Cursed

by S. J. Harper

  “What you told me in Charleston about this tat, it was a lie, wasn’t it?” Zack murmurs, almost to himself.

  I turn to face him, letting the gown fall and stepping out of it. “We’re not speaking of sad things tonight.”

  I can see he wants to know more, but I’m standing before him in four-inch pumps, breasts bare, nipples erect, wearing only black silk panties and stockings. The glamour affects my physical beauty in that my true face is hidden. But my body is untouched. Breasts, hips, legs are of a level of perfection only a Siren can possess.

  The questions die on his lips. The humidity here at the beach makes my long, dark hair wave. It’s loose now, past my shoulders, partially covering my breasts.

  Zack reaches out and picks up a strand. “I love your hair down.” He begins to curl it around his finger, reeling me in. “You should wear it like this more often. In fact, this entire outfit meets with my approval.”

  I can’t help smiling, more comfortable in my skin than in silk and lace. “Oh yeah?”

  He looks me straight in the eye. “Yeah.”

  I reach for his top shirt button and slide it back through the hole. “You wouldn’t find it . . . distracting?”

  “Me? No. You know me. I’m all about the mission. Eye on the ball.”

  I’m on the last button now. “You’d be more convincing if you weren’t looking at my breasts.”

  “Which are amazing.” As if to punctuate the statement, he palms one, feeling the weight of it, squeezing gently. “Why do you insist on hiding them?”

  “You mean I should take a page from television and wear low-cut blouses and spike heels on the job?”

  “Works for me.”

  I interrupt his reverie when I step back to slide his shirt off his shoulders. Before he can express disappointment that I’ve moved out of reach, I do two things that are guaranteed to leave a man speechless. I reach for the button on his trousers and I drop to my knees.

  I give Zack a little shove and he falls back to sit on the edge of the bed, hands braced behind him. His chest is broad and well muscled. A light carpet of hair starts below his neck, fans out across his pecs, then narrows under his ribs. My eyes follow the happy trail until it disappears into the waistband of his slacks. Zack Armstrong is one gorgeous man.

  I make short order of removing his shoes and socks. Then I set my hands on his knees and run them over his thighs. I subtly brush the zipper with the backs of my fingers. His hips rise off the bed.

  “You’re killing me here.”

  I deliberately take my time lowering his zipper, letting the tension build. For a moment I hold my breath. Then I draw him into my hand. He’s long, hard, and surprisingly thick. I stroke him, palm open and flat. He smells of testosterone, citrus, and spice. The scent is as complicated as the man himself. Clean. Mysterious. Sexy.

  “I want to feel your mouth on me,” he says.

  I oblige, giving him a firm squeeze before leaning forward and offering him my tongue, sliding him between my lips.

  His hand goes to the back of my head. “Christ, Emma.”

  I take him deep. My mouth and tongue quickly develop a nice rhythm. Both his hands tangle in my hair. Zack guides me firmly yet gently. I can tell by his breathing he’s getting close. His grip tightens suddenly and he gasps.

  “Emma, stop!”

  The request is entirely unexpected. I sit back, releasing him. The instant I do, he pulls me up. His mouth devours mine. The kiss is demanding, insistent. A growl emanates from somewhere deep within his chest, low, primal. My eyes fly open and I pull back from him. The flash of light blue I saw Wednesday night in his normally brown eyes is there again. Before I have time to even fully register it, he’s stripped his trousers off and deposited me on his bed.

  “Zack—” I place my hand in the center of his chest. He’s hovering over me, six foot three of tall, dark, and dangerous.

  “If you don’t want this to happen, now would be a good time to say so.”

  “Your eyes, they’ve changed.”

  Zack lowers his head and nuzzles my cheek. “My wolf likes you,” he whispers. I feel the pulse of his warm breath against my neck. “But don’t worry. I’m in control, not the beast. I don’t let it have free rein. Not ever. That’s what the cage is for.” As he says the words, one hand travels down, passing my hip, gliding over the top of my thigh, then snaking its way into my panties.

  His fingers separate my folds and delve into the wetness. My hips lift off the mattress, wanting more.

  “Take everything off.” My voice is rough with want.

  Zack doesn’t need to be asked twice.

  He peppers hot, openmouthed kisses across my collarbone, through the valley between my breasts, and over my stomach. I shiver with anticipation as he hooks his fingers into my panties and lowers them down my silk-covered legs. The shoes come off next. He tosses them over his shoulder and they land on the floor with a clunk. Then he rolls the stockings off, taking the time to shake and smooth each one out before dropping them off the edge of the bed.

  He lifts one of my legs into the air and kisses the inside of my ankle. I find myself grinning.

  Zack notices. “You’re smiling.”

  “I’m happy,” I confess. It’s true.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says.

  I worry my glamour is fading. That in the moment I’ve somehow become careless. But I don’t hold on to the concern very long. Zack’s climbing up the length of my body. He’s hard and ready and in position.

  He kisses my nose, then reaches into the drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a condom.

  “We don’t need it. I can’t conceive.” As a werewolf, Zack isn’t susceptible to human disease; the process of shape-shifting cures all ills. But he can procreate. I take the condom from him and toss it aside. “Hey, didn’t you say something about me being in control?”

  Zack grins. “You want to take control?”

  We roll.

  He places his hands on my waist. “I’m all yours, baby.”

  I’m flying once again. As I did long ago when I had my real wings. Zack and I soar, together. Higher and higher, until the real world is far below. Until no one in it or of it can touch us.

  • • •

  Day Five: Saturday, April 14

  I wake up in Zack’s house, in Zack’s bed. His arm is draped over my waist. His hand cups my breast. I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. My body is sore, but I’m exhilarated. Zack is as unpredictable and versatile a lover as he is a man, as skilled at hard and fast as he is at slow and easy. The clock on the nightstand says six. We can’t have been asleep more than three hours.

  I gently lift his arm and roll over. The lines of his face are smoothed in sleep. His beard has grown thicker during the night. I’m tempted to trace the outline of his lips, to kiss his generous mouth. A pull of desire makes me clench my thighs together and I feel myself getting wet again. But there’s also the sting of rash burn from his stubble on the inside of my thighs. What I really need is a shower.

  I place a soft kiss on Zack’s shoulder before slipping out of bed. He stirs and I slip the pillow I’d been sleeping on under his arm. He doesn’t waken, snuggling the pillow against his cheek as if still holding me.

  Smiling, I pad across the thick carpet to the bathroom.

  It’s an homage to luxury—marble floors, expensive tile, mirrors, and glass. I stand stock-still for a moment in wonder. Zack’s bathroom is about the size of my bedroom and living room combined. The sunken tub is long and deep; I imagine even Zack can stretch out in it. The shower at the far end has three showerheads and would easily accommodate a family of five. Just as I’d reached the conclusion I could spend the rest of my life living in Zack’s bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the long mirror lining the wall behind the sinks.

  My hand is trembling as I lift
it to touch my face. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen myself like this. My skin is radiant, my hair shining like the finest lacquer. It cascades down my back and over my shoulders in soft waves. My lips are swollen, bruised red from too many kisses. My eyes, bright with lingering desire, begin to tear, clouding my vision and threatening to spill. I haven’t purposefully given up the glamour. I’m not even purposefully lowering it enough to display a hint of my real self. Yet I’m effulgent, glowing.

  My heart soars free for one fabulous blissful moment.

  Then reality comes crashing down.

  There’s only one possible explanation. I’m falling in love with Zack. And he’s falling in love with me. Despite words and assurances, we weren’t careful enough. We weren’t honest enough. Not with each other. Not even with ourselves. Last night was supposed to be about one thing—sex.

  Instead . . .

  I stumble, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the tub and my legs collapsing beneath me. I sit, close my eyes, focus on my breathing, on the cool marble beneath my feet, on what needs to be done. I’ve practiced this exercise with Liz hundreds of times, just like with her grandmother before her, with other witches over time. It’s only when there are leaks that the glamour erodes. My power is escaping. I can hear their collective voices. If you aren’t doing it on purpose, there’s a crack in the armor. Find it. Fix it.

  I can do this. I have to. If Demeter so much as senses what I’m, what Zack is feeling . . .

  If Zack should walk in and see me, the real me . . .

  It can’t happen.

  I blow out a breath and struggle to stay calm. I talk myself through, step by step. Check the walls. Bring them down, one by one. Concentrate. Pull the power in. Raise the wall back up.

  At last, I open my eyes, stifle a sob.

  Nothing has changed.

  The face staring back at me is still Ligea’s, and unless I take control of my feelings, deny Zack, I can’t protect him.

  I close my eyes. Push everything that happened last night to the back of my mind. Remind myself who and what Zack is—a werewolf. More important, my partner. This job is the only chance I have to win my freedom. He can’t stand in my way. Anyone who does risks the unimaginable. Thinking we could have sex with no consequences was a foolish mistake because I can’t control the way Zack feels about me. I have to control the way I feel about him. I have to.

  Concentrate, Emma. Accept the truth. You have no future with Zack. I close my eyes and patiently work through the steps again.

  The change starts slowly. I feel it in the core of my being, feel myself disappearing. I open my eyes and watch the beauty fade. Faint lines appear around my eyes and mouth, my skin dulls, my hair loses its bounce.

  Another sob escapes my lips. This time because it worked.

  My human persona is back.

  I open the bathroom door a sliver and peek out. Zack is still sound asleep. The mere fact that I want to keep him safe proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s in very serious danger. At some point during the night I slipped. I let down my guard. It can’t happen again. I need to have Liz check the spell, make sure there are no other leaks.

  I head for the shower. Eye on the ball, Emma. You have a job to do. You have people counting on you. Liz is counting on you.

  I just need to take this one step at a time. Concentrate. I’ll make a quick stop at the vegan bakery Liz frequents on the way over to Evan’s and pick up some of those almond coconut buns she likes. If I know Liz, and I do, she’ll have a pot of coffee ready, but she won’t have eaten. There are three vampires missing, including Evan. It’s time to go to work.

  Redemption could be one rescue away.

  CHAPTER 17

  I park in Evan’s guest spot, but I don’t get out of the car. Not right away. I keep checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. If I wasn’t scrupulous enough in pulling back the power, Liz will see it the instant she sees me. So far, the glamour seems firmly in place. The plain Jane facade I show to the world is once again on display. And since no news from Demeter is good news, maybe my transgression went unnoticed.

  I was lucky this time. But I can’t let myself think about Zack or our lovemaking or how his skin felt against mine or—

  Shit. I bang my hand against the steering wheel. Pain jolts up my arm.

  Double shit.

  Stop it. Liz needs you.

  I get out of the car and head in. Liz does her thing and pulls open the door before I have a chance to knock. I hold my breath. Is she going to say something about the fact that I’m still dressed in her gown?

  Normally she’d never let something like that go. This morning, she’s too preoccupied and bleary-eyed to notice. Liz takes my hand and pulls me inside. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on the afternoon before, too.

  I toss the pastry bag on the coffee table. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

  She sinks onto the couch, buries her face in her hands. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think.”

  “I should have stayed here with you last night.” Maybe if I had . . .

  She shakes her head, then drops her hands and looks up at me. “No, you had to go. You might have learned something. But you didn’t. Did you? If you had—”

  I take both her hands in mine and sit next to her. “I’m sorry. We’re still following leads, but we don’t have anything definitive. I think it’s time you call the police.”

  “But you and Zack will keep working on the case, too, won’t you? You’re not giving up? Please, tell me you’re not giving up!”

  “Of course we won’t give up. I would never give up on someone so important to you. It’s just that the more people we have out looking for Evan, the better.” I reach for the bag and heft it in the palm of my hand. “Come on. Let’s have some breakfast.”

  Liz reluctantly gets to her feet and I follow her to the kitchen. Her shoulders sag with weariness and worry. She’s exhausted both mentally and physically. I suppress the impulse to tell her about the other missing vampires. I can’t see that doing anything but adding to her misery. If we haven’t been able to find Amy and Isabella, it won’t be much consolation that Evan now makes three.

  Liz goes through the motions of putting on a fresh pot of coffee as if working on autopilot. I take a dish from the pantry and lay out the pastries. The silence in the condo is like a third presence—oppressive, overwhelming. It’s not until we’re seated at the breakfast bar, cups in front of us, that Liz breaks it.

  “What are his chances, Emma?”

  She’s picking at one of the pastries, pulling it into small pieces, none of which make it to her mouth. She swivels to face me. “Don’t the police say that if a missing person isn’t found in forty-eight hours, odds are that he won’t be found at all?”

  “You’ve been watching too much Law & Order,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “They have to say that on television because they only have an hour to tell a story. There are no hard and fast rules. We will find Evan. We’ll bring him home. Zack and I will make sure of it.”

  For the first time since I walked in the door, Liz’s expression shifts from worry to surprise. She’s looking at me.

  Really looking at me. “Something’s wrong. Emma, what are you doing?”

  My stomach clenches. “I’m doing everything I can to find Evan. I promise you.”

  She waves the words away with the back of a hand. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it. Why are you still dressed in that gown? You didn’t go home last night?” Her eyes bore into mine. “But you’ve showered. No makeup. Your hair is still damp.”

  She stops, waiting for me to say something. What can I say?

  When I turn my eyes away, she grabs my hand. “You and Zack? Tell me you haven’t let it go too far.”

  Before I can think of a way to answer, she does it for me. “You’r
e falling for him. I can see it. You’re struggling to contain the glamour. He saw you. You let him see the real you, didn’t you? That’s why I didn’t hear from you last night.”

  It’s as if she has a laser beamed into my head. “I was with him last night, yes. But I didn’t let him see me. I’m not even sure he did.”

  “You didn’t let him? You’re not sure?” Liz throws up her hands. “Are we going to quibble over semantics? You know the risk. The danger. Not letting it happen and having it happen anyway? That’s even more serious. You’ve stayed under the radar for decades, but that doesn’t mean Demeter isn’t out there waiting for you to screw up. She’s a vindictive bitch. And you know that better than anyone. Remember the last man you fell in love with?”

  I didn’t need Demeter’s graphic reminder the other night. And I certainly don’t need Liz’s now.

  “Of course I remember. I buried him three days after our wedding.” Tears cloud my vision. It’s my turn to cover my face with my hands.

  Liz’s voice softens. “It’s not too late. I can give you something.” She slips from the stool and disappears up the stairs.

  I’m too numb to do anything but remain motionless, staring into my coffee and trying to wipe the image of a funeral on a bleak and dark December morning in Bristol from my mind.

  When Liz returns, she has an envelope in her hand. She presses it into mine, holding on to me. “Grandma told me to keep this on hand, just in case something like this happened. Stir this into Zack’s coffee. It will erase his memory of any intimacy you’ve shared. You need to get back on course. You can’t fall in love with him.”

  “By intimacy you mean . . . ?”

  “Physical intimacy.”

  “Zack isn’t stupid, and he’s not oblivious to magic. He’ll notice the gaps.”

  “There won’t be any gaps. That’s part of the elegance of this particular spell. His own imagination will create alternative, plausible, and most important, safe scenarios. As far as he’ll be concerned, you’ll be platonic partners. That’s it. He’ll forget the night you shared. The threat will be gone.”