by Lizzy Ford
When I don’t move, he lifts his chin in the direction we’re heading in a silent command to go.
Rolling my eyes, I obey. I sense he’s not going to tell me something unless he wants to.
“You’re really the mastermind?” I ask a few steps later.
“Does that surprise you?”
“I didn’t know you existed before half an hour ago so yeah, that surprises me.”
“You’re a sarcastic little shit, aren’t you?” Unlike Nathan, real-Ben sounds amused by my barb.
I cast a look over my shoulder. “There’s nothing more entertaining than challenging one of you alphas!” I wait for him to snap or growl like his brother has in the past when I poked him purposely.
Ben is watching me, calm and intent. “That might work with my brother, but I know you’re harmless, darlin’.”
I face the trail with a snort. “The curse isn’t.”
“It’s not a threat to me this week. It’s as trapped as you are in the trials.”
I never thought of the curse being trapped. It makes sense. If I am, it must be, too. I almost ask Erish if that’s true but stop myself in case I alone can see and talk to the cursed spirit. I don’t know Ben well enough to care what he thinks of me, but neither do I want to appear to be talking to someone invisible in front of him. This is awkward enough as it is.
We finish the trek in silence, and I emerge onto the green lawns surrounding the two-story log cabin mansion. The car that brought me here is gone, and so are Jason and Nathan.
“Please don’t tell me I’m walking to town,” I say.
Ben passes me and heads towards the house. “You’re not going to town at all,” he says with the same quiet, casual confidence.
“Um … why not?” I ask, bristling.
“If you want to break the curse, you’ll stay here.”
It’s a damn good reason. The only problem: this is the king of the liars, the man who’s been manipulating me through the candidates, if he’s to be believed.
“Don’t listen to him.” Erish is beside me in full shadow form. “We need to go back. Now that you know they’re all lying to you, you can read the Book of Secrets like I told you to.”
“I’m not about to trust you anymore than I am him!” I snap and face the shadow uneasily. “For all I know, the Book will suck me in and steal my mind so you can take over.”
“Right. Because reading will delete your mind.”
“You are such an asshole. How the fuck can you be …” I press the heels of my hands to my temples. I’ll never be able to understand how Erish can be such an arrogant dick when he’s destroyed so many lives. “You know what, never mind. There’s no talking sense to you! You want me to go? I’m staying right here!”
“Then stay here,” he retorts promptly. “There is nothing you can do here to break the curse!”
“You don’t want it broken!”
“I never said that!” Erish cries. “I said if it breaks, I disappear. Did you stop to think maybe I’ve been helping the Kingmaker’s in what ways I can? That Ben knows what he does because I allowed your great-great grandfather to tell him?”
This is getting too twisted for me to follow. The ice block of panic and fear at my core has returned. Or maybe, it never truly left. Myca melted its edges for a while without being able to remove it completely.
Either I trust Erish, the asshole who got me into this mess, or I trust the man I didn’t know existed before this morning. The man who lied his way out of the trials by sending his brother in his place.
Staring at Erish, struggling to decide, I don’t notice Ben has drawn closer until he speaks.
“The final stage is where the curse either takes you by force or manipulates you into doing what it wants,” he says. “This week determines if you’re strong enough to defy your family’s legacy like we all believe you are.”
Ouch. I look up at him, more affected by his words than I want to be. I want to be the person he describes so badly, to break the curse and free the Community and make things right. I don’t want anyone else to suffer, and I want my father – wherever he may be – to know he was right to trust me.
Ben holds my attention with nothing more than the quiet conviction in his tone. He believes in me, just as the candidates do. I don’t deserve their faith or understand it – but I want to believe, too.
“What makes any of you think I can do that?” I ask aloud, frustrated.
“I’ve waited through five generations of Kingmaker’s. My gut tells me it’s you.”
“That’s ridiculous! You can’t base the fate of the entire Community on a feeling!” I exclaim.
“I’m willing to risk my life and those of my clan on this feeling.”
My breath catches. He understands what’s at stake, probably from knowing what happened to Myca’s vampires, and he’s still willing to bet everything on me.
“And I thought I was crazy,” I breathe in disbelief.
I can find no sliver of doubt or any other negative emotion in Ben’s piercing gaze or calm features. He really believes what he’s saying – and he’s risking everything to prove he’s right.
If I had this much at stake, I wouldn’t let me leave, either.
The unexpected stir of warmth in my blood alarms me enough that I take a step back. I don’t have the emotional or mental capacity for another candidate or lover in my life. I’m not ready to be emotionally demolished or ripped apart now or ever again.
My father, the candidates … I’m struggling through the heartache of losing everyone I care about. There’s no room for any more pain or hope, not even in the form of the sexy brother of Nathan.
How can I trust anyone, when I never want to lower my guard again?
“I’m not part of the trials, which means I’m the only one who can help you through this,” Ben adds.
“Did you ever think maybe the Community doesn’t want the curse broken?” Erish asks.
I blink out of the spell the werewolf leader has somehow woven around me, without the mating bond magic the others used.
I face the shadow. “Fuck off, Erish!”
I don’t just breeze by Ben, I run. Wishing I could outrun my second shadow, I don’t stop until I’m standing in the tall foyer of the house. It’s quiet here, as was Nathan’s house.
I don’t think I can handle another interaction with Ben and trot up the wide, flat stairs leading to the second floor. I roam around until I find a guest bedroom I like and enter.
“We need to leave,” Erish says, trailing me. “You’ll never break the curse if you stay.”
His words cause physical pain, because I don’t know who is telling the truth, and I’m terrified of failing.
Throwing myself across the bed, I bury my face in a pillow and try to drown him out as he continues to talk.
“Your father hid more letters in the study, and I know what parts of the Book of Secrets you should read to figure this out. But we have to go back, Leslie. We have to go back today. The farther …”
He won’t stop.
He talks for hours, until I’m sobbing from a combination of fear that maybe he’s right, and uncertainty about what I really should do.
And yet, something holds me here, too, something stronger than my doubt and misery. This time, it’s not the draw of a candidate that’s compelling me. It’s instinct – and purely my instinct, untainted by anyone else’s magic. Has my Kingmaker magic, or my secondary gift, finally awoken?
Even when I’m shaking, I’m not going to leave because … I can’t. Because the whisper in my head begs me to hold out a little longer and promises me I’m doing the right thing, even when my thoughts are utter madness and I’m desperate for the curse to end.
Erish shuts up sometime after dark. I doubt he’s left. Maybe he’s sleeping or … plotting is more likely the case.
I wipe my face and go to the restroom to wash it. My bloodshot eyes are puffy and red, along with my nose, and I’m pale.
“
You look like shit, Leslie,” I tell my reflection.
Pushing off my shoes and jeans, I get comfortable in the bedroom and leave the bathroom light on. Moonlight enters through the wide windows, and I debate closing them before deciding I kind of like seeing the night sky and trees whenever I look towards the windows. They remind me there’s a world outside of my head – one that’s depending on me defeating the fucking curse.
Ben’s explanation of this week helps me some. I can pray this mental agony is temporary, that Erish will be gone by the end of this week.
“Are you doing the right thing?” Erish joins me at the window.
He always knows what to say to play on my doubt. “I don’t know,” I answer before I can stop myself.
“And you’re not going to trust me, the only person who truly understands the Kingmaker Curse, to help you.”
I press the meat of my palms to my eyes. My head hurts. My stomach is empty. I just want a break from the trials.
Sinking down beside my bed, I gaze out of the windows at the moon. In a few days, it’ll be full again, and I’ll have to make a choice. Or maybe, more than one. I don’t feel capable, and I’ll never be as sure as Ben or any of the candidates about any decision I do make.
I hear the light panting of a wolf before I notice the door to the bedroom is open.
Erish grumbles under his breath as the massive, silver wolf with silver eyes circles the bed and pauses beside me.
It’s not possible to see a werewolf for the first time and not be awed by its size and beauty. Ben is the size of a small pony with a sharp gaze and sharper teeth. Uncertain what he wants, I remain still. He nudges me with his long muzzle, and I instinctively pet him.
“What’re you doing in here?” I murmur, puzzled.
He responds by licking the tears off one of my cheeks.
Embarrassed, I wipe the other cheek.
The wolf alpha settles onto his hunches beside me.
Is it possible he’s here because … what? He knows I need a friend and can’t handle dealing with a human?
I hesitate, then bury my fingers into his mane, fascinated by the softness of his thick fur. His gaze goes to the moonlit side yard. The presence of the stoic wolf is a relief from being alone with Erish and my mind.
Whether or not I should, I wrap my arms around the wolf and hug him with a sigh. I do need a friend and he’s the perfect one: incapable of confusing me and able to provide the kind of no-strings-attached comfort that’s not reliant upon magic or twisting my emotions in some new way.
I never thought I’d need a dog more than a man but tonight, I do.
Chapter Four
I’m in bed, alone, when I wake up the following morning. It’s not my choice to get up. If I had it my way, I’d sleep through the entire week.
“Hurry up!” Erish orders for the third time, loudly enough that I jerk in response.
“It’s not even seven!” I complain with a glance at the alarm clock.
“He left his phone out, and I know the code.”
I sigh. “What?”
The shadow is pacing and agitated. I can’t sleep with him like this and sit up, orienting myself.
“Ben. He went for a run with the rest of his dogs. Don’t you want to see what’s on his phone?”
“No,” I snap.
“Think about it. He’s the mastermind,” Erish presses. “He’s been telling the candidates what to do and how to do it. He’s been fucking with you since this started, and if he’s as modern minded as you are, he’s been using his phone to communicate with them.”
It’s not a bad idea.
In fact, it’s brilliant.
Shifting in bed, I debate whether or not snooping through Ben’s phone constitutes some sort of breach of friendship or professionalism or trust of any kind. We aren’t friends, lovers, or coworkers. We might be enemies, technically, since I bear the curse and he wants to destroy it.
“He’s been in your business since before the trials started. Might be nice to level the playing field, don’t you think?” Erish points out.
I hate it when Erish speaks the truth, or something that sounds like truth. The shadow man has an ulterior motive, similar to everyone else in my life the past few weeks. I can’t trust him but … I definitely need more insight into what the fuck is going on. I can’t imagine there being any secrets left that would allow Erish to beat me this week, unless I fold and return to the Book of Secrets.
Then again, whenever I assume anything about the trials, I’m proven horrifically wrong.
Still … what harm can there be in peeking? Especially if Ben never finds out?
“How long has he been gone?” I ask reluctantly.
“Five minutes.”
It’s too tempting not to act. “Okay. You gotta keep watch.”
Erish is at the door already.
Rolling my eyes, I search for my pants without finding them. Ben has left out a pair of what I assume are his sweatpants and a t-shirt. Seconds after pulling them on, I’m following Erish through the house, to the kitchen, where Ben’s cell phone lies on the breakfast bar as promised.
Erish is trying to pick it up again and muttering curses.
My attention goes to the batch of fresh, hot bacon sitting on the stovetop, and I start in that direction instead, always led by my stomach.
“Phone first!” Erish barks.
“Holy shit … stop yelling!” I shake my head and alter my course. If I weren’t so interested in discovering if Ben really is the mastermind, I’d tackle the bacon without caring what Erish wants me to do.
I pick the cell up and hesitate, not so sure I should do this. I’m dying of curiosity – yes – but I’m also aware the candidates have been playing a lethal game I know nothing about for the sole purpose of outsmarting Erish. What if I learn something that tips off Erish and demolishes the candidates’ efforts to break the curse?
“The code is your birthdate,” Erish says.
I look up at him, surprised. I’d never think to try my birthdate on someone else’s phone. Why would Ben use it?
Why would Ben know it? Because the candidates weren’t joking about the Community stalking me my entire life?
I don’t like the feeling inside me, the one that makes me look back on my life and realize I’ve been oblivious for pretty much the entirety of my existence, until the trials.
“No more,” I vow quietly and type in the code.
It works, which makes me even more uncomfortable. I’m starting to understand why Ben didn’t want me – and through me, Erish – to know he existed. Erish is a threat, even if he is a bodiless shadow.
“Check his emails!” Erish urges.
“Dude, you’re at least two thousand years old. I know a helluva lot more about how to snoop on someone’s activities than you do,” I reply. “Back off and watch me work.”
I tap the app to open Ben’s texts.
The minute I see the familiar names, my heartbeat quickens. I recognize the names of his contacts from hearing my father mention the names of the clan leaders. Ben is in constant contact with all the other leaders in the Community. I’m not sure why this surprises me. I scroll back to the top of his most recent texts.
Both group chats and individual chats with the candidates are at the top of the screen. I tap on the discussion thread between him and Myca, the candidate who has been around the least amount of time, trying to gauge how often they talk. The exchanges stretch back for a few months – and number in the thousands. This isn’t the occasional texting between acquaintances.
Scrolling through them, I pause when one catches my eye.
This is rough, Myca texted on the second day of our trial, when he was hungry and I was holed up in his guest bedroom sucking on a frozen orange.
You spent a thousand years underground. You can handle this, Ben responded. Nate and Tristan had a rough first couple of days, too.
Just how much information did each candidate share with Ben?
; Do I want to know?
Lowering the phone, I take a deep breath and stare out the window towards the forest, torn once again. Myca told me they’re doing all this to save me, so I can break the curse. In that light, maybe it’s logical for so many people to know every fucking detail of my life. This is a super secret operation with more at stake than one person’s privacy.
But it doesn’t make it any less of an invasion of said privacy, or help me feel better about being in the house of a stranger who knows everything there is about me, when I know nothing about him.
It’s starting to look like his story checks out. He’s the puppet master.
“You didn’t think your dad was the mastermind, did you?” Erish asks.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Well, sorta. I thought the candidates were working together for the most part. I figured, if there were someone in charge, it was Daddy, before he died, and they were just following his instructions.”
“It wasn’t your father. He couldn’t have done this much without my interference.”
“Because you really don’t want the curse broken?” I ask him again.
“Because I’m duty bound to ensure it’s not, even if I might want it broken for the sake of the many lives it’s cost,” Erish answers.
Does he ever tell the truth? Or is this the truth – that he wants to break it but can’t?
I start to read through more messages. There are far too many for me to spend much time on every exchange. I scroll and pause at random points. Maybe it’s masochistic, but I decide to read the texts sent on the dates when I was endangered on each trial. The messages are spread out across three separate texting threads, so I end up taking pictures of the messages on dates and times I’m interested in then return to review them in order of the trials: Nathan, Tristan, Myca. My chest grows almost too tight to breathe as I begin to swipe through the pictures and read.
Not Jenny … I can’t lose both of them … reads the tortured note from Nathan the day they found Jenny’s body.
Ben, I can’t find her … I can’t FEEL her … it’s like my soul has been ripped out … read the flurry of three frantic texts from Tristan when I disappeared and was put under by his people.