Cursed

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  “His life belongs to me, you fucking cunt! What part of that didn’t I make clear to you?”

  CHAPTER 15

  “You don’t have plans to kill him. You want to keep him as your pet.”

  Sabian?

  “You’ve been marked for death since you became a vile abomination, Khatiya. And I’ll get to have the pleasure of ending your miserable life.”

  Seril.

  “As fascinating as this little spat is, we have a serious problem. You dare rise against the coven?” Baron’s voice booms. “They would never allow you an unsanctioned kill of your own. And you bring this desecration into Legba’s sacred domain. Many have died for less.”

  Echoing silence.

  And the sinking realization that this is real.

  It’s happening.

  They made it here on time to save me.

  The crush of gravity remains—thankfully, so does the lack of sensation in my nerves.

  Sabian’s voice shakes with uncertainty. “B-Baron—”

  “You dare speak my name, boy?” Baron’s voice turns demonic, ungodly.

  Actually, it’s exactly what I imagine an angry god’s voice would sound like.

  “Legba gave us permi—”

  “Papa is unaware of your sacrilege. Now you shall pay for your deceit. You were not given permission to attempt a coup of your coven. By our laws, your lives are forfeit. He is granting ultimate sovereignty over the coven to Khatiya and Marie. They now get to decide what to do with you.”

  “I’m going to make sure I keep you alive for centuries while I torture you in ways even you can’t imagine, Seril.”

  Hearing Khatiya’s voice sends a burst of awareness through me, rousing me from the darkness even more.

  “My lord, Baron, they both broke the rules. They worked spells to gain too much power,” Seril says, a note of desperation entering her tone.

  “We did no such thing. It came to us naturally. You, however, overreached. And Marinette will no longer help you detain him.” Marie’s comment confuses me.

  That is, until my nerves mend themselves once more, pain returning on a brutal blast, and I notice the pressure that was crushing me is gone.

  It takes awhile for me to notice that the awful howling I hear is coming from me.

  “You worthless bitch! You lied to Marinette so she would do this to him!” Khatiya yells, infuriated, and the sky surrounding us lights up in a blaze of fire.

  Seril lets out a hoarse shout.

  My arms knit themselves back together. I flip myself onto my back—

  She’s still there.

  The grotesque creature with the skeletal face, the sewn mouth—the lack of eyes . . .

  Her dingy hair hangs down over her shoulders. Head tilted, she’s analyzing me.

  Marinette.

  Another loa, I believe, but I can’t remember exactly which one.

  Ripping my gaze from her disturbing form, I tilt my head to take in the scene.

  There’s a legion of ghosts floating around Sabian and Seril, suspending them in midair. Marie’s doing.

  Around them, Khatiya’s flames roar, a threatening reminder.

  Seril’s missing half her face. What’s left of the melted skin is almost as repulsive as Marinette.

  Sabian’s lips have been burnt shut.

  Khatiya turns away from them and heads to me, purple skirt flaring around her legs. “Silas. Talk to me.” She kneels by my head.

  “I knew you cared,” I whisper hoarsely, smirking at her outraged expression.

  “You idiot,” is all she can come back with. She manifests a shirt on me and grabs me by the collar.

  My legs have barely reformed and being forced to stand on them is a new round of torture. I grit my teeth and lock my knees to keep myself from buckling.

  Khatiya analyzes me from head to toe. “Are you healing okay?”

  I bite back another reminder of her concern and simply nod. “This was . . . easy?” Too easy.

  Anticlimactic even.

  I don’t trust it.

  “Nothing comes without a price,” Baron remarks, walking to us. “Even though they broke our laws with this power grab, the assistance we’ve given you here today will cost you down the line.”

  That’s just fucking lovely. Based on my limited understanding of their world, I can guess what that means: they’ll probably demand something gruesome and agonizing at some point in the future.

  Marie heads over to the loa known as Marinette. The loa has turned her head to follow me, and my gut roils at the fact that I happen to be the focus of that being. Marie stops in front of her, unperturbed by her appearance, and glances at me. “She is the protector of werewolves . . . but she is also capable of reining you in.”

  It was her who was killing me with that vile force, not Seril. “Yeah . . . I remember now that she’s also the loa of power and violence.” Therefore, I’m not so sure I want to be associated with that thing.

  As if I have a choice.

  Baron heads over to Marinette. “Your duty here is finished. He is innocent. For now.”

  Although he isn’t looking my way, the threat he throws in my direction isn’t lost on me.

  Behave, or he’ll send her to seek me out.

  Marinette spends what seems to be an interminable amount of time with her head twisted toward me, until finally she turns in a slow swirl and begins walking off into the fog.

  I send up a silent prayer that I never have to see her again.

  Bullshit, I know eventually I will. One way or another.

  As I watch her vanishing into the haze, another figure begins to emerge.

  I’m wrong. It’s not just one. Six silhouettes stand in the distance. If it wasn’t for my enhanced eyesight, I wouldn’t be able to make them out.

  Actually, I take that back. I never forgot them. The memory of them remained imprinted upon my physique as forcibly as Khatiya was.

  “I thought they were dead,” I say to no one in particular.

  The new arrivals must’ve gone unnoticed by the others and they turn as one to see what I’m talking about.

  The foremost figure is the female of the crew, her body short and lithe within the black wrappings.

  “It’s them?” Khatiya mumbles, as confused as I am. She stops next to me, studying The Bestowers in the distance.

  “Forgot to mention that part.” Baron smirks, not at all ashamed at his lack of disclosure. “They survived the attack and were given sanctuary her—” His head snaps forward and his top hat flies off.

  Marie stands behind him, her hand raised to deliver another strike to the back of his head.

  “One more from you,” he warns, eyes narrowed, “and I’m going to do things to you that you’ll never forget.”

  That’s a threat of violence, but not the regular kind. As a man enthralled by a sorceress, I can empathize with him.

  Not that I give a damn what the history between those two is.

  “The coven hasn’t fallen, then.” Khatiya glances to where Sabian and Seril remain suspended in the air. Their eyes are wide with terror at the sight of The Bestowers.

  “The Bestowers will remain here. They’ve decided to bequeath the coven’s abilities to the two of you. You’ll be in charge of rebuilding it moving forward.”

  Marie and Khatiya stare at Baron as if he’s lost his mind.

  “Why was the vision of this place shown to me specifically?” I don’t expect him to have the answer, yet I figure my best shot at getting one is to ask a god, of all beings.

  “You can thank her.” Baron surprises me by pointing at the female mummy, what I assume is the leader of the coven. “She wants you to remain with the coven. And Khatiya? That’s non-negotiable.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I can’t kill the werewolf after all.”

  Marie and I exchange amused glances.

  We both know my witch wasn’t going to go through with it.

  “Papa says you’re welcome
for the gift. I, however . . .” Baron holds out a hand; his hat flies into his grip. He uses his free hand to swipe back the thick black hair that fell over his forehead and steps into Marie’s space, crowding her. “I’ll be enacting my own payment—from you—at a time of my choosing.”

  Marie’s eyes snap from all-gray to a turbulent red. “You’ll get nothing from me, connard. You barely deserve my presence in your life.”

  Baron’s face changes in the shadows, becoming even more skeletal and monstrous. “I don’t give a damn what I deserve, mon chère. Two-centuries of punishment is more than enough. Be. Ready. For. Me.”

  He must be a smart man, because he vanishes right after that statement, leaving Marie powerless to lash out at him.

  She goes off in a rapid stream of French and Creole, a jumble I barely make sense of, but her tone and expression say enough.

  I almost pity that god the next time he shows his face in front of her.

  In the relative calm that ensues, The Bestowers remain within the fog. I see my old bestie, the dude with the feather and bird on his hat.

  He clearly remembers me, as well. In a throwback to that night ten years ago, he lifts his cigarette to his lips and nods at me.

  Then, they turn their backs on us and take the same path the loa Marinette did, vanishing into the murky distance.

  Their leader, the female mummy, is the last one to leave.

  “What the hell does any of this mean?” I ask, mind spinning.

  “That you get to live, child,” Marie grumbles, clearly in a bad move. “Be grateful for miracles.”

  Okay . . . “And what do we do with them?” I jerk my head toward our captives, Seril and Sabian.

  Khatiya shrugs lightly. “They get to live. Until I get bored with torturing them, at least.”

  The idea of torturing them should bother me but . . .

  They destroyed my house.

  And they had plans to kill her.

  So fuck it.

  I rake my eyes over her as the thought that I get to now live sinks in. Staying alive means possibilities, and most important on that list?

  The chance to be with her. “I’d like to keep you,” I blurt out, and reach for her.

  She slaps my hand away. “Careful, werewolf. I’ll let you be a part of the coven for now, but that’s the only thing that’s decided.”

  Yeah, a-huh. We’ll see about that.

  Four weeks later

  State Street, New Orleans, LA (USA)

  I stare out the window into the tiled backyard. It’s nighttime and the flares of energy seem all the brighter in the pool’s lights.

  One warlock is kneeling next to the pool, chanting under his breath, hand extended toward the water. It reacts and ripples at his command, but the frustration lining his brow tells me he wants much more than that.

  He wants to command that mostly tranquil surface into a wave.

  That’s the thing, though. This new group of witches and warlocks that Khatiya and Marie have recruited have talent—no one is at their level. No one can control an element like Khatiya does, and we sure as shit don’t have another necromancer in the crew.

  I place my cup of coffee down on the marble counter. This kitchen is even bigger than the one in my last home.

  The home Seril and Sabian destroyed.

  It’s okay, though. I’ve come to peace with it.

  They’re locked in the basement of this place, subjected to whatever form of torment Khatiya dreams up. It goes a long way toward soothing the rage.

  We didn’t design this new house. It’s a seven-bedroom structure on State Street, a few blocks from Audubon Park.

  Yup. Right on a block of well-to-do homes.

  Maybe we’re fucking insane for setting up a coven smack-dab in the middle of such a quiet place, but that’s what we have magic for.

  And their old coven was in a freaking condominium building. As they told me: the best place to hide is in plain sight.

  Shit, if it wasn’t for the gris-gris I always carry with me now, the human world would’ve realized that Silas LeBlanc is still alive.

  I was labeled one of the many casualties of the Ritz Carlton collapse.

  Thanks to some of Khatiya and Marie’s connections, the wealth I accumulated over the years became a victim to “identity theft”. Except, it was really rerouted to my new accounts, under a foreign alias, and the human authorities have no idea where all that money went.

  Not that the ladies needed it to acquire this place. Their wealth makes mine seem paltry by comparison.

  Steps sound out behind me. A whiff of her scent, and I’m whirling away from the window and storming in her direction.

  Khatiya pauses just inside the entry to the kitchen, pale blue eyes wide. “Now wait a—”

  She’s in my arms.

  I put her on the countertop and nudge her thighs open to make room for my hips.

  She scowls at me the entire time, but makes no move to stop me.

  She never does anymore.

  I get nice and comfortable, hands around her hips, and lean down to kiss her. “There you are. I’ve been wondering where you went off to.”

  “Some of us have work to do.” She rakes her short nails down the back of my head, legs circling my hips.

  “I’ve been working. Trust me.” As the only werewolf in this coven—a presence that makes the witches and warlocks leery—it’s my job to scout out any threats to our location. We might be hidden from the mortal world due to magical means, but that same magic attracts the preternatural creatures in this city.

  I caught a glimpse of my first vampire the other day.

  “Silas!” Khatiya wiggles in some half-assed attempt to stop my hand from reaching between her legs. “Can you focus for a second?”

  I am focused. I’m always focused when it comes to her.

  I haven’t had that juicy pussy in my mouth since this morning.

  “I’m serious. Have you seen Marie?”

  “No,” I reply, dipping my head down to taste her collar. For all I know, she’s probably off somewhere hiding from Baron.

  I haven’t personally seen him since that night in Papa Legba’s domain. Marie’s sudden sour moods, however, tell me that he hasn’t given up his quest for her.

  Nudging Khatiya’s tank top aside with my nose, I suck my way toward her breast.

  She tenses and gasps.

  “We need to get upstairs before I fuck you in full view of everyone,” I mumble against her skin.

  “You would never.” Her hands slide down into the collar of my shirt, caressing my back. “You wouldn’t let anyone see me naked.”

  Chuckling, I raise my head and kiss her again. “You’re right. It’s all mine and I don’t share. Not even visually.”

  Her skin heats up, her flames skittering along the marble countertop.

  Thank God they found a spell to make this place completely fire retardant.

  “I’ve explained to you that this isn’t a relationship.”

  Yes, she has.

  And as with every time she gives me that bullshit, I ignore her and fuck her brains out anyway.

  Speaking of which . . .

  I slide my hands under her ass and lift her off the counter. In mere seconds, we’re at the top floor, where our shared bedroom is.

  Yes. Shared bedroom. It’s been like that since the first night we moved in.

  I told you that she’s full of shit.

  “Woman, one of these days we’re going to talk about this extreme case of denial you seem to have.”

  Khatiya’s heated nails dig into my skin. “I am not—”

  I throw her on the bed and yank my shirt off with one hand. I like this one. Can’t let her burn it to a crisp like the many others so far. “Get naked or I’ll do it for you. And my way ends with that pretty skirt in shreds.”

  “Gods, how I wish you weren’t immune to my flames,” she grumbles . . . while reaching to push her skirt down her hips.

  Happiness
.

  My chest is fucking full with happiness.

  It’s been like this for a month now.

  After a lifetime of despair and emptiness, I’ll kill anyone that tries to take this from me.

  “Lies.” I snap off my belt and shuck my jeans. “You love that you can light the place up and I’m still alive to give you this dick.”

  Her top crop goes flying over my shoulder. “Lie to yourself all you want.”

  Laughing, I grab her marked thighs and drag her down the bed toward me. “I think you’ve got a little case of projection going, baby. But it’s okay. I’ll get you to see the light eventually.” We have all the time in the world now, don’t we?

  An entire immortal lifetime.

  One that I’ll fight every day to protect.

  Ten years ago I sold my soul.

  It was supposed to end in tragedy.

  Guess whatever gods are out there finally saw fit to hand me a reward.

  I thought I was cursed.

  Turns out, the opposite is true. I’ve been immeasurably blessed.

  I’ll live the rest of my life honoring that.

  The end … for now :D

  About the Author

  N. Isabelle Blanco is the Amazon Bestselling Author of the Allure Series, the Need Series with K.I.Lynn, and many others. At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.

  That is, until coffee came a long and took over everything else.

  Nowadays, N. spends most of her days surviving the crazy New York rush and arguing with her characters every ten minutes or so, all in the hopes of one day getting them under control.

  Follow me on social media to be the first to know how all these arguments turn out :)

  Also by N. Isabelle Blanco