Cursed in Love

by Kenborn, Cora

  I have no idea if I’m lashing out due to shock, fear, or fury. Maybe it’s a combination of all three. All I know is that I know nothing. Everything has been one big puzzle of layered lies, and I’m done.

  Stay. In. Control.

  Odyn reaches for me, but taking note of my hardened glare, quickly pulls back. “What do you mean, your father called you?”

  His display of affection shoots fury through my veins. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

  Whatever else I may say, that’s the honest truth. Lies are beneath a man as intellectual as him. Even though the way he’s staring at me right now is anything but academic. In fact, he’s looking less professor with a plan and more rebel without a care.

  Our run-in at the medical examiner’s office seems to have taken as much of a toll on him as it has on me. The dark circles under our eyes match, and we’re both still dressed in the same clothes as last night. Upon closer examination, I notice Odyn’s trademark glasses are missing and his crisp, sensible shirt is unbuttoned to his waist. It’s all I can do to keep my focus on my anger and off the hard planes of his muscular chest.

  Every last defined ridge and plane.

  I shake my head, reminding myself why I’m here. “Don’t lie to me and act like you didn’t already know. It’s the least you owe me.”

  Something flashes in Odyn’s eye.

  Truth? Hurt? Sympathy? Desire?

  Whatever it is, as soon as it appears, it fades only to be replaced by a nod and his usual condescending bullshit. “Okay, quid pro quo, Detective Moroz.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He smirks. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the phrase. You are an officer of the law.”

  “I know what quid pro quo means, asshole. What the hell does me receiving a call from a man I haven’t seen since I was six years old have to do with a give and take with you?”

  My jab is meant to fuel the argument brewing between us. I have no idea why I want to pick a fight with him. If I’m honest with myself, I’m mad at the situation I’ve found myself in more than the man standing in front of me. However, instead of taking the bait, Odyn crosses his arms behind his back and leisurely paces in front of me, his smirk deepening.

  “See, there you go insulting me again. You’d think as a seasoned detective you’d realize the good cop routine always gets more results than the bad one.”

  In response, I offer him an exaggerated eye roll. “Is there a point to this?”

  “Quid pro quo,” he repeats, turning on his heel and coming to a stop directly in front of me. He’s close. So close, I can smell the mint on his breath. “You tell me what your father wanted, and I’ll try to oblige your rather temperamental demand concerning your mother.”

  I’m lost in his silver eyes. They’re magnetic. Hypnotic. Like the mercury in a thermometer, rising in response to the heat radiating off my—

  Wait, did he just call me temperamental?

  “No,” I bite out between clenched teeth.

  His smirk fades. Obviously, It’s not the response he was expecting.

  “No?”

  Needing equal footing, I slide off the table, and stare up at him. Even though I have to strain my neck to look in his eyes, I cock my hip and my chin, commanding as much presence as I can. “How about you tell me what the fuck happened earlier, and I’ll consider it.”

  “Ah, you mean when you accidentally brought a body back from the grave?”

  Shit.

  “I didn’t—”

  I gasp as Odyn grips my hip and twists me around, each word out of his mouth punctuated with a step forcing me backward. “Mila, while I’ll admit bantering with you is almost unbearable foreplay, give me a little credit.”

  More steps. More words, and I lose my bearings.

  “I’ve practiced necromancy for most of my adult life. You were alone in that room with a murder victim that suddenly rose from the dead.” His other hand drops, pressing into my other hip. “Do you think aliens swooped in and did it behind your back?” His rough voice edges along my frayed nerves as my back slams against the wall. “Stop lying to yourself for once, and stop running from the truth.”

  If there was thickness in the air before, it’s now so dense I could cut it with a knife. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. Coming here was a mistake.”

  I attempt a half-hearted push against his chest, which is met with an immovable wall of muscle. The display is embarrassing enough, but when he encircles my wrists and pins them against the wall above my head, my body ignites.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he growls.

  The feral look in his eyes flips my stomach upside down and inside out. I take a moment and close my eyes, reminding myself of my rules. This can’t happen. Giving in to where this is going would only be a repeat of past mistakes.

  “Home,” I say, but the breathiness of my voice makes me wonder who the hell I’m trying to convince. Opening my eyes, I clear my throat and force what I hope to be a modicum of conviction in my tone. “Back to the life that made sense before you walked into it and turned it into a three-ring circus.”

  “What about the case?”

  I hold his stare, hating the way my pulse jumps as his gaze drops to my lips. “Your services are no longer needed, Mr. Broussard.”

  Odyn’s eyes stay locked on my mouth, and I have no idea what in the hell possesses me, but as he watches, I dart my tongue out and lick my bottom lip.

  His hold on my wrists tightens to an almost painful grip as a low, primal groan tears from his throat. “On the contrary, Miss Moroz, I think my services are very much needed.”

  There’s no time to think. Odyn’s mouth is on me before I can take another breath. His kiss is demanding, rough, and mending all in one. He demands, and I give, almost as if he knows the walls I’ve built up have to be torn down instead of lowered.

  I can’t submit. I’ve been forced to stay strong too long. If he wants me, he’s going to have to take me, and it’s going to have to be vicious.

  Odyn shifts my wrists into one of his hands as the other trails down the front of my chest, molding around one of my breasts, his thumb circling the nipple through my thin tank top. I cry out at the sensation, arching into his touch, as the evidence of his desire presses against my stomach.

  Incoherent words tumble from my lips as his mouth drops to my neck, his hand slipping from my breast to the button on my jeans.

  Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

  As if he can hear my thoughts, Odyn’s hesitation ends. In one hard jerk, the button on my jeans snaps and the zipper is pulled down. I barely have time to gasp before his hand dives inside, his thick finger grazing over my clit. I slam my head against the wall, almost seeing stars as my body hums with need. Slowly, he traces the outline of my folds before sinking a finger deep inside.

  A hoarse moan pulls from my lips as he pumps, his head lifting from my neck as his darkened eyes meet mine. “Oh yeah, my services are definitely needed right here.” I’m pinned between Odyn and the wall, choking on his name as he adds a second finger, his thumb firmly rubbing my clit.

  “I . . .”

  “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t want this, you fucking liar. You want to know what I think? I think you want me to fuck you right here against this wall, but you won’t say it because of your damn rules. Luckily, I don’t have any.”

  “Odyn . . .”

  “Quiet. You’ve argued enough for one night, Miss Moroz.”

  His fingers work faster, my body taut as an arrow. I can’t deny this. I’m unraveling in his hands, and when I climb to unsurmountable heights, one final stroke pushes me over the edge, and I splinter apart.

  “Odyn!” I cry, my body convulsing.

  “Oh sweetness, I’m just getting started.” Pulling his hand away, he releases the button on his black slacks, pushing them down his strong thighs.

  I can’t stop myself from glancing down, and the moment I do, a soft c
urse slips past my lips.

  Odyn’s gaze follows mine, and he winks. “Don’t worry. Haven’t lost one yet.”

  Releasing my hands, he spins me around, tugs my pants down my legs, and shifts my hips backward. I fall forward, and he places my palms on the wall in front of me. However, instead of feeling his body crash into me, I hear his labored breathing as he steps back.

  “Mila, it’s been a while since. . .” He pauses, his voice brittle with fractured restraint. “I’m not prepared. Are you on birth control?”

  All I can do is nod. His words are an elixir keeping me in a trance while sending a shiver down my spine. Without warning, without a tease or a stroke, Odyn slams into me from behind with almost unbearable power.

  I scream and arch my back, but he shows no mercy, delivering a series of punishing thrusts that curl my fingers against the wall. Over and over he fills me, our bodies slamming together, driving toward a combined goal I have no doubt will shatter us both.

  “Goddamn, Mila! What the fuck are you doing to me?” His movements speed up, curses ripping from his throat as sweat drips from my temple.

  We’re going to regret this, but at least for now, nothing else matters.

  “I’m going to come!” I shout, clawing the wall.

  Odyn grabs a handful of my hair and tugs my head back, his mouth hot against my ear as his cock continues to savagely pound into me. “Don’t ever forget whose name you scream when you do.”

  And just like a prophecy, I obey.

  “Odyn!” My body shakes for a second time, pulling him with me. His body jerks behind me, and he lets out a guttural groan before spilling himself inside me.

  My legs give out, and I sink to the floor, half naked, my body slumping against the wall. I can feel Odyn settle in behind me in silence. Whereas before, one of us wouldn’t hesitate to toss out an insult or a sharp-tongued barb, now there’s an awkwardness that reminds me why I had rules in the first place.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  What have I done?

  * * *

  Odyn and I are sitting across from each other at his kitchen table, both of us staring at his damn Book of Shadows. We’re not discussing it. We’re not training. In fact, we haven’t spoken in over fifteen minutes. At least using it as a focal point keeps our attention on something other than the elephant in the room.

  The big, naked elephant in the room.

  My mind wanders back to the accusation he made before things went all sideways. “I didn’t want to bring anyone back from the dead.”

  Odyn glances up at me and raises an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter if you wanted to or not. Your powers overtook your will. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along, Mila. You’re special. Most necromancers study for years to do what you did last night. They have to use ancient spells, chant special incantations, and perform very specific rituals to make it happen. Even then, some never master the craft.”

  “Then I don’t understand. I didn’t do any of that.”

  “You didn’t have to. You just wanted it.” He inhales deeply, testing his words before speaking them. “You wished for it, didn’t you?”

  Did I? I think back and remember Samantha leaving me alone. The room felt cold and intimidating. I made stupid small talk about my car, and then I . . .

  “I asked for answers.”

  He nods as if it’s the answer he expected. “You’re the chosen one.”

  “I’m sorry, the what?”

  “Every century, there’s a prophecy about a chosen one whose powers are so great they can perform powerful spells, and unfortunately, raise anyone from the dead.”

  “Why unfortunately?”

  Odyn hesitates. It’s only a moment, but I see it. “Because there are basic laws, Mila. Only fresh kills can be lifted. After a certain amount of time, it takes a power only the chosen ones possess to bring someone back.”

  “But why Judy? Why now?”

  “She wasn’t completely burned.”

  I slam my palms against the wood. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  For all my frustration, Odyn is an endless well of patience. He leisurely sits back in his chair and slips on his glasses as if twenty minutes ago he didn’t have me bent over and screaming his name. “You asked about the Dauphine murders. In your research, didn’t you notice a pattern familiar with the Cajun Cremator?”

  “Just that they were all burned.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  I shrug. “The killer is a sadistic son of a bitch?”

  “Mila. . .” he warns in that unbothered way of his.

  “It’s his signature.”

  “Dig deeper.”

  I’m about to question the point of all this when something in his metallic stare clicks. “He wants us to think it’s his signature, but it isn’t. It’s a counter-forensics measure. It’s his way of making sure the bodies can’t be brought back from the dead.”

  Odyn’s lips curl up in a smile I swear almost looks proud. “There might be hope for you yet, Moroz.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, determined not to bask in his praise. I don’t want to feel the warmth his words ignite. It’d be too easy to let myself fall for his crooked smile and easygoing charm.

  Been there done that.

  So I delve into the one subject that will douse every bit of his warmth in ever-present darkness. The one subject guaranteed to drape any conversation in unpleasant shade.

  “My father wanted to meet me in the Lower Ninth Ward last night.”

  “Hmmm?” he hums, his attention more on the book than me.

  I slam my hand on top of the leather, and his eyes shoot up to meet mine. “Quid pro quo, Mr. Broussard. I promised if you told me about what happened today, I’d tell you about my father.” I wait for a response, but Odyn just nods and waits for me to continue. “I haven’t seen him since I was six. For reasons she never felt the need to explain, my mother packed our shit in the middle of the night and we ran. I spent most of my childhood bouncing around the Southeast. Once I became old enough to hold down a decent job. . . well, let’s just say I never cared much for my mother’s gypsy lifestyle.”

  “That’s when you came back to New Orleans?”

  I nod. “Been on my own since I was seventeen. Everything I have is because I worked my ass off for it. That man never lifted a finger to help me, and he sure as hell never bothered looking for me until this case started getting exposure. He can fuck off for all I care.”

  Odyn offered a moment of silence before asking, “What did you tell him?”

  “I had just brought a murdered woman back from the dead, Odyn. It’s not like I was in the right state of mind for some big father/daughter reunion.”

  A shadow crosses his face, his fingers extending and flexing over the leather before finally opening the cover. “Listen to me, Mila, I need you to promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

  This is what I was afraid of.

  “Having sex doesn’t mean you get to give me orders, Odyn. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Mila.” Flipping the pages with a forceful hand, Odyn finally finds the page he wants and turns it around. “I’m not telling you what to do because we fucked. I’m telling you what to do because of this.”

  My eyes flick to where his finger points, and I feel the blood drain from my face. Lifting my gaze, I search his face for an answer. “Marcotte. Why is my father’s last name in this dusty old book?”

  “Marcotte is one of the prominent family names of the Elders. They’re an ancient society of hell bent on using necromancy to its darkest fulfillment.”

  “I don’t like what you’re inferring, Odyn.”

  “They’re ancient because they continually repopulate themselves by bringing their oldest and most powerful leaders back. Unfortunately for them, the prophecy requires them to wait a century to find the chosen one who will perform their task. Once they do, the society performs a rather gruesome
ritual involving the chosen one and the resurrected.”

  “Marcotte,” I repeat, the name tasting as thick as molasses.

  Odyn nods. “Your father.”

  That’s when I notice another name listed in the book. A name that triggers a memory I’ve been struggling with for hours. Now it’s clear, and I can’t escape the truth.

  Judy’s voice sounds choked. As if she’s losing strength. “Because you’re the one they’ve been waiting for.”

  Like the snap of a camera, a not so distant memory clicks into place.

  Dr. Crane makes a sound low in his throat. Maybe it’s out of curiosity. Maybe it’s out of fear I’m a straight up nutjob. “Perhaps they come to you because you’re the one they’ve been waiting for.”

  My stomach lurches as a silver photo frame gleams in my mind’s eye. He’s almost smiling in the picture, his arms wrapped around an identical image of himself, balding gray hair and all. Two boring, insufferable assholes in one town.

  “The Dauphine murders,” I whisper, gripping the ends of the table. “The man who killed himself. The man you claimed was the murderer.”

  “William Crane.”

  The clock’s ticking, and time’s running out.

  For all of us.

  “I know how he’s finding his victims.”

  Chapter 13

  Odyn

  “What?” I stare at her, but I heard her. I’m on my feet and pacing while thinking and worrying that something dark is coming.

  “His victims are all coming from the doctor,” she explains, gesturing at a name. “This is my psychiatrist. Nick told me to see him.” She’s in front of me, her hands on my chest, and I know she’s trying to calm me, but I can’t stay calm right now.

  “That fucker will get my goddamned fist in his face,” I growl in frustration. “I told you—”

  “Listen to me, Odyn, and listen very fucking good. He’s been in my life for far longer than you, and at the time, I didn’t know anything about this life.” For the first time since she’s walked into my apartment tonight, I’m speechless. She’s more beautiful in her anger than I’ve ever noticed.