A Curse Unbroken

by Cecy Robson

After showering I called Aric. He answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?”

  I placed Shah on top of a throw pillow beside me. “Not really. This whole situation is so messed up.” I didn’t bother telling him how even bathing was becoming taxing. My arms felt weak just lifting them to shampoo my hair. It would have made him feel worse and more stressed about finding Tura.

  “I promise you I’m going to make Tura pay for what he’s done.”

  There was an underlying bite to his tone. “Did something happen when I left?” His silence answered for me. A horrible feeling swept through me. “Aric, are my sisters okay?”

  “Tura made Emme and Shayna attack each other. The Elders and I fought to separate them, but he kept jumping back and forth between us as if playing a game.”

  “Oh my God. Are they okay?”

  “They’re fine, and safe, and that’s how they’ll be. I promise.”

  I tried to erase the image of Shayna and Emme going after each other. They were so close. “How did you stop him?”

  “He jumped into Bren while Koda was seeing to Shayna’s injuries. Tura tried to send him after Emme before she could finish healing, but Bren was able to fight his hold and keep from hurting her.”

  Holy shit.

  Aric continued to speak, seemingly unaware of the significance of Bren’s response. Something was definitely different between Bren and Emme. “Genevieve is trying to throw something together to help them. But anything she can conjure will only give us a slight delay…and Taran is resisting any help from her.”

  “Fabulous.” My head fell against the pillow. Shah appeared on my belly. I stroked him and tried to calm myself. “Doesn’t she understand Tura gained all his initial power by making hundreds, if not thousands, of blood sacrifices? He was deadly to begin with and now that he’s drawn from your strength, I have no clue how we’re going to stop him.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Taran has to let this thing with Genevieve go. At least for the time being.”

  “But she won’t. Hell, as pissed as Taran is, I’m waiting for her to take a swing. She flat-out refused Genevieve’s help, called her an opportunistic twit, and told her she didn’t trust her or her coven.”

  I slapped my hand against my forehead. “She called her a twit?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, sweetness. She called her something close to it, but you’re my mate and I won’t use that word around you.”

  I groaned, realizing what he meant. “How did Genevieve take that?”

  Aric paused. “She told Taran she’s sorry she feels that way, and only means to help.”

  Once more Genevieve took the high road thereby making Taran look like the psycho jealous ex. I couldn’t be sure if Genevieve was really that refined or that cunning. Either way, my loyalty remained with my sister. “Okay, vulgar name calling aside, I can’t really blame Taran for being angry. That said, for now, the witches are the only ones who can help us. I’ll talk to her. Hopefully, I can reason with her.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully.” We spoke a little longer but neither of us were ever ones for small talk. “Try to rest,” he finally said. “You’ll need your strength to fight Tura when the time comes.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly. I wouldn’t admit that I was scared to close my eyes and dream.

  “Goodbye, sweetness,” he said.

  “Goodbye, wolf. Call me tonight if you can.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  I disconnected and headed into the kitchen where Agnes sat cross-legged on the counter licking a lollipop. On the table was a tray full of homemade fried chicken, along with biscuits, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and a gravy boat filled to the rim with hot brown goodness. Misha’s chef knew a way to a girl’s heart.

  “What’s the rock doing with you?” she asked, motioning to Shah.

  “He just appeared,” I explained, feeling defensive.

  “You didn’t call it—him.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  I tucked him into the pocket of my sweatpants. “No. And my favorite color is blue. Anything else you want to know?”

  Agnes frowned when the bulge in my pocket vanished. Shah was gone again. “What does the rock want from you, Celia?”

  I shook my head. “He doesn’t want anything. I think he’s lonely.”

  Her frown deepened. “Just when I think you couldn’t be more of a freak you surprise me.”

  “I aim to please, Agnes.” I edged around her and took my first bite of chicken. Her bitchiness had no effect on me. I was all about comfort food. She sat there, watching me as I reached for the bowl of potatoes to dip my chicken into. “Agnes, what’s your problem?”

  “You don’t get something for nothing, Celia.” She motioned to my empty pocket. “Just remember that.”

  I took a biscuit and popped it on my plate when Agnes left. Shah appeared on the table the minute she slammed the door behind her. I smiled. “Believe it or not, she’s the nicest of the good Catholics.”

  —

  Over the next several days, I spoke to Aric briefly, and my sisters even less. The nightmares brought on by Tura had begun to plague them, despite the damn protection necklaces the witches had fashioned. It was as if he’d take his turn pushing us to our breaking point, dangling us over the cliff of no return before releasing us and forcing us to cling to whatever remained of our sanity.

  “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” I admitted to Aric. It was morning, and I’d spent yet another night awake.

  “There has to be something we’re missing—or something obvious he’s blinding us from seeing.”

  I wiped my eyes. I was so tired from lack of sleep they burned. “When you figure it out, be sure to tell me.”

  “Celia…”

  I hadn’t shared my nightmares or Tura’s mind screws. They were too disturbing to relive. But I couldn’t deny what was happening to me. “I think I’m losing it, wolf.”

  Aric swore. He could hear the desperation in my voice, just like I could hear the worry in his. “You have to stay strong, sweetness. We’re working tirelessly to figure this mess out. From what Dan has gathered in his research, if Tura doesn’t have a host, he won’t be able to survive—no matter how much strength he’s leached from me. That alone should be enough to kill him.”

  But for now, he had his choice of hosts, bouncing among the countless weres in Aric’s Pack when he wasn’t busy invading our dreams. Bastard.

  “The witches have developed a spell that could stun Tura if he attempts to claim another body,” he added. “The problem is, given Tura’s power, the spell isn’t strong enough to bring him down, nor does it last long enough to corral him. Genevieve thinks she may have something more potent, but such magic takes time to perfect and solidify.”

  “Time I don’t think my sisters and I have, Aric.”

  “I know, sweetness. But we’re getting closer. Hang in there. For me, please.”

  “I’m trying.” I didn’t mean to be so negative, but there was a reason sleep deprivation was an effective form of torture. Tura was breaking me, and I didn’t know how to salvage the pieces. “Given your power, and the amount he’s taken, I don’t know how the coven’s magic will be enough.”

  “He may have fed from me and taken his share, but he can’t hold on to me—not like before. I can force him out with the strength of my beast, just like Koda and Gemini did when Tura invaded their bodies earlier in the week.”

  The problem was, for as lethal as Koda and Gemini were, they didn’t have the strength to force Tura out fast enough. Emme called me crying after helping to heal a cluster of students they had mauled before they had finally forced Tura out.

  “Seek out your beast for comfort, Celia,” he said when I grew quiet. “She’s strong and will help you through this.”

  “Aric, my tigress is completely gone. I can’t find her anywhere within me.”

  “It’s not possible,” he insisted.

  “I coul
dn’t even open a can of spaghetti today, wolf. It’s as if my strength has completely vanished.”

  He swore and seemed to be pacing. “Let me come over. Maybe I can help you find her or draw her out from where she’s hiding.”

  “It’s not a good idea, love. After Tura invaded those weres from your Pack yesterday and sent them after me, Misha has ordered his vamps to kill any that enter his compound.” It had taken everything I had in me to convince Misha not to rip their heads off.

  “It shouldn’t be like this.”

  “I know, but for now it is. Try to find a way out of this soon, okay?”

  “I will,” Aric answered, although I could hear the concern in his voice.

  I disconnected after I told him I loved him and rolled onto my side. I placed Shah back on the throw pillow and stroked the top of his smooth surface. The gesture for some reason made me smile. I couldn’t help thinking that maybe he liked the attention. “Let me know if anything scary shows up hell-bent on killing me—or if the Catholic schoolgirls knock on the door wanting to play BDSM Twister, again.” It wasn’t a joke. When Edith showed up yesterday, I could barely understand her through her ball gag.

  Shah didn’t respond, of course, but I had the feeling he was laughing.

  I rolled onto my back again. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I only meant to rest. But as I stared at the ceiling, wishing like hell I could be with Aric, my body surrendered and I couldn’t fight the exhaustion any longer.

  I woke in the bedroom Aric and I shared, wearing a lacey pink nightie with rosettes on the trim that Aric had given me a few weeks back. From my iPad, “Wherever You Will Go” played over the sounds of the filling bathtub. There was a splash followed by Aric’s satisfied moan. He beckoned me in a gruff voice. “Are you coming, sweetness?”

  I stopped trying to make the bed. The sheets were a mess following a night of passion. I hugged the pillow in my hands and took a whiff, relishing our combined scent.

  The aroma accelerated the aching need filling my body. “Yes, love,” I whispered. “I’m coming.”

  Our bathroom was constructed in alternating shades of brown and rust porcelain tile. The sinks and whirlpool tub were white and all the fixtures brushed nickel. Two overhead skylights and a large frosted picture window allowed natural light to filter in. It was typically a bright room.

  But it wasn’t then.

  You’re not alone, the voices said.

  I charged in the moment the metallic scent of blood struck my nose, screaming at what I found. Bright crimson liquid pooled everywhere, saturating the thick white bath mat lying beside the tub. The faucet continued to run, spilling more of Aric’s blood onto the floor.

  His glassy eyes fixed on me. He was still alive, despite the deathly white color bleaching his skin. I raced to him, slipping on the blood that continued to seep from the edge of the tub.

  I reached beneath his arms and tried to pull him out.

  You’re not alone, the voices repeated.

  My strength failed and Aric sank into the tub of thick blood. I thought he would drown in it. Half my body fell in as he submerged into what seemed to be an endless bottom. I couldn’t see. I could only feel him slipping further from my grasp as my lungs demanded air.

  Somehow, I managed to hook my arm under him and drag him out. I hauled his body out of the tub, falling with his upper body clutched against me. Aric sputtered out a mouthful of blood, wheezing and unable to take a full breath.

  “Baby, don’t leave me,” I pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you, stay with me!”

  He responded by shoving his mangled wrists into my face. I choked on the cry that ripped through my chest. He’d bitten through his own flesh. Blood and small chunks of skin spilled out of his mouth as he spoke. “You were gone too long,” he gasped. “I couldn’t live without you.”

  In my arms, I held my mate as he died.

  You’re not alone, the voices echoed.

  I screamed, knowing they were wrong….

  I woke up covered in blood, sobbing into Edith’s breasts. I scrambled away from her and to the opposite side of the bed. But she wasn’t looking at me, her gaze was completely homed in on Misha, whose crisp white shirt was soaked red. Agnes and Tim were trying to help him from the floor. For some reason, they could only position him on his knees.

  Tim shot me an accusing glare. “Master, did she harm you?”

  My balance gave out and I stumbled out of the bed. Some of Bren’s favorite swearwords flew out of my mouth as I literally crawled across the floor in my urgency to reach Misha. The dream had left me shaken, but the reality that I had somehow hurt him terrified me more.

  The vampires hissed at me. “Oh, shut up!” I snapped.

  I ignored their increasingly dangerous growls and slumped directly in front of Misha.

  He gawked at me, horror sharpening his features. My hands gently touched his face, arms, and chest, searching for injuries. “Are you okay—?”

  Misha grabbed my forearms and turned them to reveal my bloody arms. I almost screamed. Tura had manipulated me into slashing my own wrists. Misha wasn’t covered in his blood. He was covered in mine.

  His stare drilled through mine, the power of his hypnosis claiming me almost instantly. “Leave us,” he murmured.

  I vaguely recalled the sound of doors shutting quickly as the vampires made their mad exit. My hands pushed against his chest, allowing me enough space to watch Misha’s incisors lengthen. I was glued where I lay. A low growl built from the pit of my stomach when he leaned closer. “Misha, don’t.”

  “Trust me,” he rasped through his fangs.

  Chapter 27

  I woke on a cold stone floor in an old rustic cottage. Outside, snow crept up to the edges of the window. The room was small, dimly lit by a few candles. Tiny flames flickered from the burning twigs carefully placed inside a crumbling fireplace. Next to the hearth a young woman with dark blond hair and tired gray eyes sat in a wooden rocking chair, sewing a quilt with shaking hands. A flimsy shawl covered her shoulders while a thin wool dress draped the rest of her emaciated form.

  Every few stitches, she glimpsed nervously toward the door. Close to her feet sat a boy about ten. He polished a pair of large, black, official-looking boots, although he wore only rags. His face was smeared with ash and dirt. He was hungry. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. I also knew who he was. His mother didn’t have to speak his name.

  You’re not alone, the voices whispered.

  I stood and crossed the small space to kneel beside the boy. Beneath his tattered clothes, I could see how malnourished he was. He had the same gray eyes he would have as a man, although they lacked their usual luster…and resolve. Wisps of his blond hair escaped from a battered wool hat that was clearly too big for him. I tried to brush his greasy hair from his eyes. He rubbed at the spot where I’d touched, leaving a smudge from the polish behind. He didn’t see me. Not that it surprised me.

  Outside a horse galloped to a stop and whinnied. Someone had arrived. Judging by the sound of Misha’s and his mother’s rapidly beating hearts, he wasn’t welcome. Misha’s mother abruptly stood. The quilt slipped from her lap and onto the cold floor. She didn’t bother picking it up, she was too busy staring at the door as heavy footsteps neared. It was cold in the house, but you wouldn’t have known it by the way her face glistened with perspiration. Misha didn’t glance up. He continued to concentrate on polishing the boots, although his own hands had begun to tremble.

  A man entered the house wearing a thick wool coat and boots exactly like the ones Misha polished so meticulously. He was tall and heavy with a thick black beard. He threw a cloth bag onto the floor. I could smell the bread and cheese inside it. Misha’s stomach growled. Yet he made no move toward it nor did he bother to thank him.

  The man smiled at the woman. She didn’t smile back. She stared with dead eyes at the floor. It bothered the man. He huffed and snatched her elbow then dragged her to another small room with a curtain for a door. F
or a moment, Misha stopped his work. When the deep grunts of the man and the muffled whines of his mother began, Misha resumed his work.

  Misha scratched the soft brush feverishly over the boots, focusing hard on making the leather shine. A small tear slid down his face, streaking his dirt-smeared skin. I sat beside him and gathered him in my arms, trying to shield him from what was happening. But there was no protecting him from what was happening. Not then.

  The heavy grunts continued in the other room, causing Misha’s brushstrokes to grow more frantic. Anger filled, but I managed to keep my voice soft. “Listen to me, Misha,” I whispered. “One day, you will be one of the most powerful beings in existence. One day, others will beg for your mercy.”

  His eyes widened and he looked up slowly. He couldn’t see me, but he could hear me, so I continued. “You will have strength, and wealth, and power. So much power no one will dare hurt you.” I swallowed hard as I watched the tears of disbelief trickle down his face. “And if anyone is foolish enough to try, I will be there to stop them.”

  From the room next door the large man emerged carrying the pair of filthy boots he’d worn into the house. He threw them down at Misha and snatched the freshly polished ones from his hands. After examining them closely he put them on and left. It was not until the horse galloped away that Misha’s mother returned to the rocking chair. She tried to smooth her hair before retrieving the quilt from the floor and resuming her sewing. When Misha started to clean the filthy boots she finally spoke.

  Normally I didn’t understand a word of Russian, but I did then. “Leave that for now. You need to eat, my son.”

  Misha turned in the direction I waited. Although I still didn’t believe he could see me or feel my touch, I hugged him tightly and kissed his tear-streaked face. “It’s okay. Eat. I swear to you, your time will come.”

  I awoke embracing Misha. But he was no longer a little boy and we were no longer in the past. We sat on the comfy white couch of the guesthouse.