Shadow Cursed (Shadow Falls Series Book 2)

by Lizzy Prince

  Bridget moans, making sharp little sounds against my hair as her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in sharp little points of pain, that I fucking love, as she holds on to me. She’s completely soaked, and there’s no way it’s just from this brief contact. Sitting next to her, even during the insanity of the seance, while holding her hand was like its own form a torture. I don’t know what she does to me, but it’s driving me wild. And if the wetness coating my fingers is any evidence, it’s been driving her crazy, too.

  “Fuck,” I groan into her neck, because I have to taste her. My wolf is practically bursting out of my skin, and I know this is what it wants. Just as much as I do.

  I drop to my knees in front of her, barely registering the little sound of surprise from above me. I roughly pull down her panties and lift her leg to unhook them with one hand. I grab her luscious ass with my other, anchoring her to me as I bury my face in the sweet apex between her thighs. The sound that comes out of her mouth is half moan, half curse, but her hands swiftly tangle in my hair, and I’m done for.

  I drag my tongue up and over her clit then suck, alternating soft kisses and almost punishing licks. Bridget is practically riding my face, and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. I’m so Goddamn hard that my cock is pressed uncomfortably against my jeans, and I run a palm over the aching length as if that’s going to be enough to relieve my pain. I’m tempted to pull it out and jack myself off while I fuck Bridget with my tongue, but her sounds are too tempting, and I don’t want to be distracted when she comes all over my face.

  The idea makes me growl, and I shove two fingers inside her tight, wet heat, and she quivers, her entire body shaking as my world narrows to making Bridget fall apart on my tongue. With the crook of my finger and a hard flick of my tongue, she’s crying out and clenching around my fingers as she comes so damn hard I almost spend in my fucking pants. After a minute, she gently pushes my head away like it’s too intense, and I pull my hand away. My eyes lock on hers as I stick my fingers in my mouth, licking them clean.

  Her eyes are glazed with pleasure, and her face is at ease and relaxed. Then, it’s like someone slaps her, because she snaps to attention and gazes down at me with such horror that a severe discomfort shimmies down my spine. Why the fuck does she look like I’ve just insulted her? She hurriedly pushes her skirt back down and shoves me out of the way, grabbing at the panties that are still hooked around one of her ankles. She starts to rush down the hallway while I’m still on my knees, too stunned to move.

  “Bridget, what the hell?”

  She turns and levels me with a stare that could freeze Hades. “Stay away from me, Silas.” Holding her head up high and looking like a damn queen, even with her panties clutched in her hand as she walks away from me.

  Shit, I think I might be in love. Now if I just had an idea of what the hell I’ve done to piss her off.

  Chapter Eight

  Silas

  By the time I get my raging hard-on under control and head back downstairs. Only Dante is left in the living room. He’s on the phone with someone, demanding they come fix the blown-out windows before he hangs up without saying goodbye. Seriously, he has no fucking manners. There’s a smirk on his face, and I’m sure he fucking sensed Bridget getting off upstairs. Damn empathic demon.

  “You’d better not have fed on that shit,” I growl as I point a finger at him, but Dante just shakes his head like he’s disappointed.

  “As if I could avoid getting hit with whatever that was. The conflict in that poor girl’s emotions is like a tidal wave of feelings. What the hell did you do to her?”

  I run a hand through my hair. It’s getting too long, hitting nearly below my chin at this point. I need a damn haircut. “I don’t know, but she’s pissed at me.”

  “That’s not really what it felt like to me.” Dante chuckles, and I’m tempted to punch him. So I do. Walking past him on my way out, I pull back a fist and clock him in the face, smiling when I feel the satisfying crunch of a broken nose.

  “What the fuck, Silas?” he yells at me.

  “Keep your empathic demon sucking feeding away from Bridget. She’s off limits.”

  “Shit. You could have just said as much.” He groans as he snaps his nose back in place. He’s already stopped bleeding, and it’ll be healed up in less than a minute.

  “Maybe now you won’t forget,” I say as I stride out the front door, feeling grateful for the crisp fresh air now that I’m outside. I hadn’t realized how stifling it was inside until I’m back out in the open, even with the shattered windows. Everything about this night has me and my wolf both totally riled up, and we need to run. I strip out of my clothes, flinging them near Alarik’s front door, and change into my wolf. It’s like taking a deep breath for the first time all day, and I relax into the strength and speed of my other form.

  I’ve spent half the day hovering over Bridget because that seance has my hackles up. There’s still something in the air that has my gut churning with warning. I know to never disregard that instinct, but Bridget’s not my mate. That’s the part that is throwing me off entirely. If she was my mate, I’d have known from the first time I touched her. There would have been that spark of recognition, the shifting of my world inside of me. And while it was almost like I recognized her the first time I laid eyes on her, my wolf hadn’t reared up, telling me she was mine. Although, oddly, sometimes I feel as though the wolf has already claimed her as his. It’s enough to fuck with a man’s head.

  I’m at my house too soon. I’m tempted to keep running to try to work through my scattered thoughts, but I’ve already picked up the scent of my Betas inside my house waiting for me. The house isn’t nearly as ridiculous as Alarik’s monstrosity, but I can’t lie and say it’s not a bit over the top. It’s a huge log cabin structure that looks like a lodge more than a house. My house sits dead center on the two hundred acres of my land. Some of the pack live on the acreage in other homes and cabins scattered throughout the woods, while others live off pack land with their families in town or on their own land. No matter who lives here, all of my pack are welcome to come and run here.

  The door opens before I’ve even fully turned back into my human form. Dylan is standing there, propping it open for me. I know Vic is inside as well.

  “Alpha, you’re looking like shit,” Dylan chirps at me, sounding way too cheerful about her assessment.

  I brush past her with a growl and stride into my house. There’s a small entryway that’s tiled around the front door, but once you walk in, you’re in the great room which leads into the kitchen. The ceiling is two-stories high with exposed beams and a balcony on the second floor that looks down on the main room. The showstopper is the back of the house. There’s floor to ceiling windows that look out over the woods and open out onto a patio with a fireplace and comfortable furniture. Not that I ever need the fire. Wolves run hot, so it’s rare I need to warm up.

  “Oh, you’re in a pissy mood too. Is it a girl?” Dylan smiles at me and waggles an eyebrow. All I can do is sigh as I walk to the laundry room to grab a pair of sweats. Everyone in the pack is comfortable with nudity. It’s kind of hard not to be when you shift around each other all the time. Even so, it’s still considered rude to lounge around with your junk hanging out.

  Once I’ve got pants on, I move back out into the kitchen to get some water and look for something to eat. Vic’s leaning against a huge log that serves as one of the load bearing supports for the house. His arms are crossed, his shoulders tight, and there’s a scowl on his face. He’s tall and broad like most male wolves, but he’s a good few inches shorter than me, which isn’t surprising because I’m 6’4”. His hair is more red than blond, and he has a shrewd face. He doesn’t miss much, which is why I chose him to be my Beta.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Vic stands up a little straighter, and the look disappears from his face. “Nothing, just thinking. Did you really meet a girl?”

  I drink
a full glass of water before I answer. “Let’s save the gossip for later. Report on any pack news, conflicts. You know the drill.” My voice is even, but there’s no doubting the command.

  Vic answers first. “Jet Masters got arrested for tagging a bunch of train cars.”

  Dylan nods as she leans against the huge island in the kitchen, resting on her forearms. “He’s just a punk kid, nothing more than rebellious teenager shit there.”

  I hum and mentally sort through a way to make use of his skills. “When is Ruby’s center opening?” Ruby is another pack member who’s working on opening a creative space where kids and adults can take classes and make art, just to name a few of her plans.

  “She has a grand opening scheduled next month,” Dylan responds.

  “Check in with Ruby. See what she needs help with. Let’s get Jet over there to help her out.”

  “Got it, boss.” Dylan’s already got her phone out, probably sending a text to Ruby. She quickly hits send and then sets her phone down.

  “You know any more about those rogue vamps?” she asks, her attention focused back on me. Vic’s head snaps in her direction, and his brow creases in concentration.

  “Rogue vamps?”

  I scrub my hand over my face. I feel tired and a pull that is centered in my chest, telling me I should be somewhere else. I just don’t know where.

  “Just some rumors, Vic. I’m looking into it.”

  “I can check out a few contacts for you.” Vic leans forward, looking more than a little interested in this task. Something pricks in the back of my mind. A discomfort, a prickling fear that involves Vic looking into the vamps. I don’t know how to put a name to it.

  “Don’t dig too deep. Something is off with this whole thing. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Vic dips his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll go check it out now.”

  He’s already backing toward the door before he’s done speaking. I lift a few fingers in a facsimile of a wave at Vic and then lumber around the island to go sit down on the overstuffed leather sectional, putting my feet up on the ottoman with a loud groan. Dylan’s not far behind, and she plops down on the chaise part of the couch, stretching her feet out in front of her but still looking at me.

  “You need a mate, Silas.”

  I give her a death glare that has made others quake in their damn shoes. “What? Why are you bringing this up now?” My head tips to the back of the couch, and I look up at the warm wood of the exposed beams overhead.

  “It’s time. I can sense you’re unsettled.”

  “Are we swapping unwanted advice now, Dylan? What about you? Have you hunted down your mate yet?”

  Annoyance flares in Dylan’s eyes as she narrows them at me. “I’m not leading a pack of wolves who rely on me to be at my strongest and sharpest at all times. My mate can wait.”

  A loud groan is my only response.

  “Have you met her?” Her question is tentative, and I turn my head to look at her.

  She’s the picture of the athletic girl next door, but she’s never been anything more than a friend and a support for me when I needed it. “What makes you think that?”

  Dylan shakes her head, looking a little weary. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Silas, but this last year or so, you’ve been off-kilter. It feels like you’re lost and looking for something.”

  I let my head drop back again and groan, closing my eyes as I think about Bridget. Her soft lips, her tiny body that is somehow still so perfectly fitted for my own much larger one. The fire that burns in her and the passion that is just a piece of who she is. But I haven’t recognized her as my mate. It bothers me because Bridget feels right, but at the same time, my instinct is screaming that something is off, no, wrong with the situation.

  “I don’t know.” I laugh humorlessly. “I really don’t fucking know.”

  “Boss, if you need some advice on how a woman’s body works…”

  “Shut the fuck up, Dylan,” I say when she starts laughing at her own joke so hard she can barely breathe. Seriously, fuck my life.

  Chapter Nine

  Bridget

  What have I done? Have I lost my mind? I’m so pissed off at myself that I don’t bother saying goodbye to anyone when I leave Alarik’s. Or maybe I’m slinking away because I’m so completely embarrassed by my utter lack of self-control. I’m a pitiful fool, and that’s all I can think about as I drive home in a fog of burning shame. Because every time I move, I’m reminded that my panties are balled up and shoved inside my bag, and I’m free-vaging while wearing a skirt. Basically, I’m feeling super classy.

  Every time I think I’ve got my thoughts locked down, I get a flash of Silas kneeling before me, and every square inch of my skin heats up. Then I think about the night I went out for my birthday and how he screwed me against a wall… and then blew me off while still inside me. I cringe and slap my forehead, because seriously, what is wrong with me? Burning humiliation quickly replaces all the sexy feelings, but then my thoughts drift to Silas’s mouth on me, and it all starts over again. I’m essentially having a prolonged hot flash, and I’m too young for that shit.

  What the hell is Silas playing at? My poor lip is all gnawed up since my nervous energy needs an outlet. For a second, I wish I was a runner so I could work off some of the jittery energy thrumming through me. That would probably help, but I’m not a runner. I’m a baker. So instead of a healthy run, I start thinking about what I’m going to bake when I get home.

  I pull up in front of my house and try to stuff down all the anxious feelings fermenting inside me. Getting out of my car, I take a minute to look at my house. It’s a little blue two-story with a gambrel roof. It looks a little like a barn roof, but the first time I walked into the house, I knew I belonged there. It had been remodeled and flipped by someone who thought they could make a quick buck, and sometimes their shitty construction showed. The basement floods when it rains too hard, and the doors stick in the summer, but it’s mine, and I love every inch of it.

  There’s a stone front porch, complete with a porch swing that I swore I’d use all the time, but I rarely sat out there. Maybe later, after I bake, I’ll sit there and eat whatever I’ve made. With a nod to my own internal dialogue, I hurry up the steps, because it’s cold as hell and I’m going commando. I let myself inside and exhale loudly as I drop my purse on the table just inside the entryway.

  I lived in an apartment when I first moved to Shadow Falls, and it was nice enough. Definitely a lot cleaner than some of the places I’d lived in during college. Those hellholes had crispy carpets with a permanent odor to them that never really went away and dents in the walls that were only ever covered up with posters. After more than a year of incredibly noisy neighbors having the loudest sex I’ve ever heard, I decided it was time to be a grown-up and buy my own place.

  I haven’t had one moment of regret.

  Not even when a bat swooped over my bed in the middle of the night and scared the crap out of me. I’d locked myself in the bathroom until I realized no one was going to come save me and I had to be my own hero. I trapped that damn bat in a bucket and released it back outside, because I’m a boss like that. Sometimes. When forced.

  Kicking off my shoes, I head upstairs to my bedroom to change into some yoga pants and a tank top. As much as the sensible part of me didn't want to admit it, I might have dressed up a little bit because I knew Silas was going to be there tonight. With a huff, I pull out my braids, digging my fingers into my scalp and shaking out my hair with a relieved groan. I don’t always wear my hair up, but there is no doubt it’s up a lot more than down lately. No thanks to that asshole. And... the hot flashes are back.

  Shaking my head, completely frustrated with myself, I wander back downstairs to the kitchen to start baking. One of the things I love most about my little house is the kitchen. It’s got an old farmhouse feel to it with a white ceramic sink, white cupboards and countertops, and a white backsplash. Then
there’s the small island that’s painted a dark blue with a thick butcher’s block counter on top. It’s perfect for baking and has already seen the production of countless cupcakes, pies, cookies, and too many loaves of bread to count.

  As I rifle through my cupboards and fridge, I decide to make apple turnovers and get to work on the pastry. It’s not long before the first batch is in the oven and the house is smelling like cinnamon and delicious fall spices. Checking the oven, I pull out the baked pastries and put in another batch to bake. Setting the tray on the stove, I lean over and inhale, smiling at how good they turned out. As soon as I know I won’t burn my mouth, I’ll be eating several of these suckers.

  “Those smell amazing,” a deep masculine voice practically purrs from somewhere behind me, and I scream like I’m starring in a slasher flick. With my heart in my throat, I spin around, managing to smack my arm against the hot cookie sheet in the process.

  “Mother of God!” I cry out, cradling my burnt arm in my other, non-injured one. I hiss when I look down and see a red welt starting to appear. Then I sigh, because it’s not like it’s the first one I’ve gotten. Still, I throw an annoyed look at Silas, who’s sitting on my couch, feet up on the coffee table as though he’s been in my house a million times. Spoiler: he hasn’t. He’s never been to my house. At least he has the decency to look chagrined.

  “Sorry. You all right?” He hops up and is at my side in an instant, angling his head down so he can look at my arm. He’s so massive that he has to hunch over to get a look. He tries to grab my arm, but I swat him away.

  “What are you doing here?” I huff out, acutely aware that I am in a very thin tank top without a bra on. I mean, why wear a bra when I’m at home alone?

  “Here, let me take a look at that, you’re hurt,” he says simply, moss green eyes looking so sincere it just irritates me more. I take a step back. I can’t be this close to Silas. He’s like a planet and I’m just a wimpy moon that can’t resist the pull of his gravitational force. And he smells so good. Why does he have to smell so damn good? It's everything fresh, like freshly cut grass and rain that’s just started to fall, and yet it’s so masculine it makes my mouth water. Not to mention my other parts that perk up.