brings the hundreds of candles floating around the room closer with a snap of her fingers.

  Ancestors. Told you they’re real.

  There’s a flurry of petals gliding across my hardwood floor, and incense is clogging the air, but for the life of me I can’t find the fucking source.

  Quartz crystal towers line up along the surface of my coffee table.

  A black, velvet cloth with a light gray pentagram on it materializes under the crystals.

  God knows what else is going on, but my attention fixates on the skeletal hand hanging from Marie’s throat.

  It’s reacting, fingers twitching.

  Grasping.

  Every hair on my body is standing on end. I step back from this entire fucked-up scene, mind flashing to that night a decade ago.

  I half-expect snakes and the weirdly-dressed Bestowers to make an appearance.

  Or Seril in her old woman guise, toothless grin wide and gleeful.

  It isn’t The Bestowers, or the witch that tricked me into signing away my life, that make an appearance.

  It’s every single ghost I’ve seen loitering around outside the last week.

  Every. Single. One.

  The cold shiver that rips down my spine is unlike any I’ve experienced before. “Are you two listening to me?” I snap.

  They’re not.

  Marie kneels in front of the coffee table. “We’re going to need him in order to have a better chance of making contact.”

  My ultimate punishment—nicknamed Sin—points at the spot opposite Marie. “You. Here.”

  “I said—” A gust of powerful wind hits me in the back and I go skidding across the floor toward the table. I’m yanked to a stop inches from it by invisible hands, all while my witch calmly kneels and looks up at me with her sky blue eyes.

  “We need your help with this, okay?” says the woman determine
d to end my life when this is all over.

  “My help? You’re the witches—” Marie lifts an eyebrow in my direction. “Priestess, whatever. I’m just a newly turned wolf—” There’s a crackle of energy in the corner of my eye; it’s the woman with the white tignon and collar.

  I don’t even have a chance to scream.

  The same blast of air that dragged me to this spot forces me down on my knees. The pressure is intense, and no matter how much I struggle against it, I lose the battle in mere seconds.

  Marie lets out a surprised, mirthless chuckle. “She’s taken a liking to you, I see.”

  “What the fuck does she want from me?” I refuse to stare directly at the ghost, even though the hem of her black gown remains visible out of my peripheral vision.

  “She wants revenge against the coven, which means you’re going to stay right there and do what we need you to do.” My witch says calmly, kneeling at the front of the coffee table.

  “Let me guess,” I start sarcastically. “Another poor being who was tricked into selling their soul.”

  “No one is tricked.”

  “I was.”

  “And you’ve got it wrong. She was a witch and she was cast out. Cruelly.” She places her hands on the table palm up.

  “Relative of yours?” I ask Marie, watching as she places her hands in the same position.

  “She died fifty years after I was presumed dead by the human world.” Her reply doesn’t answer my question, though. She raises her eyebrows and wiggles her hands.

  “I don’t know what the fuck the two of you are doing, but I want no part in i—” That crackle of energy surrounds my hands and they’re slammed onto the table, palms up, against my will. “I’m not a warlock! What is her problem?”

  “For a newly turned wolf, you have power, child. Much power. It’ll come in handy for what we’re about to do.”

  I look between Marie and my witch. “And what exactly are we about to do?”

  “Locate where Seril, Sabien, and all those other traitors are,” Marie says.

  A part of me wants vengeance, that’s a given. Seril deserves to die at my hand. Sabian and his bitter, unresolved lust for my witch, is a target, as well.

  But I’m still not one-hundred percent sure that I want to be a part of all this.