The Ardennes Curse (The Woolven Secret)

by Saranna Dewylde

  “What are you doing, Armand?” Victoria’s voice was quiet, fearful. “You can’t command the darkness or the Curse.”

  Yet, he did. Her convulsions began to cease and the fog that covered her eyes began to clear and sentient understanding began to take form in her features.

  Just as the pain of her transformation, of her Curse filled him. The darkness was thick and oily, black just like her venom and it strangled him. But he would not fail.

  “Victoria?” Babette managed in a small voice.

  “Oh my goddess! It’s working.”

  Yes, it was working. As it clawed through his insides, as the beast tore at his brain, his magic, his emotion. It slurped hungrily at everything dark in him, made it stronger, louder, hungrier.

  He would not let go.

  Even as it struggled out of his grip, the inky ether that wormed back toward Babette.

  It was the acceptance in her eyes that broke him—the defeat. Babette’s small, delicate, and still human hand reached up to cup his cheek. She said so much with that single touch. She forgave him for not saving her.

  For not being enough.

  “No, Babette!” Victoria cried.

  He had no choice now. He had to take her head.

  With a single swipe of his silver razor claws, Babette was at peace.

  And Armand had failed.

  Sensation crashed into him as he felt all of Babette’s suffering. All of Victoria’s. Her hope had bloomed so bright it burned, and then it kept burning until it was only ash. Yet still, it charred his guts. He burned with her disappointment.

  Wounds tore themselves open on his arms, his chest, his thighs and his face. They did not immediately begin to heal. This was the price of magic.

  Magic that had also failed.

  Babette’s corpse sizzled until it too, like hope, was ash.

  Victoria’s hands were cool on his skin. “What did you do to yourself? Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  “There has to be a way.” But even as he said the words, they rang false.

  “You could’ve been killed, Armand. Then what will we do?”

  “You will be Alpha.”

  “No. I won’t. I don’t have the magic to keep the borders strong. When they fail, there’s only one thing we can do, unless we want to infect the world.”

  “No.” But he knew extermination was the only answer if no one could break the Curse.

  “Shh.” She pulled him into her lap, her fingers stroking through his hair. “Rest for a moment. Heal yourself, Alpha.”

  “With this darkness, I can’t.”

  “Then I will heal you.”

  Her lips brushed against his and the power that suddenly leapt between them was electric. It vibrated in all of his wounds.

  “You can’t.”

  “I can. And I will. I am your Beta, your mate in all but bite. Be still.”

  It felt too good to deny her. After being full of so much poison, her touch was like seeing the sun after a month of rain. Instead of the heat of desire, he was filled with something sweet and cool—her life force flowed through him and flushed away the dark and the pain.

  In that moment, he felt wholly unworthy. This beautiful, amazing creature was meant for him and now he could never claim her, never give her his bite.

  The place where she’d bitten him earlier began to throb, but it wasn’t with pain. The sensation was all pleasure.

  “This can’t happen,” he mumbled. “Not among the ashes.”

  “Shh,” she directed, her hands still moving over him in their soothing motions and energy still flowing between them.

  His wounds began to heal, both inside and out. Then that cool, relaxing touch became something so much more. His wolf rumbled his bliss in a low growl as it surged just below his skin.

  Armand became hyperaware of his naked flesh. He supposed it was only fair that if he could scent her arousal that she could see his. There was no hiding it.

  Goddess, but he wanted her.

  He wanted to touch her, taste her—mark her. His canines ached with need and when she bent over him, her long, blonde hair brushing across his shoulders and chest, the arch of her neck called to him.

  Our bite will kill her.

  Mate. His wolf insisted.

  Dead mate.

  At that, his wolf roared in his head as if it was something that Armand wanted—her death. It didn’t understand.

  We’re toxic to her—poison.

  MATE.

  He didn’t know how to make the beast understand. Especially not when she’d already bitten him, she was so close, and smelled so good.

  Smelled like his.

  But it was wrong to take what she offered when he couldn’t give anything back. When he couldn’t treat her like a true mate.

  She offered herself to him fearlessly, everything she was echoed in her touch as she filled him up with her power.

  He was supposed to be the one saving her, not the other way around.

  Her lips crashed into his and he fisted his hand in her hair, holding her to him, and hoping that the soft, gossamer tresses would remind him that she was breakable.

  She seemed to know what he was thinking. “I’m not some delicate flower. You’re not going to hurt me.” Victoria nipped at his bottom lip. “And if you do, I’m sure it’ll be well worth it.” She dipped her head to lick at the place where she’d bitten him. “I want to bite you again.”

  “So do it.” Because he wanted her to do it again, too.

  She straddled him, still clothed, but their position couldn’t be more intimate. Not unless their teeth were buried in each other’s flesh. A symbiosis of ecstasy.

  The material of her jeans was rough against his cock, but he liked it. Just like the softness of her hair reminded him to keep his wolf at bay, so did the contrasting texture against his dick.

  Victoria bit him hard, but not enough to break the skin, not enough to force his Change. Though his wolf growled and he grabbed her hips, pulling her down hard as he pressed up against her.

  “I want this.” She kissed him again. “I know this heat is pushing out the darkness. It is for me too. Give me something good. Something bright.” She nipped his lip again. “Something that burns.”

  “Take what you want from me, Victoria. So you don’t get more than you can handle.” His hands closed around her wrists.

  “More than I can handle? You mean those silver teeth? There’s a reason they call an orgasm a little death.”

  He gnashed his teeth.

  “Did you ever wonder if maybe I can handle it?” She rubbed herself against him. “There’s a reason I’m your mate. It’s biological.”

  “And my biology is different than yours.”

  “In all the right ways,” she purred.

  He slashed at her jeans with his claws and she shimmied out of them only to straddle him again.

  His wolf wanted out. Needed her.

  His thoughts were coming to him in pictures now, instead of words as the beast tried to take control. The only things he could focus on easily were primal needs—namely being inside of his mate. Marking her.

  He called on years of training and locked down that wildness that loomed dangerously close, caged a part of himself that could never be free.

  Armand realized in that moment why he was the best choice to be the Ardennes Alpha. They both had to be caged for the greater good.

  But Victoria didn’t give a damn about cages.

  Or maybe she did. It wasn’t her wolf riding him, it was her human shape, just as delectable. Yet, it was still all a tragedy. She couldn’t Change. If she did, there was always the change she wouldn’t return to her human shape. The thing that she became, that wasn’t her. They could never be together as true mates. Never run together under the stars. He could never mark her…

  She leaned down, her forearm against his throat.

  It reminded him that he had run with her under the stars, with that beast. He’d chased her down, and she
loved it.

  His cock throbbed thinking about the power he had over her—with her. She made him stronger. Even in that beast form, she was still his.

  “Stop thinking about all that can’t be and enjoy what is.”

  “You’re wise, my Beta.” He flipped her on her back.

  Her breath caught in her chest and her blue eyes glittered with some emotion he couldn’t name. She locked her legs around his waist.

  “Did the Calavari witches give you a tonic for this, too?”

  “To prevent conception? It’s a spell on the water supply here. No Ardennes has had a child in a hundred years.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want? I’m healed.”

  “Yes. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to choose anything for myself. And I want this. You. For however long I can have it.”

  He pushed inside of her slowly, eyes locked with hers as he filled her.

  Being inside of her was a bliss the likes of which he didn’t know was possible. It transcended every other experience he’d had, but now that he knew it could be like this, there would never be any other.

  “You’re mine,” he growled.

  “Yes. And you’re mine.” She bit him again, but only with her blunt human teeth.

  Still, it was enough to cause him to culminate. It was too much sensation, too much pleasure, too much power. Too much everything.

  That shit was completely unacceptable.

  “Did you…”

  “It’s been awhile.”

  “I’m not sure whether to do a cheer or to tease you mercilessly.”

  “I’ll show you merciless.” He didn’t hesitate to slide down her body where he dipped his head between her thighs.

  Her fingers carded through his hair and pushed him closer. He accepted the instruction eagerly. He wanted to know how to send her soaring, how to make her feel all the things he did. He wanted to give her what she asked for—something hot. Something good.

  She was so responsive, moving and arching beneath his ministrations and he couldn’t get enough. The taste of her was like manna from heaven on his tongue, all female musk and sweetness. He could lick her forever.

  His cock began to thicken again reminding him that no, maybe not forever. Just until she came screaming his name, then he’d fuck her again, long and slow until everything she could feel had ebbed and built again. He wanted to take her to the stars.

  Victoria squirmed against him, pushing her mound against his mouth and he obliged, moving his tongue faster and with more pressure. He slipped his fingers inside her, plunging her wet heat in time with his mouth.

  He loved feeling her slick with his seed and he tasted her orgasm before she thrashed with it, screaming out the names of old gods.

  Now, he felt as if he’d accomplished something worthy.

  Armand was ready to be deep inside of her again and he rose up over her, taking in her pale skin, so pink in the faint light—flushed from pleasure. Her blond hair spread out behind her and the ecstasy on her face.

  She was still riding the waves as he sank into her heat, her walls like velvet summer around his cock.

  This woman, this female, this wolf—as long as he could have her.

  Her nails scored down his back and she tightened around him, hips thrusting up to meet him as he worked into her.

  Armand grasped her hips and launched them both into the stratosphere.

  Chapter 4

  Well, that wasn’t supposed to have happened.

  Victoria bit her lip as she gingerly sank down into the bath. Every muscle in her body ached, but it was a good kind of ache. This was what it was like to be almost mated.

  What would it be like with his bite?

  A tremor skittered through her. She couldn’t quite fathom it.

  It was almost as impossible as breaking the Curse.

  She exhaled and slid deeper into the water. Victoria remembered what it was to have that kind of hope. It was exhausting, draining. Having hope had been worse than having none at all. There was a certain solace in understanding how things were going to end—even if they were going to end badly. Expectations that would be met.

  But to have that constant clawing sensation, as if she just wished hard enough, wanted hard enough, that the impossible would become real.

  No, this was just her lot in life. She drew the shit straw and she had to slurp it until her next turn around the wheel.

  She hoped the witch that cast this Curse had been reincarnated as one of them and had to live with what she’d done.

  Or she roasted in Hell.

  Either or. Victoria shrugged at her own thought.

  Another shaking sensation gripped her, almost like an earthquake, but it wasn’t the earth moving. It was her own body, trembling.

  What started out as a pleasure—her time with Armand—it cracked something inside of her. Something made of stone and steel. She thought she couldn’t feel anything anymore, that the Curse was too close and it was devouring her.

  But maybe that’s what was saving her. Maybe the Curse was more about feeling everything so acutely, the slightest touch was a slap.

  Her father was dead.

  Her Alpha was dead.

  Babette was gone.

  So many, countless others.

  A rage started to build inside of her, it insulated her against the pain. It burned away the sorrow and left only anger. Fury was an easier devil to bear.

  Instead of living in the moment, accepting the small taste of joy she’d found with her mate, she thought of all the things she’d never have.

  She’d never be truly mated—she wouldn’t know her mate’s bite until she was ready to die.

  She’d never be a mother.

  She’d never have the joy of seeing her father become the man he’d been. Loving, kind… she’d never see him be anything. He was dust and ash.

  She’d never know what it was like to run free under the moon and remember it when she was human.

  She’d never have anything she’d dreamed of and she was alone in the dark with a man who had a single match and didn’t yet understand just how far down the long night could go.

  Victoria suddenly hated him for his hope, for his goodness, for being noble. For letting her think even for a second that her future hadn’t already been written in stone.

  That hate surged and spiraled, burrowing into the very marrow of her bones until it changed.

  Until she Changed.

  As her senses faded to red, to blood and death, she wondered vaguely if this would be the last time.

  * * *

  When Victoria became aware of herself, she felt two things. Pain—as if all of her bones had been broken twice, and hunger. Goddess, but she was so hungry. The copper tang of blood was on her tongue and that only made her want more.

  Other sensations began to creep in slowly.

  Thirst.

  Fear.

  What had she done?

  These uncontrolled Changes were coming more often.

  She looked down at the blood on her hands and clenched her eyes closed. Who had she hurt?

  No, who had she killed? The tang of blood was so strong in the air, there was so much. Nothing could bleed that much and not die.

  Keeping her eyes closed, refusing to face the reality of what she’d done didn’t alter the past. The only thing to do was face what she’d done and go from there.

  She realized she was surrounded by deer. Five gnawed out carcasses lay around her like some kind of venison orgy. It was all meat, blood and bones.

  Victoria thanked the Goddess that none of it was human.

  But her relief was short-lived.

  She was outside the boundaries of Malfleur.

  The barriers hadn’t completely fallen, she could feel the faint hum under her skin drawing her back. Perhaps being with Armand had made her stronger—too strong.

  She wasn’t even allowed to have that.

  Victoria took a deep breath. Those were the kind of t
houghts that had led her here. By some miracle, she’d regained her human shape. She couldn’t take the chance it would happen again just because she was angry at the way life turned out. That wouldn’t help anyone, least of all her.

  Big wolf panties. It was time to pull them up.

  A rustling in the trees caught her attention and the wind… it was almost like a voice calling her name. Something she heard in a dream.

  “Is someone there?” The woods were deep and dark, most humans who ventured this far in were lost. Or attracted by the flower. “Hello?”

  Then she realized she sounded like the bad intro to every B horror flick ever made. She was sitting in a pool of blood and gore—naked. Why would anyone answer her? The odds were, if someone was there, they either had bad intentions or thought she did. She wouldn’t answer either.

  Yet, as the breeze continued to tangle in her hair and blow cool and sweet over her heated skin, Victoria heard her name again whispered like a Gregorian chant.

  She was probably going to regret this, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her turn away. Victoria followed the voice carried on that strange, almost sentient zephyr.

  A dark cave yawned before her and without hesitation, she stepped inside. Whatever lurked there in the dark couldn’t be as terrible a thing as she herself was.

  Torches on the walls bloomed to life and there, before her, a woman was suspended by some unseen force. She looked very much like a corruption of the Christian Madonna. The mother, haloed in a soft blue light. Her eyes were open, but seemingly unseeing.

  And tears of blood crawled slowly down the alabaster curve of her cheek.

  Skulls lined the walls. Skulls of berserker wolves, all brought to her in bony tribute.

  This was the witch who cursed them.

  Victoria wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew. The knowledge came to her on a cellular level and was so absolute. Water was wet. Sunlight was warm.

  This was the witch who made her life hell.

  When faced with her, the rage didn’t consume her. Instead, all she could do was cry and as her tears fell, slashes began to appear all over the woman’s skin, like claw marks. The wounds at the woman’s throat began to bleed.

  She’d been ravaged by werewolves, that much was obvious.