Gone Hunting

by Cecy Robson

  Something in the woods lures my attention. I stop as Liam jumps on Koda’s back. Koda flips him over and right into Gemini, causing those three to go at it. I edge away from the fight and further away from the path. I’m not certain where I’m going until I find the tree where my father carved his initials and my mother’s into a heart.

  The scent of scraped wood trickles into my nose. It doesn’t make sense, seeing how worn the marks my Dad made are, until I round the other side of the trunk and see a new set of initials placed inside a freshly carved heart.

  A.C. that’s me, Aric Connor. But who is C.W.?

  “Aric, you coming?” Liam asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, staring back at the tree. “I’m coming . . .”

  Epilogue

  Ten years later…

  I steal a glance at the famous Lake Tahoe. The other night, Liam dared me to jump in. At twenty-six, I should be long past taking a dare, except that I’m not. I stripped out of my clothes and dove in. It’s already April, but winter is still taking one hell of a bite. Snow still lingers in piles along the sand. I tried not to yelp at the first rush of cold, but then I didn’t have to try so hard.

  The magic of Tahoe has been spoken of for centuries. Those who experienced it, are awed by its magnificence and purity, the way they speak of it rivalling the way they speak of finding their mates. I’ve rolled my eyes regarding both several times, dismissing them as gross exaggerations. But since first arriving in the fall and finally experiencing Tahoe for myself, I’m kicking myself for not believing. This place is magic and pure and breathtaking—everything everyone said it was and more. If I had any lingering doubts, they were kicked to the curb the night of my swim.

  Each stroke I took further in seemed to draw the Lake’s magic deeper into my muscles, vanquishing the ache and sting from the cold as easily as a warm soak in the tub. I decided to take my students down here today as a lesson. These young weres don’t embrace the responsibilities we have to our world. They’re lazy, assuming they can take on any evil that strikes by merely relying on the strengths of their beasts.

  On principle, I woke them at four in the morning and worked on their tracking and agility until they collapsed moaning at my feet. They thought I was done. Nothing like running a few hours on the beach to cool them down.

  I won’t make them run around the entire perimeter. Not this time. But I will if their attitudes don’t improve.

  The soles of my sneakers dig into the sand as I round the bend, barely leaving an indentation and making even less of a sound. It’s hard to maintain my hard-ass persona when the gentle waves splash against the cold moist sand like a lullaby. But I do it. Like I said, these young wolves have a lesson to learn and . . .

  The scent of water misting over rose petals fills my nose, sending goose bumps clawing up my arms. I frown, narrowing my eyes at the female who approaches. Like me, she’s in running shorts, giving me a view of her thin, muscular legs, while a tight T-shirt hugs her round breasts and flat stomach. She’s running at the same pace I am with very little effort and barely a whisper of sound. Her long, thick hair bounces behind her, the strengthening breeze keeping the long strands back and exposing her beautiful features.

  Her large green eyes meet mine without hesitation, shimmering in the sun like precious stones dipped in water. My wolf perks up, clawing my insides and demanding out. What’s his problem? Spiritual being or not, he’s not the one in charge.

  This female, woman, whatever she is, is challenging my beast. That’s what I think . . . until she smiles, and the world stops and . . . what the hell is happening? I furrow my brows, demanding to know what she’s up to and damned if I’ll be the one to break eye contact first.

  We stare at each other, drawing closer, my breath increasing and my insides twisting hard enough to send my heart pounding like a sledgehammer against my sternum.

  I grind to a halt, turning as she passes and well aware that I’m no longer frowning. No, I’m very much enticed.

  My wolves stop on either side of me, watching me watch her. “Did I tell you to stop running?” I snarl.

  I shouldn’t yell or growl. Not now. Not when all that exists is her.

  I’m barely aware of my wolves resuming their pace as I stand there, my full focus on her as she jogs away. She glances over her shoulder as she continues to run, the wind sweeping her long mane of curls behind her.

  I’m rooted where I stand, unable to move, barely able to do more than gaze at her. I tilt my head, certain that I must know her from somewhere. But someone like her would be impossible to forget.

  My wolf lurches us forward, insisting we chase her down. I just barely hold him back. I start to turn as she disappears, trying to convince myself that nothing had changed even though everything had . . .

  Read on as the Weird Girls saga continues with Sealed with a Curse, the first full length novel in The Weird Girls Urban Fantasy Romance series by Cecy Robson. The excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the final novel.

  Excerpt of Sealed with a Curse

  A Weird Girls Novel

  By

  CECY ROBSON

  Chapter One

  Sacramento, California

  The courthouse doors crashed open as I led my three sisters into the large foyer. I didn’t mean to push so hard, but hell, I was mad and worried about being eaten. The cool spring breeze slapped at my back as I stepped inside, yet it did little to cool my temper or my nerves.

  My nose scented the vampires before my eyes caught them emerging from the shadows. There were six of them, wearing dark suits, Ray-Bans, and obnoxious little grins. Two bolted the doors tight behind us, while the others frisked us for weapons.

  I can’t believe we we’re in vampire court. So much for avoiding the perilous world of the supernatural.

  Emme trembled beside me. She had every right to be scared. We were strong, but our combined abilities couldn’t trump a roomful of bloodsucking beasts. “Celia,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”

  Like we had a choice. “Just stay close to me, Emme.” My muscles tensed as the vampire’s hands swept the length of my body and through my long curls. I didn’t like him touching me, and neither did my inner tigress. My fingers itched with the need to protrude my claws.

  When he finally released me, I stepped closer to Emme while I scanned the foyer for a possible escape route. Next to me, the vampire searching Taran got a little daring with his pat-down. But he was messing with the wrong sister.

  “If you touch my ass one more time, fang boy, I swear to God I’ll light you on fire.” The vampire quickly removed his hands when a spark of blue flame ignited from Taran’s fingertips.

  Shayna, conversely, flashed a lively smile when the vampire searching her found her toothpicks. Her grin widened when he returned her seemingly harmless little sticks, unaware of how deadly they were in her hands. “Thanks, dude.” She shoved the box back into the pocket of her slacks.

  “They’re clear.” The guard grinned at Emme and licked his lips. “This way.” He motioned her to follow. Emme cowered. Taran showed no fear and plowed ahead. She tossed her dark, wavy hair and strutted into the courtroom like the diva she was, wearing a tiny white mini dress that contrasted with her deep olive skin. I didn’t fail to notice the guards’ gazes glued to Taran’s shapely figure. Nor did I miss when their incisors lengthened, ready to bite.

  I urged Emme and Shayna forward. “Go. I’ll watch your backs.” I whipped around to snarl at the guards. The vampires’ smiles faltered when they saw my fangs protrude. Like most beings, they probably didn’t know what I was, but they seemed to recognize that I was potentially lethal, despite my petite frame.

  I followed my sisters into the large courtroom. The place reminded me of a picture I’d seen of the Salem witch trials. Rows of dark wood pews lined the center aisle, and wide rustic planks comprised the floor. Unlike the photo
I recalled, every window was boarded shut, and paintings of vampires hung on every inch of available wall space. One particular image epitomized the vampire stereotype perfectly. It showed a male vampire entwined with two naked women on a bed of roses and jewels. The women appeared completely enamored of the vampire, even while blood dripped from their necks.

  The vampire spectators scrutinized us as we approached along the center aisle. Many had accessorized their expensive attire with diamond jewelry and watches that probably cost more than my car. Their glares told me they didn’t appreciate my cotton T-shirt, peasant skirt, and flip-flops. I was twenty-five years old; it’s not like I didn’t know how to dress. But, hell, other fabrics and shoes were way more expensive to replace when I changed into my other form.

  I spotted our accuser as we stalked our way to the front of the assembly. Even in a courtroom crammed with young and sexy vampires, Misha Aleksandr stood out. His tall, muscular frame filled his fitted suit, and his long blond hair brushed against his shoulders. Death, it seemed, looked damn good. Yet it wasn’t his height or his wealth or even his striking features that captivated me. He possessed a fierce presence that commanded the room. Misha Aleksandr was a force to be reckoned with, but, strangely enough, so was I.

  Misha had “requested” our presence in Sacramento after charging us with the murder of one of his family members. We had two choices: appear in court or be hunted for the rest of our lives. The whole situation sucked. We’d stayed hidden from the supernatural world for so long. Now not only had we been forced into the limelight, but we also faced the possibility of dying some twisted, Rob Zombie–inspired death.

  Of course, God forbid that would make Taran shut her trap. She leaned in close to me. “Celia, how about I gather some magic-borne sunlight and fry these assholes?” she whispered in Spanish.

  A few of the vampires behind us muttered and hissed, causing uproar among the rest. If they didn’t like us before, they sure as hell hated us then.

  Shayna laughed nervously, but maintained her perky demeanor. “I think some of them understand the lingo, dude.”

  I recognized Taran’s desire to burn the vamps to blood and ash, but I didn’t agree with it. Conjuring such power would leave her drained and vulnerable, easy prey for the master vampires, who would be immune to her sunlight. Besides, we were already in trouble with one master for killing his keep. We didn’t need to be hunted by the entire leeching species.

  The procession halted in a strangely wide-open area before a raised dais. There were no chairs or tables, nothing we could use as weapons against the judges or the angry mob amassed behind us.

  My eyes focused on one of the boarded windows. The light honey-colored wood frame didn’t match the darker boards. I guessed the last defendant had tried to escape. Judging from the claw marks running from beneath the frame to where I stood, he, she, or it hadn’t made it.

  I looked up from the deeply scratched floor to find Misha’s intense gaze on me. We locked eyes, predator to predator, neither of us the type to back down. You’re trying to intimidate the wrong gal, pretty boy. I don’t scare easily.

  Shayna slapped her hand over her face and shook her head, her long black ponytail waving behind her. “For Pete’s sake, Celia, can’t you be a little friendlier?” She flashed Misha a grin that made her blue eyes sparkle. “How’s it going, dude?”

  Shayna said “dude” a lot, ever since dating some idiot claiming to be a professional surfer. The term fit her sunny personality and eventually grew on us.

  Misha didn’t appear taken by her charm. He eyed her as if she’d asked him to make her a garlic pizza in the shape of a cross. I laughed; I couldn’t help it. Leave it to Shayna to try to befriend the guy who’ll probably suck us dry by sundown.

  At the sound of my chuckle, Misha regarded me slowly. His head tilted slightly as his full lips curved into a sensual smile. I would have preferred a vicious stare—I knew how to deal with those. For a moment, I thought he’d somehow made my clothes disappear and I was standing there like the bleeding hoochies in that awful painting.

  The judges’ sudden arrival gave me an excuse to glance away. There were four, each wearing a formal robe of red velvet with an elaborate powdered wig. They were probably several centuries old, but like all vampires, they didn’t appear a day over thirty. Their splendor easily surpassed the beauty of any mere mortal. I guessed the whole “sucky, sucky, me love you all night” lifestyle paid off for them.

  The judges regally assumed their places on the raised dais. Behind them hung a giant plasma screen, which appeared out of place in this century-old building. Did they plan to watch a movie while they decided how best to disembowel us?

  A female judge motioned Misha forward with a Queen Elizabeth hand wave. A long, thick scar angled from the corner of her left jaw across her throat. Someone had tried to behead her. To scar a vampire like that, the culprit had likely used a gold blade reinforced with lethal magic. Apparently, even that blade hadn’t been enough. I gathered she commanded the fang-fest Parliament, since her marble nameplate read, Chief Justice Antoinette Malika. Judge Malika didn’t strike me as the warm and cuddly sort. Her lips were pursed into a tight line and her elongating fangs locked over her lower lip. I only hoped she’d snacked before her arrival.

  At a nod from Judge Malika, Misha began. “Members of the High Court, I thank you for your audience.” A Russian accent underscored his deep voice. “I hereby charge Celia, Taran, Shayna, and Emme Wird with the murder of my family member, David Geller.”

  “Wird? More like Weird,” a vamp in the audience mumbled. The smaller vamp next to him adjusted his bow tie nervously when I snarled.

  Oh, yeah, like we’ve never heard that before, jerk.

  The sole male judge slapped a heavy leather-bound book on the long table and whipped out a feather quill. “Celia Wird. State your position.”

  Position?

  I exchanged glances with my sisters; they didn’t seem to know what Captain Pointy Teeth meant either. Taran shrugged. “Who gives a shit? Just say something.”

  I waved a hand. “Um. Registered nurse?”

  Judging by his “please don’t make me eat you before the proceedings” scowl, and the snickering behind us, I hadn’t provided him with the appropriate response.

  He enunciated every word carefully and slowly so as to not further confuse my obviously feeble and inferior mind. “Position in the supernatural world.”

  “We’ve tried to avoid your world.” I gave Taran the evil eye. “For the most part. But if you must know, I’m a tigress.”

  “Weretigress,” he said as he wrote.

  “I’m not a were,” I interjected defensively.

  He huffed. “Can you change into a tigress or not?”

  “Well, yes. But that doesn’t make me a were.”

  The vamps behind us buzzed with feverish whispers while the judges’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. Not knowing what we were made them nervous. A nervous vamp was a dangerous vamp. And the room was bursting with them.

  “What I mean is, unlike a were, I can change parts of my body without turning into my beast completely.” And unlike anything else on earth, I could also shift―disappear under and across solid ground and resurface unscathed. But they didn’t need to know that little tidbit. Nor did they need to know I couldn’t heal my injuries. If it weren’t for Emme’s unique ability to heal herself and others, my sisters and I would have died long ago.

  “Fascinating,” he said in a way that clearly meant I wasn’t. The feather quill didn’t come with an eraser. And the judge obviously didn’t appreciate my making him mess up his book. He dipped his pen into his little inkwell and scribbled out what he’d just written before addressing Taran. “Taran Wird, position?”

  “I can release magic into the forms of fire and lightning—”

  “Very well, witch.” The vamp scrawled.

  “I’m not a witch, asshole.”

  The judge threw hi
s plume on the table, agitated. Judge Malika fixed her frown on Taran. “What did you say?”

  Nobody flashed a vixen grin better than Taran. “I said, ‘I’m not a witch. Ass. Hole.’”

  Emme whimpered, ready to hurl from the stress. Shayna giggled and threw an arm around Taran. “She’s just kidding, dude!”

  No. Taran didn’t kid. Hell, she didn’t even know any knock-knock jokes. She shrugged off Shayna, unwilling to back down. She wouldn’t listen to Shayna. But she would listen to me.

  “Just answer the question, Taran.”

  The muscles on Taran’s jaw tightened, but she did as I asked. “I make fire, light—”

  “Fire-breather.” Captain Personality wrote quickly.

  “I’m not a—”

  He cut her off. “Shayna Wird?”

  “Well, dude, I throw knives—”

  “Knife thrower,” he said, ready to get this little meet-and-greet over and done with.

  Shayna did throw knives. That was true. She could also transform pieces of wood into razor-sharp weapons and manipulate alloys. All she needed was metal somewhere on her body and a little focus. For her safety, though, “knife thrower” seemed less threatening.

  “And you, Emme Wird?”

  “Um. Ah. I can move things with my mind—”

  “Gypsy,” the half-wit interpreted.

  I supposed “telekinetic” was too big a word for this idiot. Then again, unlike typical telekinetics, Emme could do more than bend a few forks. I sighed. Tigress, fire-breather, knife thrower, and Gypsy. We sounded like the headliners for a freak show. All we needed was a bearded lady. I sighed. That’s what happens when you’re the bizarre products of a back-fired curse.

  Misha glanced at us quickly before stepping forward once more. “I will present Mr. Hank Miller and Mr. Timothy Brown as witnesses—” Taran exhaled dramatically and twirled her hair like she was bored. Misha glared at her before finishing. “I do not doubt justice will be served.”