Shadow Cursed (Shadow Falls Series Book 2)

by Lizzy Prince

  Tires squeal as Alarik’s car peels away from the curb, and he speeds off with Remi in tow. Finally managing to get control of my limbs, I race down the street to Hazel’s store only slowing when my shoes crunch against the pavement. Looking down, I find the glitter of broken glass winking beneath my feet as light shines down from the streetlamp overhead. My eyes dart up, and I see the window on the front door has been shattered, and a quick look inside shows that the store is a mess with overturned shelving units and broken glass scattered across the floor.

  My phone starts ringing in my bag, and I shove my hand in to search for it. I take a step back from the wrecked storefront, a pit sinking down low in my stomach. My bag is a messenger-style kind that goes across my body. I love it because it can hold a ton of stuff, but I also hate it because I tend to throw everything in there. Right now, I’m pushing aside icing tips and Chapstick, some mail that I tossed in there last night, and who knows what else. What I can’t seem to find is my phone. Damnit, where is it?

  I take another step back and contemplate dumping my bag out on the sidewalk when hands wrap around my arms. My throat closes up as my heart literally skips a beat, and I shriek in panicked surprise.

  Whirling around, I hold my bag up, yielding it like the most pathetic weapon. I only just manage to stop from swinging it at my would-be attacker when I see Silas standing there with his hands up in the air.

  “Whoa, it’s just me.”

  “You scared the crap out of me,” I gasp, rubbing my hand over my now furiously beating heart.

  “Get in the car. Hazel needs help.” Silas cuts through the chatter, turning and opening up the passenger door of his 4Runner, but not waiting for me to get in before he’s rounding on the car and jumping in the driver’s side.

  I don’t stop to think. It’s like my body obeys Silas just because he told me to get in the car. I’m not going to over analyze that right now. He’s tearing away from the curb before my door is all the way closed, and I scramble to get my seatbelt on. As fast as he’s going, if someone were to pull out in front of us, I’d be through the front window.

  I grip the door and the middle console in a knee-jerk reaction when Silas speeds around a car that’s going too close to the speed limit for his taste. He passes him as another car comes at us, and I squeal, pulling my knees up to my chest as I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Oh God!” I cry out when we swerve again. I give up looking, closing my eyes and covering them with a hand as an extra precaution. I can’t take it. If I’m going to die in Silas’s SUV, I don’t want to know it’s coming. Ignorance is bliss—at least in this case. I’m too panicked to think about anything clearly, including the fact that Alarik and Remi just hauled ass from the House of Spirits. Or that for some reason Silas was magically there to pick me up and take me to them. None of that crosses my mind as we jerk to a stop, when I’m flung forward, grunting as the seatbelt bites into my chest.

  “Sorry,” Silas says quickly as he unbuckles my seatbelt. He’s out of the car and already at my side of the car, opening my door before I can blink. How did he move so fast?

  He’s impatiently waiting for me to get out of the car, and I slide down to the running board and then hop down the rest of the way. I can’t help it that I’m short, and his big-ass car is too tall for me to exit like a dignified human. My frustration toward him returns now that we’re not careening around corners. I wanted him to stop in to see me all day and was disappointed that he hadn’t. For some reason, he was on the street ready to sweep me off to help with whatever is happening with Hazel. I’m not sure if I’m more annoyed at him or myself right now. Nope, I’m angrier at myself for having any expectations of Silas. No, I’m angrier at him. For planting those hopes in my mind again.

  I stomp toward the front door, only slowing for a moment to look around, when I realize I don’t know where we are. Is this Dante Sentire’s house? What are we doing here? Footsteps crunch on the driveway behind me, and I pick up the pace, scurrying into the house with Silas hot on my heels. I don’t bother knocking, more concerned about keeping my distance than I am about being rude.

  Remi is in the entryway and whips her head around when I walk in, and then hurries to my side.

  “I tried calling you,” she says quietly, looking over at Silas in question before shaking her head. She doesn’t ask the question that’s dangling obviously on the tip of her tongue.

  “I know. My purse is an abyss. I couldn’t find my phone, and then Silas swooped in and picked me up for the drive from hell,” I grind out, feeling jittery and tense.

  “That prick took her. He’s got her, and I don’t know where.” Alarik sounds gutted and pissed as he paces back and forth across the living room. Remi, Silas, and I are still congregated right inside the front door, but his words catch my attention. I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but I’m putting together the pieces. The destroyed window at House of Spirits, Silas saying Hazel needed help when he’d told me to get in the car. The seance from the night before flashes through my mind. Did we unleash something when we tried to contact the dead?

  “How do you know he has her?” Silas asks next to me, startling me out of my thoughts. His voice is deep and smooth like melted chocolate, and even in this totally inappropriate moment, it sends a shiver down my spine. Why does he have to be so damn sexy?

  “Because who else would take her? The window of her store was busted, and there was shit knocked over everywhere inside.”

  Alarik’s words seem to unlock something in my brain. Someone’s taken Hazel. I stumble forward and plop down in the closest chair, feeling a little woozy. What if I’d left my store earlier? If I hadn’t been obsessively cleaning because I was so pissed at Silas and our whole cluster of a situation? Maybe I could have helped her. I could have been there with her when she closed down for the night, or I could have called the cops if I’d seen something happening. Guilt and fear overwhelm my senses.

  Silas moves toward me, his hand stretching out like he’s about to touch me, to offer comfort, but I shoot him a look that tells him to back off. I’m just as pissed at him as I am at myself. Remi shoulders him out of the way and sits on the arm of my chair and pats my head like I’m a puppy.

  Closing my eyes, I try to block out all of the thoughts warring for dominance in my head. There’s too much going on up there, and it’s just thought soup. Nothing is coming together.

  “Where could he take her to do whatever it is he wants to do?” I ask, trying to get the group to think rationally, since it seems like no one bothered to consider the basics before they all rushed over to Dante’s house. Granted, it is a gorgeous contemporary mansion, but it’s not like Hazel is going to be here. At least, I highly doubt it.

  I startle when I hear an animalistic growl from Alarik and realize how horrible the words I’ve just spewed must have sounded. Then Silas is snarling with an intensity that has me leaning back into the chair, his face contorted in pure rage. Remi presses into my side, but not because she’s intimidated. I know she’s trying to offer her support to me. I gasp when Alarik’s fist arcs through the air and pummels Silas’s face with a grimace-inducing crack. A rumble sounds deep in Silas’s chest as they both pant, trying to control their barely-leashed tempers. Silas glances over at me quickly, as though assessing my well-being.

  Remi tells the two grown-ass men to get over themselves with an annoyed snap. They both appear almost comically chastised, and Alarik takes a step back and all but slaps his forehead as if he’s just realized where Hazel is. He grunts out a curse before sprinting out of the house without bothering to tell the rest of us what he’s just figured out.

  Remi leaps up from the arm of the chair, and she and Dante are out the front door before I even get out of my chair. Am I the only one who doesn’t move like a superhero? What the hell? Silas is at my side, leading me out of the house with his hand on my lower back. I can’t feel the heat of it because I have too many layers on, and I’m a little annoyed at how disappointe
d I am by that. Because I’m too nice not to ask, I look up at Silas and take in the faint bruising on his cheek. I could have sworn something was broken by the sound of that hit, but it just looks like a smudge.

  “Are you okay?” My eyes dance over his face, but I avoid staring directly into those green eyes. I know they’ll suck me in like quicksand, and I’ll be done for.

  The hand on my back sweeps up and down as if he’s comforting me. “Alarik punches like a child. I barely felt it.”

  “Who has Hazel?”

  “Pretty sure it’s Alarik’s brother, Gregory.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s a selfish prick.”

  I roll my eyes as we get back to the car, and I look around, realizing we’ve lost everyone now. “Where are we going?” I ask as I climb into the passenger side.

  Silas has his phone out, checking it before dropping it in the center console. Peeking down at it, I see that Dante has sent him a message telling him to go to Alarik’s house. Seriously? Alarik’s brother took Hazel to Alarik’s house?

  I keep my eyes pressed shut once Silas takes off again, feeling queasy as he speeds over county roads to get us to Alarik’s house. We’re there before I get a chance to catch my breath, and this time, I manage to get my door open before Silas is there. We both run toward the front door, which is wide open. An agonized scream rips through the air, and I run faster, fear blazing through my veins. Is that Hazel?

  Silas blows by me, and when I get inside the house, I see him trying to help Alarik stand up. He’s on his knees, shaking in pain, as he gasps for air. He tries to get to his feet only to stumble back to the ground.

  Another scream carries up from the basement, and Remi and I both take off toward the sound, leaving behind Silas, Dante, and Alarik without any thought to what we’re running into. All I know is that my friend is being hurt, and I have to help her.

  I nearly break my neck half sliding down the steps to the basement, but I manage to grab onto the railing so that I don’t fall on my ass and take Remi with me. She’s in front of me and is down the steps and running through the halls of Alarik’s massive basement like she knows exactly where she’s going. Then Dante is passing us, and I hear Silas behind me, shouting at me to stay back. But I ignore him, catching up with Dante just as he pulls open a door.

  When I get a good look at the room, I stumble back in shock. Remi leans over and throws up, slumping against the wall, her face pale and sweaty. Worry surges through me on so many different levels. Remi doesn’t get sick. She’s never weak like this. I can’t focus on her right now though, because Hazel is on the ground with her clothing half ripped off and a symbol carved into her stomach. There’s a man crouched over her, a bloody knife in his hand, while Hazel writhes on the floor as if something else entirely is attacking her.

  Everything happens so fast that I can’t track it with my eyes. There’s a blur of motion, and then the man is flung off Hazel as Alarik slams his fists into him over and over. I run over to Hazel’s side, feeling an odd shiver trickle over my skin as I cross the large symbol drawn on the ground. Falling to my knees, I grab Hazel’s hand and brush her hair back from her face.

  “Hazel?” I whisper, trying not to pull any attention my way as Dante and Silas pin down the asshole on the floor. They can deal with that mess. I’m going to help my friend.

  Hazel’s not moving, and her skin is icy cold to the touch. As if the chill is contagious, I feel it start to creep up the hand I have pressed against Hazel's cheek. Alarik leaves the other two to deal with the man I assume is Alarik’s brother and sinks to the ground on Hazel’s other side. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but there’s a sinking, hollow feeling clawing its way inside of me. My body sways a little as nausea makes my stomach churn, and the room flickers in and out of focus. The cold in my hand is moving up and has encompassed most of my arm.

  Alarik has his hands and forehead pressed to the symbol cut into Hazel’s stomach. He looks like he wants to rage out or maybe cry, as if the mark hurts him as much as it has to hurt Hazel. The creeping cold pulls my attention from them. It feels like there’s something tugging at my insides, then retracting like a sticky piece of tar. It’s almost painful, but the numbing cold has totally encased my side so that I can barely feel anything, just as I can barely keep my eyes open. My hand is still gripping Hazel’s, and the last thing I hear before I slump forward into darkness is a roar of pain.

  Chapter Twelve

  Silas

  The heel of my shoe digs into Gregory’s shoulder. The piece of fucking shit. I’ve never liked his spoiled ass, and this just proves my instincts are still solid, despite how badly I keep fucking up lately. Bridget is at Hazel’s side, and I keep my eyes on her while I shove my foot against the slimy piece of filth beneath my boot until he grunts and gasps in pain. Alarik is next to Hazel, trying to help her from the invisible beasts that are hurting her.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bridget sway a little, and every hackle goes up. The fine hairs at the base of my neck stand straight up. My wolf is going fucking nuts commanding me to protect, as though she were my mate. When she slumps over, I can’t stay away from her any longer. I push at Gregory with my foot, shoving him in Dante’s direction, and tell him to watch him.

  I don’t know what’s going on with Hazel or Alarik, who looks like he’s passed out on top of Hazel. Right now, I really don’t care. The only thing that matters is taking care of Bridget, getting her out of here and out of the way of harm. The instinct takes over the actions of my body, and I’m helpless to do anything but obey. Not that it matters, because I want to get her away from here just as much as my wolf does.

  My eyes shift from Bridget for the briefest moment when Killian arrives with his sickly-looking red head at his side. My wolf starts to growl and pace within me, practically begging for release. There is something about Killian’s witch-vamp that has the beast’s hackles up. I didn't realize it before, when she appeared at my doorstep, but there is something vaguely familiar about her. I give up trying to place her when she warps across the room, her speed identifying her as most definitely a vampire—not that I had much doubt after she bit me. And yet, when I inhale deeply to take in her scent, I still catch the essence of witch clinging to her.

  I ignore her as she starts beating the shit out of Gregory. He deserves every punch, and I don’t really give a shit about him. I’m more concerned with Bridget, but before I can lift her up, the red head starts screaming, rage overflowing as Killian pulls her away from Gregory. She was draining him of every ounce of blood and would have killed him if Killian hadn’t pulled her away.

  Everything happens in the span of a breath, and suddenly the witch is breaking free from Kilian’s arms and dashing for the person nearest her. Which happens to be Bridget. The vampire has her teeth sunk into Bridget’s arm before I can reach her. My roar echoes around the small room with frustrated fury at my inability to keep Bridget safe. I would swing at the vamp, woman or not, but Killian has his arms around her and is dragging her out of the room before I can blink. If I wasn’t so focused on making sure Bridget’s okay, I’d be chasing that woman down and unleashing my wolf on her. The weak moan of pain from Bridget’s lips has my stomach churning and my wolf whimpering. It’s as if my wolf and I can feel her pain like it’s our own.

  Bridget looks small and fragile as I squat down to get my arms beneath her slight body. I pick her up as if she’s the most important treasure in the world. She’s barely alert as her head rolls back onto my shoulder. Reverently, I lower my forehead and touch it to hers as I suck in a fortifying breath. She’s cold and clammy, and her amber colored eyes flicker open and closed but don’t seem to see anything in front of her. My heart physically aches in my chest, and I hug her closer. It almost helps ease the discomfort a little. Almost.

  With hardly a word of goodbye, I take off with Bridget held securely in my arms. As if she’s a porcelain doll, I set her gently in the car and buckle her in, all wit
hout her waking up. My thoughts are muted and dull as I drive her back to my house. Instinct tells me to bring her home, to protect her and keep her safe. The need to take her to my home, to have her in my space and surround her with my scent, my things, burns like a fever through my body. I want to take care of her and tend to her aches and pains. No, I need to. It’s messing with my head. I don’t understand why she feels like she’s mine when she can’t be.

  She moans, and I reach out and caress her cheek. Her face nuzzles against my hand as though she wants to burrow down next to it. It sends a shock of desire straight through me, and I feel myself responding and curse, adjusting myself. And now I feel like a fucking lecher because she’s not even awake.

  We’re at my house, and I’ve got her out of the car before she begins to wake. Walking into my cabin, I’m grateful that for once no one is inside. I can’t decide if I should put her on the couch or take her into my bed. I know what my wolf wants, but the human part of me argues that, for Bridget, it would be an overstep. She’s already not exactly thrilled with me, and I don’t know enough about why to apologize. I don’t think I need another strike against me, so I settle for placing her gently on the couch. All while my wolf grumbles and paces just beneath the surface.

  I gently unfold a blanket over her and grab a glass of water from the kitchen, keeping my eyes on her at all times. She hasn’t moved beyond the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Setting the glass of water on the table in front of the couch, I move to the bathroom to gather supplies to tend to her wound. I debate if it makes more sense to wait until she’s awake to bandage her up, since I’ll likely wake her by trying to clean up the wound. Worry that she’s human and an infection could settle in has me gently cleaning out the wound and wrapping it securely. When I accomplish that task without waking her, I slump down to the floor. Settling in with my back propped against a chair so that I can watch her as she sleeps.