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Cursed
Nancy Corrigan
Contents
Introduction
Acknowledgments
Wild Hunt Dictionary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33, plus next book preview
Also by Nancy Corrigan
Author’s Note
About the Author
When dreams and reality collide, nothing—especially love—is what it seems.
Tegan, the top female rider in the Wild Hunt, has a penchant for falling in love with the wrong guys. First, an adulterer and murderer. Now, a figment of her imagination. But when her dream lover turns out to be Ian, the newest Huntsman, the desire to turn their dream trysts into reality is nearly impossible to ignore.
Three things stand in their way: Ian’s crazy and chained to a bed. He’s got secrets that might destroy them both. And she’s living on borrowed time.
But for a starving woman, even the illusion of love is enough. Until she realizes she can’t live without Ian. Or love.
In the slice of a moment, Ian Callahan lost everything he cared about. Chained and abandoned, he awakens on the edge of insanity. One thing brings him back—the touch of a lover he’s only seen in his dreams.
The ravenous beast within Ian craves Tegan, but the curse she carries prevents him from taking everything she has to offer. And that's…not acceptable. Tegan needs him as much as he needs her. They're two halves of a whole who will wither and die without each other, and it’s not a pretty way to go. Ian knows that firsthand.
That leaves Ian only one option. He needs to claim Tegan and never, ever let her go.
Buckle up and get ready for a wild and hot ride with twists, turns, and Underworld intrigue. Download the story today that changes the Devil's outlook on love and teaches him a thing or two about trust.
Ian and Tegan's story has a guaranteed happily ever after with no cheating.
Acknowledgments
With underworld intrigue, a daring rescue of innocents from the fairy realm and a demon-fueled plot twist, there’s a lot of action, but at its heart, this is a story about the redemptive power of love. Strong-willed and determined, Ian matches Tegan’s fire, making for a red-hot connection in this passionate and emotional paranormal adventure.
RT Book Reviews
Wild Hunt Dictionary
Huntsmen – the immortal riders of the Wild Hunt; also known as the Teulu
Teulu – family of Hunters; members consist of the bastard children of Arawn, Lord of the Underworld, and those humans invited to ride in the Wild Hunt
Wild Hunt – the endless nightly hunt of those beings infected by Chaos
Chaos – the raw power from which the world was formed; disorder in its purest form
Fairy – an otherworldly creature; either Seelie or Unseelie
Seelie – a fairy who is “good” or “pure”
Unseelie – a Seelie who has either willing or unwilling been infected with Chaos; a fairy who is “bad” or “evil”
Seelie Fairy Court – the ruling faction of the Seelies; no known members; once led by Dagda
Unseelie Fairy Court – the ruling faction of the Unseelies; included are the Unseelies and the redcaps; led by Dar (formerly known as Dagda)
Redcap – a human who has sold his soul to an Unseelie in exchange for immortality and power; leaders of the Unseelie Fairy Court’s army of sluaghs
Sluagh – the walking dead; a human who has been tricked into a redcap’s fairy ring
Glamour – the magic of the fairies (both Seelie and Unseelie)
Chapter One
Ian Callahan panted through the rage gripping him. Something had caught his attention. He closed his eyes, blocking out the view of the rock-carved walls of his cell, and listened. The sound of a heartbeat reached his ears. It raced. So did his. Excitement fed his heart’s rapid cadence. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything beyond the wrath consuming him in days, weeks maybe. He’d lost track of how long he’d been chained spread-eagle to his bed.
He sucked in a deep breath, desperate to hold on to the awareness the person’s presence offered. The rich scent of vanilla drugged him. He moaned, or tried to, at the very least, but his roughened voice garbled the sound. The feeling behind it remained the same. He recognized the fragrance. It was her.
His dream lover.
She’d returned in his worst hour, to tempt him. Arouse him. Make him beg.
The brown-eyed minx had ruined him. In all the years she’d visited him, she never fulfilled her wicked promises. Never gave him relief. She always disappeared before he could explode. She’d made him question his sanity and his sexuality. A growl crawled up his throat, even as blood rushed south, thickening his dick. It tented his shorts.
He groaned. His cock was so damn hard. Thinking about her always aroused him. Chained to the bed, he couldn’t even jerk off. He yanked on the chains and snarled.
Her gasp carried over his angry sounds.
She watched him.
Did she want him too? He waited for the door to open, for her to come to him. Seconds passed with only her quickened heartbeat betraying her interest. He dragged in more vanilla-scented air but couldn’t pick up on her arousal. She wasn’t close enough, and his Huntsman’s sense of smell confused him more often than not. It was too new, much like the emotion that had landed him in Hell.
“Angel?” He didn’t care how she’d teased him before, or if she continued to do so. He needed her. “Come to me.”
He held his breath.
The clunk of boots answered him, each thump fading in volume.
“No! Don’t leave me.”
But she did. She abandoned him. Again.
“Forsaken, always forsaken.”
Her love, her passion, her soul—it belonged to him. How? Why? He didn’t know. The truth remained. She was his heaven, the only one a bastard like him would ever find, yet he feared she’d always remain just out of reach.
He roared his frustration and gave himself over to the rage consuming him.
Tegan paced the length of the living room in the Huntsmen’s new estate. She’d walked out of the fairies’ prison a week ago, but freedom had not been sweet for her. Guilt, jealousy, and sadness had left her on edge. The emotions had no place in her heart. To give in to them would likely push her into the abyss, where only rage ruled. She’d lived there once before. She had no desire to revisit it.
Her siblings, the other riders in the Wild Hunt, had sensed her unease. They’d tried to coax her into exploring the modern world. She’d refused. Losing herself in booze or meaningless sex wouldn’t help her deal with the fallout of her elder brother’s revelation.
Not only was her fantasy lover real, he
was also the newest rider of the Wild Hunt.
Tegan paused in her restless loop around the room and faced the fireplace. A roaring blaze filled the hearth. The oppressive warmth it offered heated her body. Sweat beaded on her face. She licked a droplet off her lip and stepped closer, relishing the fire’s comfort.
She wasn’t chilled. The October weather in the Catskill Mountains of New York was mild. No, the blaze turning the room into a sauna was necessary to keep Rhys from cornering her and demanding an explanation for her behavior. Besides Calan, her leader in the Hunt, Rhys was the only other Hunter who had any authority over her.
The fact that the Huntsmen had just been released from their personal hells should be reason enough to explain her discontent. It wasn’t, not in Rhys’s eyes. They had a duty to fulfill and a curse to break. Still, after dying over and over for a millennium to ensure the barrier to Hell remained intact, she deserved a small reprieve. A few days to adjust to freedom. Some time to get past her heartache. Was it so much to ask?
Yes. Yes, it is. The clock is ticking, and our time is running out.
Frustration choked her. She turned her hand over and stared at the jagged black line bisecting her palm. Her breath caught. The mark, the visual reminder of the curse she carried, appeared thicker than it had when she’d first stepped out of her prison.
Why?
The squeak from the door forced back her concern. She’d worry about what the change meant when she had time alone to think. Her siblings hadn’t given her much over the past week, and the woodsy scent of a campfire which swept into the room suggested another brother planned to meddle in her affairs. She couldn’t tell by smell alone which one braved her fury. They all carried the scent of Hell with them.
Tegan gripped the mantel, refusing to meet her brother’s probing gaze, and peered into the image of the male who’d haunted her for years. Unable to stop herself, she took Ian’s picture from its treasured spot on the shelf and let his features tease her.
Long, thick lashes framed the hazel eyes she’d fantasized about staring into while he loved her body. Full lips she wanted on hers were curved into a smile she suspected had broken many females’ hearts. Combined with his rough features and unkempt hair, he was simply…
Gorgeous.
She brushed her finger over his frozen image. Warmth pooled low.
“Ready to talk?”
Rhys’s voice shocked her enough to break her focused study of the human Huntsman. She returned the framed photo to its resting spot, then glanced over her shoulder. Her brother’s silver eyes drew her attention. He watched her intently, and the curiosity in his focused stare worried her. Tegan didn’t want him to take any interest in her affairs. He’d hound her until he uncovered every last detail. No way would she allow that. She had no desire to be on the receiving end of his pity ever again. Then it had been, ‘Poor Tegan. She’s too naïve. Too forgiving. Too gullible. Maybe she’s not cut out to be a Hunter in a man’s world.’
Nope. Whether Rhys had meant her to hear his words or not didn’t change the fact they were right. She had been too trusting. Not anymore. She’d learned her lesson. She didn’t need Rhys to give her another lecture on how men used women who enabled them.
With her gaze locked on to her brother’s pale silver eyes, she motioned toward the flames crackling inches from her legs. “What? Is the fire not hot enough to keep you away?”
A tic developed along Rhys’s jaw, the only hint of his discomfort. She knew exactly what the sight of the hungry flames did to him. Repeatedly being burned alive was the death he’d endured while imprisoned. She sympathized with him, but each of them had suffered. They’d all emerged half-crazed too. Duty, honor, and stubbornness demanded they endure and continue functioning. So they did. Simple as that.
He moved closer, maybe not as confidently as she’d normally expect from him, but he closed the distance. She had to give him points for that.
A foot away, he stopped with hands balled into white-knuckled fists. “Why should it? The death it offers is like an old friend. I do not fear its return.”
Tegan laughed. Rhys’s stoic expression fueled her bitterness. She stood on her tiptoes, the additional inches not bringing her close to his face. It didn’t deter her. Being the smallest of the Huntsmen never had.
“Liar. I hear the rapid beat of your heart. You fear it.”
He bent closer. His deadened gaze held her frozen in place. “I fear nothing, little sister.”
She smirked. “Prove it.”
Why she taunted him, she didn’t know. Actually, she did. Rhys had no doubt come to talk to her about Ian, not her mood or her past mistakes where men were concerned. Rhys couldn’t care less how miserable she was now or then, as long as she rode in the Hunt.
They needed every one of the Huntsmen to defeat their enemies, and Ian had proved his worth in battle, even if he’d only ridden a couple of days before succumbing to his rage. The obligation to help him deal with the weight and pressure of his new role belonged to all of them, yet none had been able to reach him.
No one, besides her.
After a long moment, Rhys tilted his head. A lock of dark brown hair slid over one eye. He didn’t bother pushing it away or blinking. “You still enjoy your games, I see.”
“I have nothing else.”
“Don’t you?” He raised a brow. “Then let me give you something. Care to play my game?”
“No, I do not.”
She shoved against his wide chest. He didn’t budge. In her human form, she held little advantage. The power of the Hunt gave her the edge over her enemies.
“Why?” Rhys stepped into her personal space. “Are you afraid?”
“Bastard.”
He offered her a crooked smile. “Yes, I am.”
He’d always been proud of it too. Tegan worked her jaw. Finally, she blew out a rough breath. “What game—”
“—shall we play?” His smirk widened at her glare. She hated being interrupted. He knew that too. It didn’t stop him from antagonizing her. Like most siblings, they bickered.
Minutes passed. All the while, the heat from the fire at her back beat against her. Sweat ran down her spine, soaking her clothes. A sheen formed on Rhys’s tanned face. He didn’t move, even as perspiration beaded and trickled over his forehead.
She locked her knees, refusing to make anything easy for him. If he wanted to grill her, they’d do it in front of the flames.
“I’ll prove I’m tough enough to face my personal hell”—he lowered his voice—“if you do the same.”
She forced another chuckle. “Unless you’ve developed the ability to suck my life force from me, you can’t.”
Although being repeatedly ripped away from the dream she’d shared with Ian had hurt, it hadn’t been the punishment she’d endured for a millennium. Several times a day, she’d died by being turned into a lifeless husk, shriveled until only skin and bones remained.
Sheer will kept the memories buried.
He raised a brow. “Well? Yes or no.”
Tegan let a smile spread, a demented one, but the only kind she could conjure at the moment. “Yes.”
Rhys bent, never breaking their gaze, and shoved his hand into the hungry flames. The scent of burning flesh filled the room. After a moment, the sizzle of skin added to the sensory details of her brother’s stubbornness. She didn’t bother stopping him. He wouldn’t die from the small wound. Even if he did, their tie to Arawn, the Lord of the Underworld, ensured they’d regenerate. They could not die permanently, not from the loss of their heads or any form of wicked torture conceived.
Some days she hated that fact. Others she was grateful. Today she couldn’t care less.
She let her beloved sibling burn.
He held her gaze. No flinching. No blinking. No sign he even felt the pain. Finally Rhys pulled his hand free. He raised the mutilated appendage between them. The remaining charred pieces of flesh fell from his bones. Flesh regrew. Within moments, unmarred s
kin covered his fingers.
“Your turn.”
She stretched her arms out to the side.
“Go ahead.” She chuckled. “Turn me into a prune. The beating of my heart is annoying me anyway.”
Because it hurt.
Ian had broken it when she’d walked into his home and found the little slip of paper on his desk, inviting some unknown person to his wedding. A marriage to a female who wasn’t Tegan.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! She hated her ridiculous jealousy. She had no reason to feel it. At least logically. Emotionally? Hell, she was pretty sure she’d fallen in love with Ian via the dreams they’d shared.
“Your death is not a condition of this game.”
Rhys’s voice pulled her back to the present. She smirked. “Then I guess I win by default.”
His piercing gaze never left her face, nor did he speak. She ground her teeth.
“If you’re here to talk about Ian, don’t waste your breath. I just left the male. He’s too far gone for me to reach him.” She sidestepped, shoving against Rhys until he conceded and allowed her to escape.
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