Serpent Cursed (Lost Souls Series Book 2)

by Bree Moore

  Hal pushed his way through the crowd, straightening his white suit. He was a full foot taller than Lilith, and despite his thinness he made for an intimidating figure.

  “You are not welcome here, demon,” he hissed. “I’ve heard of what you did in Chicago and New York. You will not do the same here.”

  “Oh, but you’ve done all the work for me! Do you know how hard it is to find a gathering of paranormals this large anywhere? The humans aren’t as helpful, of course, but we’ll find a use for them,” Lilith whispered something into her palm and raised it. A purple slash mark glowed in the dim lighting.

  Beside Tyson, Harper gasped and gripped her hand. A similar mark glowed there, pulsing in time with the mark Lilith held up. Another grunt from his right showed Quinn holding out his hand as well.

  “Harper, what’s happening?” Tyson asked.

  She looked at him, pain in her eyes. “I don’t know. She said it was a small spell. Just something…” She gritted her teeth. Her entire arm shook, and then she threw her head back and her eyes rolled into her head.

  “Harper!” Tyson rushed for her, but she righted herself before he got there, shaking her head. When her eyes opened, they glowed violet. She turned to Tyson.

  “She’s mine now.” Harper’s mouth moved, but it was Lilith’s voice that came out.

  Tyson stumbled back, mouth open in horror. A hand caught his arm, squeezing. He jerked away, stumbling back, and found himself looking into another pair of glowing eyes. Quinn. Tyson’s gaze darted around the room. A few eyes lit up, scattered through the room, only a handful.

  “I must thank you, Hal, for throwing such a wonderful recruiting party. I’ll help myself, if you don’t mind.”

  “I mind very much,” the tall man growled and came forward, the tattoos covering his entire body lighting up with a silver glow.

  A dark energy gathered around Lilith’s frame, drawn from the room somehow.

  “It will be fun to add you to my collection, Source Finder.” Lilith’s voice sounded like it came from inside a tunnel.

  Hal grunted and thrust his hands forward. Lilith returned a similar gesture, and a powerful boom rocked the room, and a chandelier swung madly before ripping free from the ceiling and crashing toward the crowd below.

  Tyson acted without thinking, throwing up a shield like the one he’d used for the village on the volcano. Panting, he opened his eyes. The chandelier had crashed against the top of the shield, and the pieces slid to the floor on the outskirts of the room where no one else stood, fortunately.

  The shield flickered out of view as Tyson released it. He jerked his eyes back toward Lilith, who had grown several feet taller. She was now taller than Hal. Her dress had stretched, then shredded, barely hanging over her larger frame. A tail whipped out behind her, and bat-like wings sprouted from her shoulder blades.

  “Demon!” someone yelled. “Run!”

  The crowd went mad.

  Tyson clenched his hands at his sides, and the urge to protect surged through him. The shield wouldn’t do much, but something else waited inside for him to discover. He needed to become something…other.

  His skin rippled. He raised his hands as claws formed, melding his skin and his suitcoat together, the color bleeding to white.

  Hal glanced at him, sweat beading on his dark face. “No! Dreamwalker, leave while you can. You must help the others escape. I will find you after—”

  Lilith held her hand out flat, then blew across her skin. A cloud enveloped Hal, freezing him in place, mouth gaping. The cloud spread toward the fleeing crowd. Tyson turned to run, but before he could, two shadows landed in front of him, wings wide.

  Harper and Quinn, eyes glowing, faces impassive. A were-bobcat flung itself at them, claws extended. Harper reached out with a hand, ignoring the slash of its claws on her face. The hand with the mark touched the were-bobcat’s head and it fell limp, then its eyes bled to violet. It turned on Tyson.

  More than half the room had those possessed eyes. Screams and shouts filled the air, punctuated the upbeat music still playing in the background, the disco lights whirling around the room. Tyson spun on his heels and found an opening. He lunged for it, fingers fumbling in his inner coat pocket.

  The ulu knife found his hand and slid out with ease, its curved blade glinting in the multi-colored lights streaming through the room. Tyson sprinted, ducking a swing from a slack-jawed, violet-eyed woman.

  Wingbeats fluttered above him, and two shadows passed over, then landed in front of him, their wingspan beating back those nearby, making a small circle. Tyson skidded to a stop, holding the knife at his side. He didn’t want to use it against Harper, especially, but what other choice did he have? He knew nothing about stopping a possession, and Hal was out of commission.

  Quinn and Harper opened their mouths, and Tyson reacted. He knew what this was, and he knew it couldn’t be good, especially for the humans in the room. Colors burst against the back of his eyelids, greens and blues in a wide, dancing ribbon. With a yell, Tyson charged, holding the ulu knife high and ready to strike.

  A flash of green darted across him, knocking the two raven shifters to the ground, cutting off the first note of their song. The serpent-woman rose to its full height, hissing and spitting.

  “Becca?” Tyson stared at the creature that had helped him. Green scales covered her upper body beneath the pink formal dress she wore. Her face turned toward him, and despite the slitted yellow eyes and fangs, he recognized her.

  Those slitted eyes landed on him, widening slightly. “Cousssssin.”

  ⇺ ⇻

  Chapter Nineteen

  Becca

  The moment Becca saw Tyson, the snake began to lose control. Her vision flickered between thermal and normal, colors and sounds coming in and out. The half-bird shifters lunged toward her at the witch-woman’s command. The snake surged up inside Becca and hissed, liquid spitting from her lips.

  The male raven-man shielded himself with a wing. The venom struck feathers, and he howled.

  Becca knew the sound of his voice, but she couldn’t get a grip on her own mind long enough to think how she knew him. The female raven advanced in his place. Becca darted forward, fangs bared, reaching to pull the female’s neck to her teeth and drain her essence.

  “Becca!”

  Flicker. The strength bled from Becca’s muscles faster than sand through a sieve. The powerful, thrusting motion of her winding tail froze, and she crumpled inward, falling toward the floor. Her hands, normal, human hands, shot out to catch herself against the marble floor.

  She became, in an instant, both gloriously and devastatingly human.

  A hand hooked under her arm and helped her up. She looked into Tyson’s frantic face. He held a curved knife in one hand, but it was clear he didn’t want to use it. Not on Harper. Not on Quinn.

  “Quinn, please!” Becca shouted. He twitched, and the edges of his wings blurred as he jumped through the air, flipping and coming down feet first. He crashed into them. Tyson’s knife skidded across the floor.

  Becca’s chest compressed. She couldn’t breathe for the pain. Nearby, Tyson grappled with Harper, locked arm in arm, holding her hands away from his throat, straining to keep her back. He wouldn’t last long against her supernatural strength. Quinn got to his feet and turned on Becca, and she knew he would kill her. Becca scrambled on her hands and knees across the tile floor, reaching for Tyson’s knife. Her fingers brushed it, then grasped it, and a hand caught her ankle. She flipped over, brandishing the knife.

  She froze. This was Quinn. She couldn’t attack him. She lowered the knife.

  A wild yell broke through the crowd and a form darted forward, jamming something into Quinn’s side. He grunted and lurched to one side, releasing Becca’s ankle.

  Avaan held a tiny dagger to one side, panting and staring at Becca with a crazed look. “Are you going to let him kill you?”

  “No! But I won’t let you kil
l him!” She lunged for Avaan and gripped the wrist that held the knife.

  “Get off me, madwoman! I just saved your life!” He grunted against the onslaught of her weight, then threw her off. She hadn’t managed to get the dagger. “We have to go.”

  “I can’t leave him.” She looked to Quinn. He stood blinking and touching the wound at his side. It seemed small and non-lethal, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “You must. He is beyond your help.” Avaan tugged on her arm, and she jerked it out of his reach.

  “We get Tyson, at least.”

  Avaan nodded. They turned and found Tyson laying on the ground beneath Harper, her wings outstretched, her hands closing around his throat. His face was damp, with sweat or tears Becca couldn’t tell. She glanced around for something, anything to throw, and remembered the knife in Avaan’s hand. She snatched the handle and threw it. The blade clipped Harper’s wing and she flinched, raising up on one leg and relaxing her hands. Tyson squirmed out from beneath her and ran, stumbling, for Becca and Avaan.

  “The exit!” Becca pointed at the green, glowing sign above a door. Red letters warned it was also a fire exit. She pushed her full body weight against the bar on the door and it flew open, an alarm ringing out around them, adding to the din of the chaos. She could hardly breathe. Something was wrong in her chest after the impact of Quinn’s boots crashing into her, but she couldn’t stop now. She had to keep running. The door let out into another hallway. They looked both ways and found another exit sign, this one with an arrow down another corridor. Turn after turn. Sounds were in the hallway, now. Lilith had sent her recruits after them.

  Becca couldn’t face Quinn again. She someone would die, and she would never forgive herself if…she stumbled, catching a knee in the carpet, getting a bruise and a carpet burn both. Tyson and Avaan pulled her up by the arms. There, the door outside. It flung open, spitting them out onto a sidewalk outside the event center.

  “We aren’t…leaving?” Becca gasped, putting her hand to her heaving chest. She had to catch her breath.

  “Do you see another way?” Avaan challenged, stepping up in front of her.

  Tyson shook his head. “There’s nothing we… can do. Not right now. We need to find a place to recoup and come up with a plan.”

  Avaan spread his hands. “With my flute, I could…”

  “Forget it,” Becca snapped. She gripped the silver clutch, which had fortunately stayed attached to her wrist, and felt for the lumpy form of the flute inside. It reassured her, feeling it there. She shuddered at the memory of how Avaan had controlled her with its music. No way in hell he would ever hold it in his hand again. Becca would risk serpent-induced madness to be rid of him if she had to, but for now she would tolerate him.

  She took another deep breath of air and winced, rubbing her chest.

  “Are you all right?” Tyson asked. His eyebrows narrowed with concern.

  “I’ll be fine if I can catch my breath.”

  “You might not have time.” Avaan gestured to the doorway. The fire escape door had shut, but a purple glow lanced out from the cracks around it.

  Lilith.

  Becca looked right, then left. Traffic was busy, but the sidewalks were clear, which made them easy pickings unless they could cross. She straightened and faced the street.

  “On three, we run.” She made eye contact with Tyson, then Avaan. Tyson took her hand, and she gripped it hard. She glanced at the light. It wasn’t in their favor, but there was a car passing, and if they didn’t hesitate, they would make it. “One, two, three!”

  They bolted across the street. Tires screeched, and Becca was shoved to the ground, harder than a human could have done. She barreled into Avaan, taking him with her. A sickening crunching sound met her ears, and a roar, like that of a bear, filled the street.

  The bear filled the street. Tyson, white-furred and bellowing, swatted at the squashed front-end of the truck and landed on all fours, galloping towards them. Avaan picked a stunned Becca up, setting her on her feet, and dragged her after the massive polar bear.

  By the time they were on the other side of the street, Tyson had melted back into human form so fluidly, she could have missed it if she hadn’t been staring straight at him.

  “Left,” Tyson shouted, pointing his arm like an arrow and taking off. By now, they had the attention of the nighttime strollers, couples and groups crowding the sidewalks gawked and pointed. Becca saw several cell phones come out and knew what they would be dialing. Paranormal sighted. She followed Tyson without question as he zig-zagged through the crowd, down the block, turning left at the next corner. Avaan kept up just behind her. Her feet stung as they slapped the pavement.

  “Right,” Tyson barked. He veered, crossing another street, this one, fortunately with the crosswalk light blinking. Sirens sounds in the distance, no doubt reporting to the crash they had caused. Becca hoped the driver would be okay. Did Tyson have a plan, or was he shouting directions just to keep them moving? She didn’t care. She trusted him.

  Her chest seized as they rounded another corner, this time onto a quieter, one-way street. She gasped and stopped, leaning against a wall.

  “Wait,” she yelled hoarsely. Her legs trembled. She sucked in air like a dying person. Was she dying? She put her fingers against her neck, checking her pulse. Rapid, but not alarming. She didn’t feel faint or dizzy, but breathing hurt. A rib could have cracked in her encounter with Quinn, she supposed. Now wasn’t the time to be an invalid.

  “Rebecca can’t keep running. What mad sort of game are you playing at?” Avaan snapped at Tyson.

  “Trying to keep us alive and out of S.T.F. custody. Do you have any brilliant ideas?”

  Becca blinked slowly and turned her head. A pink and blue neon sign flickered above the sidewalk. Crooked Vibes.

  “Is that a bar?” She asked, squinting. The windows seemed blackened, and it was hard to tell if anyone moved inside.

  “We need a place to lie low, decide our next move.” Tyson said. He shivered, despite the summer air being pleasant.

  “We’re too close to the event center, and people talk in bars. We should keep moving to put distance between us and that vile witch,” Avaan said. “There will be a hotel nearby. We can stay there, and I can make a call to someone who owes my father a favor, he’ll…”

  “They’ll have a phone at the bar,” Becca interrupted, watching Tyson, who moved ahead of them with his eyes fixed on that neon sign. Becca made a mental note to quiz him later about how he knew where to go, if he had guessed or used some sort of sixth sense. For now, she straightened, holding her hand against the stitch in her side, and shoved Avaan toward the door.

  “Becca,” Tyson hissed. “Your arm.”

  She glanced down, remembering. The full sleeve of emerald scales gleamed back at her. “I need your jacket.” She motioned impatiently.

  Avaan and Tyson both shrugged off their jackets and thrust them at her. She snatched Tyson’s and shrugged into it. It should be normal enough for a girl to get cold on a fancy date for no one to question why she wore it.

  The three of them walked through the door. All eyes in the bar turned to them. There were only six people, including the barkeep—a short, thin bald man with round glasses who rubbed a smoky-colored glass slowly while he watched them approach. Becca stopped at the bar and jumped onto a stool. If nothing else, her bare feet could get them kicked out. Didn’t most places have a no shoes, no shirt, no service sort of policy?

  She tucked her toes up between the slats on the chair and cleared her throat. “You, uh, got a house special tonight?”

  Tyson took a seat next to her, and Avaan sat on the other side.

  The keep’s eyes darted over them. He set his glass down and leaned both hands on the bar, fingers curled into fists.

  “You three in trouble?”

  Becca let out a breathy laugh. “No, what makes you think that?”

  The barkeep put both hand
s on the counter and raised one eyebrow. “You walk in here looking confused and jumpy as alley cats, fancy clothes all disheveled, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’d been in a fight.” He dropped his elbow to the counter and got closer to Becca, glancing at both of the men. “They uh, friends of yours? Real friends? Do I need to call someone?”

  He thought she was being trafficked. She laughed again. “Definitely friends. No worries.”

  “I normally don’t mind strangers, but you three are bad for business. Too much talk will flow, and not enough drink. How about you take your business elsewhere?”

  Becca opened her mouth, unsure what kind of lie would come out of her mouth to convince this man to let them stay, when Tyson jumped into the conversation.

  “Your wife is sick, isn’t she? You’re worried about her.”

  Becca blinked slowly and turned her head to gaze at him. What are you doing? She mouthed. His eyes darted from hers to the bartender’s, and stayed there, waiting.

  “Who told you?”

  Tyson shrugged and stuck a thumb through one of his belt loops. “It’s a sense I have. A gift, you might say.”

  Becca held her breath. It was a risk, revealing he had magic. What if the barkeep called in the Stiffs?

  “Can you heal her?” The man choked up, a mix of anger and hope on his face. Did he hope Tyson would say no? Becca braced herself to run if things went south. The seconds ticked by. Tyson had a perplexed look on his face, as if he couldn’t decide how to answer.

  “He can,” Becca blurted.

  Tyson looked at her in alarm. “I believe I can,” he said.

  “In exchange for a place to stay,” Becca added.

  The man considered them, then lowered his voice. “There are rooms upstairs. I have one open for rent. If you can in fact do what you say. If not…” He tilted his head toward the wall, where a burly man stood with his arms crossed and a glowering face. And beside him, a green button glowed faintly. An S.T.F alarm. Becca’s heart raced. Had she promised too much?