The Cursed Witch: A Paranormal Enemies to Lovers (Nightcaster Chronicles Book 1)

by R. L. Perez

  THE CURSED WITCH

  Nightcaster Chronicles, Book One

  R.L. Perez

  THE CURSED WITCH

  Copyright © 2021 R.L. Perez

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Willow Haven Press 2021

  United States of America

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Cover Art by Blue Raven Book Covers

  For Emily, the strongest and most resilient person I know.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  1

  Leo

  Segovia, Spain - 1735

  THE CITY WAS QUIET. Still. Peaceful. Though my enhanced hearing picked up every crawling critter and chirping insect in the darkened forest, the noises soothed my ears, inviting a calmness that I shoved away.

  Not now. Not tonight.

  My eyes were fixed on the Castillo de Coca. The home of Count Antonio de Silva—the man who currently held my brother captive.

  I sensed a presence behind me and stiffened. The magic within me prickled to life, preparing to shift me to another form should I have the need to escape.

  Then, a whiff of woodsmoke and cinnamon tickled my nose, and I relaxed. I knew that scent.

  “Fancy yourself a midnight stroll, Jorge?” I asked without looking away from the castle.

  “You’ve been brooding out here for hours.” Jorge silently approached from behind a large oak tree and followed my gaze. “Still no sign of Ronaldo?”

  I shook my head. “He’s been gone for two days now. If he hasn’t emerged by now, the Count must have him.” I took a half step forward, undecided.

  Jorge grabbed my shoulder. “If this is true and you interfere, you will surely be captured along with him. You must wait. Trust your brother.”

  I remained silent. Trust Ronaldo? When he hadn’t trusted me to wait? He’d been foolish and reckless to rush in unaided.

  His impulsive and stubborn behavior often manifested itself in me as well. But as my elder brother, he should have been the responsible one—the coven’s leader. Instead, that responsibility had fallen to me despite being only nineteen.

  We needed him back. I couldn’t do this without him.

  “I could shift to an insect,” I said quietly, tying back my long curly black hair. “Creep inside undetected. No one would know I was there.”

  “Except they can smell you,” Jorge argued. “There are warlocks in there. Light warlocks trained to smell demons like us.”

  I flashed a grin at him. “We aren’t normal demons, Jorge.”

  Jorge raised his eyebrows, acknowledging this. “Perhaps not. But with Ronaldo gone, our coven looks to you now. Don’t leave us without a leader.”

  I shook my head, though I didn’t know why. I knew he was right.

  “How long has it been since you’ve fed?”

  I waved a hand. “I drank from Estrella a few days ago. I can last a bit longer.”

  “Leo—”

  “I still feel her blood inside me,” I said sharply. “I know when I’m hungry, Jorge. Don’t patronize me.”

  Jorge fell silent.

  I sighed. “Forgive me. Tonight, I am not myself.”

  “None of us are,” Jorge whispered.

  I stared hard at the castle as if by my sheer will I could make it move. But it remained still as death. Silent and unyielding like a mountain.

  “I need to get closer,” I said, surging forward.

  “Leo!” Jorge hissed.

  I ignored him. Dark magic pulsed within me, roaring to life, and I shifted into my bat form. My body shrank, and my vision darkened, leaving me blind. But I didn’t need my sight. Vibrations thrummed and pulsed around me, guiding me toward my destination. Perhaps with my bat’s unique senses, I could detect something my vampire form might have missed. My true form was a vampire, but I could shift to various smaller animals thanks to my family’s bloodline of shapeshifters.

  I flapped my wings fiercely, flying toward the castle. A burst of magic behind me indicated Jorge followed, though I didn’t know what creature he shifted to. His magic differed from mine. Not everyone in the coven could shift to a bat like me.

  Something crackled in the air, and I wavered, spinning out of control as if a heavy force barreled into me. The vibrations pulsed so loudly that I screeched in pain. My magic swept over me, shifting me back to my vampire form, and I crashed to the ground.

  What the hell was that?

  I righted myself, eyes wide as I stared at the castle. A burst of fire poured from one of the castle windows like a waterfall of flames.

  “Ronaldo!” I strode forward, but then a mighty shriek filled the air, piercing the night and quieting the sounds of the forest. The cry made my ears throb and sent me staggering back a step.

  Lightning flashed in the sky, but it was unusual—this lightning was bloodred, carving jagged, sinister lines in the inky black sky.

  A bolt of magic shot through the air toward me, rippling the branches and bushes like a mighty storm. The magic seared through my chest, burning me from the inside out.

  I clutched at my heart, moaning as I sank to my knees.

  “Leo!” Jorge shouted from behind me, his voice strained.

  Another boom shook the ground. Hunks of concrete cracked and fell from the castle, creating a wide crater. Within the hole, something exploded in a burst of flames and dark magic.

  I screamed.

  2

  Brielle

  Miami, USA - 2020

  I SPENT MY SIXTEENTH birthday hunting demons.

  The day itself had been mundane. A typical Tuesday. Trudging through school, combating my frustrations through an afternoon of kickboxing, forcing a smile as my parents and sister sang “Happy Birthday” and thrust a giant buttercream cake in my face, then pretending to watch TV when my parents left for their coven meetings. The local covens of witches and warlocks in our neighborhood met once a month. Mom and Dad b
elonged to separate covens since Mom practiced light magic and Dad was a dark warlock—technically a demon.

  Even though I possessed light magic like my mom, I was prohibited from attending her coven meetings ever since Joe Velazquez cornered me and beat me to a pulp for being a “worthless witch who was a waste of space.”

  That was five years ago. And also the day I took up kickboxing.

  I drew my hoodie over my face, obscuring my long sand-colored hair. My older sister, Angel, was resting upstairs. She’d had another seizure yesterday and was on a special medication that made her extra drowsy.

  It also made it easier for me to slip out unnoticed.

  I eased open the door, and the pulse of vibrant Latin music echoed down the street. We lived in the heart of Little Havana. Though my Dad was Cuban, he said the area reminded him of home more than Cuba itself.

  I pulled the strings of my hood so that only a small pocket of my face was visible. Though the air was thick with heat and humidity, it didn’t bother me. I was always cold.

  The weight of my weapons was a comfort to me as I walked. The holsters secured around my waist and chest held my stakes, daggers, and potion vials.

  To effectively hunt demons, I needed all three. Especially since I was a “worthless witch.”

  Joe Velazquez hadn’t been completely wrong about me.

  I crossed the street to where the music was loudest. A nearby club resonated with energy and enthusiasm. The music pulled me in, lulling me with its upbeat melody and striking rhythm.

  No, I told myself. You’re here to work.

  I slid between two clubs and hovered in the alley, keeping myself out of sight. If any demon was hungry for an unsuspecting victim, this was the perfect place. Hidden and secluded. Anyone who stepped outside of the club would be easy prey.

  So I waited, shoving my hands into my pockets and feeling the familiar weight of my favorite blade, a jewel-encrusted athame given to me by my mother when I was twelve.

  Back when she still thought I could prove myself a powerful witch.

  The blaring music rattled my eardrums. I closed my eyes, allowing the sounds to wash over me like white noise. An array of scents tickled my nostrils—alcohol, sweat, cigarette smoke. My nose filtered through all of these, searching. Hunting.

  Then, I found it, and my eyes snapped open. The sharp stench of demon. It reeked of vinegar and onion, practically stinging my eyes.

  I drew my athame and hid it in the pockets of my hoodie, surging toward the smell. I followed it down the street, away from the clubs. A gaggle of women stood by the lamppost, laughing and swaying drunkenly to the muffled music. One of them peeled off from the others, stumbling up the road toward the parking lot.

  I stiffened, sensing movement nearby. A shadow lingered, watching her.

  I shuffled forward, keeping a protective distance—but still close enough to see the woman. Her long dark hair was plastered to her face by sweat. She squinted, looking into the depths of her purse, no doubt trying to find her keys.

  A whoosh of air breezed past me, sweeping in a burst of demon stench.

  I broke into a run, rushing toward the woman. A black shadow crept toward her, but she paid no attention.

  I wanted to shout, to warn her, but if I did the demon would vanish and find someone else to attack.

  Just a few more steps.

  The shadow was right on top of her. Then, I shouted, “Hey!”

  The woman looked up, and the shadow froze, melting backward as it retreated.

  The woman blinked, squinting at me. In Spanish, she said, “Do I know you?”

  I pressed my palms together as if in prayer and muttered a spell.

  “I summon the magic from spirits on high.

  Reveal the predator lurking nearby.”

  My hands glowed blue, and a faint vibration tickled my fingers. From behind a black sedan emerged a figure. He straightened, his head whipping around as if trying to locate the source of magic. My magic.

  My eyes narrowed as I scrutinized the demon. Sallow skin. Bloodred eyes.

  Vampire.

  I ducked down, using my short stature to my advantage. Creeping forward, I inched around the opposite side of the sedan until I approached the vampire from behind. Then, I flung my athame into his back. It embedded itself just left of his spine. He straightened and cried out with a high-pitched hiss that made the drunken woman yelp.

  The vampire staggered backward, looking around until his enraged eyes met mine. Surprise flickered in his expression, and I knew what he was thinking. It was what they all thought when they saw me: She doesn’t have magic. Otherwise they’d be able to smell me.

  They were half-right.

  I sprinted, ducking to avoid the swipe of his clawed hand. I yanked my athame from his flesh, and he screeched. I used it to slice his thigh, then his forearm. I spun around to embed it in his stomach when he snatched my wrist, his expression murderous.

  “You’re no witch,” he spat. “Leave me alone and I’ll spare you.”

  I smirked at him. “Not a chance.”

  I yanked him forward, drawing on the strength from my kickboxing lessons, and flung his body against the pavement. Something within him cracked, and he howled in agony. I lifted my athame, ready to drive it into his gut. Before I could, his foot hooked around mine and pulled.

  With a grunt, I tumbled to the ground next to him. I popped up on all fours, trying to wriggle away, but then he snatched my legs, dragging me toward him.

  “I warned you,” he hissed.

  My hands reached out, trying to grab onto something. I snatched the underside of the sedan’s bumper and held fast. The vampire grunted from the resistance. His long claws dug into my leg, and I gritted my teeth against the pain seeping into me. I sucked in ragged breaths, trying to calm myself enough to cast another spell.

  “I summon the magic in the air

  To free me from this demon’s snare.”

  A burst of blue light flashed in the corner of my eye. The vampire shrieked and flew backward, releasing my throbbing leg. I whirled around and brandished my athame. I slid my hand under my hoodie to draw my stake as well.

  The vampire scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide and his face slack with disbelief. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Y-you’re—”

  “A witch?” I cocked my head and smiled. “Just barely.”

  I lunged for him, taking advantage of his surprise and hesitation. I slammed into him, knocking him into the concrete and landing on his chest. With one hand, I slit his throat, and with the other I drove the stake into his heart. His chest shuddered and then went still. A moment later, he disintegrated into ash that filled the air, stinging my eyes.

  I blinked and wiped my blade and stake on the tires of the black sedan.

  Then a piercing scream brought me to my feet. Eyes wide, I looked around and found the drunken woman pointing at me and crying out in such rapid Spanish that I could barely understand her.

  Time to go.

  I pulled my hood tighter around my face and limped away, ducking into the shadows behind the cars and then darting across the street before anyone could catch me.

  IT TOOK ME A FEW MINUTES longer than normal to reach my house, thanks to my injured leg. The pain pulsed through me in waves of agony, and I winced with every step.

  If I’d been an ordinary member of the coven, I could’ve just called our healer to tend to the injury. But I wasn’t. Demonhunting without a coven was illegal, and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.

  Most witches had an affinity, like an Elemental, a Thinker, a Seer, a Pusher, or a Jumper. I was the oddball; I had no affinity, but I could still perform spells. Somehow.

  Which meant I had access to magic, but something within me was broken. Mom and Dad had been hopelessly optimistic, certain my powers would manifest themselves sooner or later.

  They hadn’t.

  I slipped through the front door and immediately hobbled to the kitchen to get some ice. A fam
iliar smell touched my nose as I turned on the light. Dammit.

  I sighed and met my mother’s stern gaze. She crossed her arms, her blue eyes furious and her jaw rigid. Her gaze roved up and down my body, no doubt taking in the bloodstains—a mixture of my blood and the vampire’s.

  “Where were you?” Mom asked in a clipped tone.

  I shrugged one shoulder and sidestepped her to open the freezer. “Out.”

  “Don’t give me that, Brie. Where were you?”

  “Just around the corner. By the club.”

  Mom sighed and raised a hand to her forehead. “And the blood on you? Whose is it?”

  “Some vampire’s.”

  “Brielle.” Mom slammed the freezer door shut before I could get to the ice tray. “You can’t go hunting demons alone! We’ve been through this!”

  “Right,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “I can’t hunt demons, I can’t attend coven meetings, I can’t use my magic. What the hell can I do?”

  “Watch your mouth,” Mom growled. “You’re barely sixteen. What you can do is keep going to school and studying until—”

  “Until what?” I snapped. “Until my magic miraculously shows up? Until the Council decides I’m worthless and should be ousted to live as a mortal?”

  Mom’s lips grew tight, and the fear in her eyes told me all I needed to know. Deep down, she was afraid of this too.

  “Why are you home, anyway?” I asked in a monotone, finally easing past her to grab a handful of ice. “You should be at the meeting.”

  “I left early. I was worried about Angel.”

  Yeah, I thought bitterly. What else is new? My bitterness didn’t last, though. Angel was the kindest soul I’d ever met. I could never be angry with her, even if her health problems meant she got more attention from my parents than I did.

  I ignored my mom’s gaze and poured ice cubes into a plastic bag. Then I hitched my leg up to prop it on the wall and held the ice against my throbbing wound.

  “Let me look at that,” Mom said quietly.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped. “I’ve had worse.”

  Mom stiffened. “Worse?”

  I closed my eyes, cursing myself for letting that slip.