Shadow Cursed (Shadow Falls Series Book 2)

by Lizzy Prince

  “Thanks for stopping in.” I try to brighten my tone, but the undercurrent behind my words is, get the fuck out.

  The man grins at me and takes a big bite out of the cookie, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. It’s weird and awkward as hell.

  “Mmm, these are incredible.”

  I smile and nod in an attempt to say thanks, but I’m sure it looks like grimace. He starts to turn toward the door, and I send up a silent hallelujah only for him to stop and do a quick turn on his heel. “You know, I think we have a mutual friend.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s that?” I try to keep my voice light and inquiring when what I really want to say is, I don’t give a flying frick.

  “Silas Ivailo.”

  My cheek twitches, and my discomfort starts to grow. Who the hell is this guy? Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?

  “Ah, yeah. I’ve seen him around town before. He comes in here sometimes.” I shrug, trying to play it off like I’ve met him but I don’t really know him.

  The man’s face contorts into a confused pout that makes me want to smack him on his chin. “Sorry. I thought you two were dating.” His brows lift like he’s asking a question rather than making a statement.

  All my senses are firing off a warning bell. An instant alarm that tells me to stay far away from this guy. I play dumb, giving him my own wide-eyed stare. “That’s strange. I’m not sure where you would have heard that.”

  “My bad. So, you’re not together?” His eyes narrow, and I notice his knuckles are white from his death grip on the door handle. Some of the menace I’ve sensed in him since he walked through the door spills out. I doubt he meant for me to see, but he didn’t catch himself in time.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” I ask, swallowing back the lump that’s formed in my throat.

  In response, he lifts his cookie and takes another bite.

  “You have a nice night, Ms. Ranolf.” He crumbles up his wrapper and salutes me with it as he leaves my store.

  Once he’s out of sight, I hurry forward and flip the lock on the door. I doubt it will provide much protection if the man decides to come back, but at least it gives me the illusion of safety. I’m tempted to call Silas and tell him what just happened, but I refuse to be cowed by some dickhead who heard a rumor about me. Maybe there’s something more nefarious going on with that guy, or maybe he’s just a weirdo-creep who doesn’t know how to interact with the opposite sex.

  Not wanting to embrace full-on paranoia, I decide to wait before raising the alarm. I’ll tell Silas the next time I see him, and he can do whatever he wants with that information.

  After I finish locking up, I head out to my car. It takes the short walk for me to realize I don’t want to go home to an empty house. I let Remi kick Silas out of my house last night because she’s too hard to argue with, and because I needed time to unwrap everything I learned about Silas. He said he’d come see me today before he left, but he never showed up. Now that I have my empty house waiting on me, it feels like too much work to pretend I don’t want to see him.

  I start my car, letting it warm up while I dig my phone out of my bag. I haven’t looked at it all day—mainly because I’ve been trying to tune out the world—and see four missed messages. The first one’s from Remi. It’s a picture of her making a disgusted face accompanied by a picture of her TV with… is that The Bachelor? Obviously, she’s watching horrible reality TV, so whatever is happening, she brought it on herself.

  The next is from Hazel, asking how my arm is doing, and the last two are from Silas, checking in to make sure I’m okay. I consider calling him, squirming a little in my seat from nervous energy. No matter what’s gone on between us these last few days, including all the revelations that have been laid at my feet, I still feel like a teenager calling her crush. I’m not totally sure I’m ready for that.

  I feel like we skipped sixty steps in our relationship. We were right there on the same page, navigating a crush together, then boom, he forgot about me. Which I realize now isn’t his fault, but it’s still frustrating because he doesn’t have any of those memories. I feel like I’m so much further along in the feelings department. Understandably. I remember twice as many moments when we flirted or talked about random stuff like how he hates ketchup on hamburgers or how I only drink coffee if it has hot chocolate mixed in. We had those getting to know you conversations one piece at a time whenever he stopped in to the shop or came to see me at the farmer’s market. But he doesn’t know those things anymore.

  Staring down at my phone, I chew on the inside of my lip in indecision. I should call Silas and tell him about the guy asking about him, but I think maybe I could use a drink first. I could call Remi. She’ll always drink with me, but I don’t know if I have the energy to dance around the subject of Silas with her right now. She’s going to want to know all the details, and I’m not ready to spill them all yet. She’d badgered me the night before for answers, and I’d finally told her to give up or leave.

  After a few minutes of glaring at my phone hoping someone will call me so I don’t have to make the move, I finally give up. I toss my phone on the passenger seat and groan as I lower my head to the steering wheel, only to rear back with a gasp because it’s freaking cold. Stupid cold weather. I’m all prickly. There’s an irritating agitation resting just below my skin, and I don’t know what to do with it, or with myself. If I wasn’t in my car, I would probably be pacing, or eating cookies, or something. I’m indecisive, and I don’t like feeling that way.

  Since no one is magically calling me to see how I’m doing—cough, Silas, cough—I end up heading home. I’m definitely going to eat my weight in baked goods when I get there. Dammit, why am I being a baby? This isn’t a Regency romance. I’m allowed to call a guy. Even if I don’t have any idea what’s really going on between me and Silas, the desire to talk to him pushes me over the edge, and I decide to shoot off a quick text.

  Bridget: Today blows.

  I’ve barely pulled out of my parking space when my phone rings. A quick look tells me it’s Silas calling. My stomach flip-flops in nervous excitement. Damn, will that ever get old? Him texting me, calling me. Every time I see him and he smiles, my body forgets how to function, and everything flutters and tingles. Shoving down the urge to release a giddy laugh, I pick up my phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Bridget? Are you alright? Is everything okay? Why didn’t you text me back?” Silas’s voice barks through the phone, and I smile even as I hold it away from my face because his voice is way too loud.

  “Hi, Silas. I’m fine. Just tired and stressed. And I didn’t text you back earlier because I was elbow deep in dough.”

  There’s a ragged exhalation through the phone, and it really does melt every bone in my body. How can a sigh even do that? I really hope Silas doesn’t figure out how very little it would take to destroy me. Because he easily could. If he dropped out of my life again, well, saying it would be rough is an understatement.

  “I’m sorry, Bridget, I’m just worried. I… I don’t know what to do about all this, and I want to protect you. I need to. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

  The windshield blurs, and it takes me a second to realize my eyes are glazed over with tears. I sniff and try to blink them away. Why am I like a leaky faucet when it comes to this man?

  “Bridget?”

  “I’m here. I’m safe. It was a long day. I kind of want to go get drunk. Or eat a pan of brownies.”

  “Drunk?” Silas sounds intrigued more than anything.

  “Or eat brownies. Don’t forget those.” I sigh, my breath coming out in a frozen stream in my car. “I just want to pretend I have normal problems for a couple of hours. Like, maybe I have a shitty boss, or I need to get my gutters cleaned or something.”

  “You’re your own boss,” Silas contributes like he doesn’t get what I’m saying.

  “I know that, Silas. That’s not the point. I’m just saying those a
re the types of things regular people complain about. Not that witches cursed the guy you’re in love with to forget about you after you had sex.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I clamp my hand over my mouth, then curse because I don’t have any hands on the steering wheel. Fuck my life. What is wrong with me?

  Silas is silent on the other end, and all I can think is, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

  “Do you need your gutters cleaned? I can do that for you, Bridget.”

  I groan and hold the phone away from my face and stare at it for a second. Silas is not dumb, so he’s either making a joke that I’m too amped up to appreciate, or he’s purposefully playing dumb.

  “Ah, yeah, thanks. My gutters are fine. Probably. You know what, I have no idea. I’ve never looked in my gutters. Never mind. I’m almost home, and I’m going to glue my mouth shut with sugar. I’ll talk to you later.” I pull the phone back to hang up but hear Silas bark out my name.

  “Bridget!”

  “Yes.”

  “Enjoy your treats.”

  “Thanks, Silas. Bye,” I whisper.

  I drop the phone, a dumbass smile making its way back on my face and start to laugh. I know I look insane, but I’m beyond caring. All the nerves and excess energy bubbles out of me, surfacing in a choked noise. The rest of the short drive back to my house passes in a forgettable blur. I don’t even remember passing by familiar streets, and it doesn’t hit me until I’m pulling into my driveway. My daze stays with me until I get to my porch. My eyes are cast down, looking at the light dusting of snow that’s covering my sidewalk, when I see a pair of booted feet.

  My head jerks up so fast I get whiplash.

  “Ow,” I hiss as I lift my hand to rub my neck.

  I’m so annoyed with this day. Although seeing Silas standing on my front porch, looking all nature man, male calendar pinup does put a check in the plus column. I think. There’s a huge chunk of me that wants to run up the steps and launch myself on top of Silas. Climb him like a big old man-tree. But the wounded, skittish part of me is telling me to move slow, to not let myself get so invested until I know more about what’s going on. I know I shouldn’t put my heart on the proverbial chopping board to get hacked into pieces. Kind of like how I just blurted out that I loved him, and he asked about my gutters. Feeling pretty spectacular about that.

  “Silas.” I stumble and slip a little on the snowy sidewalk, and Silas hurries to my side to snatch me up from the ground. He’s got an arm around my waist and is carrying me like I’m a bag of groceries, and all I can do is giggle like an idiot.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Silas

  “Alright, up we go,” I say as I walk us both up the steps of Bridget’s front porch, grinning like a fool when she starts laughing.

  Once we’re at the front door, I set her down only to have her tip her head back and level me with a glare.

  “Were you on my front porch the whole time I was talking to you?” She’s clutching her keys in her hand and shoves it in the lock on her front door without breaking her stare. She’s so fierce but also so puny that I can’t help but smile at her. I could crush her if I had any desire to, but I only want to protect her and keep her safe. Knowing that she’s comfortable enough to attempt to put me in my place has me relaxing against the side of the house. Bridget responds by growling at me.

  It’s such a fucking turn on that I can’t help but lick my lips as my eyes roam down her body and back up again. She might be bundled up for a trek across Antarctica, but all I can think of is how incredible it would be to peel her out of all those layers. It would be an exquisite exercise in delayed gratification. I take a step closer, getting all up in her space, not that she looks like she’s about to complain. Her sweet vanilla scent washes over me, and I want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and inhale deeply. Nothing has ever smelled so good to me as she does.

  “I couldn’t wait to see you again. I didn’t want to bother you at your shop, so I’ve been waiting here.” I lean down so I can murmur the words in Bridget’s ear, and she obligingly shivers as my breath skates across her skin.

  She tilts her head to whisper back in my ear, “And you had to whisper in my ear because…”

  With a chuckle that rumbles deep in my chest, I press a swift kiss to her cheek. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Are you going to judge my brownie eating?”

  “Never,” I gasp and clutch my chest in mock outrage. Bridget shakes her head and opens the door, motioning for me to enter first.

  “Age before beauty.”

  “You’ll make me blush, Toots.” I wink and stride through the front door, practically filling the doorway with my broad shoulders.

  As soon as we’re inside, Bridget starts the process of unfurling all her winter gear. Gloves in her pocket, earmuffs tossed in a basket by the door, coat off, and scarf stuffed in the sleeve. I make myself comfortable in the living room while watching the whole process, surprised when she kicks off her shoes and takes her socks off.

  “Aren’t you always cold?” My brows raise as I look pointedly at her lack of socks.

  “Yes, but I’ve been wearing those socks all day. I need fresh fluffy ones.” She hangs up her coat and moves to the laundry room, returning with a pair of fuzzy-looking socks.

  She pulls them on as she hops back into the room, managing to walk back to the living room and get her socks on at the same time. She looks tired despite the little burst of energy she displayed while getting her socks on. I want to grab her and toss her on the couch. To have her rest her head in my lap while I stroke her hair until she falls asleep. But her stomach grumbles loud enough that I can hear it from across the room.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks as she wanders into the kitchen. Her living room and kitchen form an L, and from where I’m sitting on the couch, I’ve got a view of most of the kitchen.

  “For brownies?”

  “Sadly no, I don’t actually have any made.” Bridget groans in disappointment as she starts to riffle through her fridge.

  I move off the couch to the fridge, looking over the top of the door. Bridget is making a face as she shifts around a pathetic assortment of condiments and little else. “After all that talk of brownies and you don’t even have any?” I scold, making a clucking sound with my tongue.

  “Well, I can make them, but I don’t really want to bake anymore today,” she defends, although she looks a little put out with having to explain.

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing I brought these.” I hold up a small brown paper bag that I managed to keep out of sight until just now. There’s a little grease stain on the side, and Bridget frowns at it as she shuts the fridge door.

  With narrowed eyes, she plucks the bag from my fingers and opens it up, peering down into the bag like a snake might jump out and bite her. She cocks her head, her eyes shifting back and forth from the bag to me.

  “Did you buy this somewhere?”

  My first instinct is to be offended. Does she think I can’t follow directions enough to make a box of brownie mix? But then I’m confused, because I don’t think that’s what her issue is. She actually looks kind of pissed. When I realize what her reaction means, a smirk spreads over my face and slowly grows into a full-blown smile. Dimple and all. Next thing I know, I’m laughing, like deep belly laugh roar kind of laughter. All while she glares at me. She thinks I bought the brownies from a store. That I cheated on her bakery with another bakery. And she’s pissed by the thought of it.

  “Why are you laughing?” She pushes at my chest, but her hand lingers there, just below my heart.

  She looks like she’s fighting her instincts, like she wants to run her hands all over me but is holding herself back. God, I want to grab her face and taste her mouth, to crush her small curvy body to mine as she wraps her legs around me and I do everything in my power to make her lose control. But that is an epically bad idea. Instead, I yank her to me and wrap her up in a near-suffocating hug. I know I should ease
up on my hold, but I don’t think my body, or my wolf for that matter, is about to obey that command. When Bridget softens against me, like all her stress is slipping away, it sends a possessive and protective jolt lancing through me. My wolf is close to the surface, but definitely approves of touching Bridget. In whatever way possible.

  “Are you jealous?” There’s still laughter that I can’t seem to mask in my voice.

  “Fine. Yes. You’re not allowed to shop in other bakeries.”

  “Good thing I didn’t. I made these myself.”

  That’s enough to have her pushing back so she can look at me. “You baked?”

  “I can do stuff.” I realize as soon as I speak that I sound a bit offended, so I shrug as if it’s no big deal.

  “You baked these for me?” Her eyes are practically twinkling, and there’s a soft glow about her as she gazes at me.

  In response, I take the bag from Bridget’s hand, where she’s almost completely smashed the brownies, and pull one out for her.

  “I did. I know they’re nothing close to how good yours are, but…” I shrug again, suddenly feeling a little sheepish with that declaration. But her smile is huge, and that’s really all that matters.

  “It’s amazing,” she says with a hushed voice.

  “You haven’t even taken a bite yet,” I scoff, and she responds by shoving the whole thing in her mouth. The move catches me by surprise, and I bark out a laugh before pressing a kiss to her forehead. I move over to the fridge to see if there’s anything I can make her to eat.

  “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” I ask, when I don’t find much else that’s edible.

  “Yes, please. I don’t want to cook.”

  Putting my hands on her shoulders, I turn her around, giving her a gentle shove toward the couch, swatting her butt for good measure. She yips and does a cute little hop-skip before she tosses a reprimanding look over her shoulder. But not before I see her smile. I don’t want to spend a lot of time cooking a big dinner and making a mess in her kitchen, so I quickly throw together a sandwich and cut it in quarters. A brief search in her cabinets and I find her plates, noting that there’s a plastic Wonder Woman plate that is probably for a kid, but there are no kids here. Decision made, I arrange the triangles and bring it over to Bridget.