Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Crane starts to demand what has me on edge, but I step into Limbo, so it sounds like he’s speaking underwater. Kicking up, I quickly drift through the ceiling and walls until I stop in the guest suite, where my keeper is tangled in blankets.
That the sight of her asleep makes me breathless is something I fully expected.
But her sleeping form sending lust crashing through me?
That is unexpected.
Thanks to my nature, I’ve seen countless people sleeping. Not once have I ever felt anything like this. But the desire to smooth Maven’s furrowed brow, kiss every inch of her skin, and worship her resting body just as I’ve fantasized about pleasuring her in the waking world is suddenly consuming my every thought.
But my newfound hunger quickly takes a back seat when she whimpers in her sleep, stirring as the nightmare grows in Limbo.
“My dark little darling,” I whisper, settling on the bed beside her and reaching for the nightmare to take the reins. “Show me what’s causing you such pain.”
Abruptly, I find myself standing in a dark room. The details of it are foggy, as dreams often are—but this is clearly a nightmare spawned from memory. There’s too much real-world exactness for it to be something her subconscious is spinning.
And in Maven’s memory, she’s wrapped in nothing but a sheet as she sobs at someone’s feet. The looming figure is faceless, as villains in nightmares so often are. This is a younger version of my keeper, perhaps somewhere in her teens. Her face is slightly rounder, her hips slimmer, and her cries wrench my heart.
“Please don’t,” she begs, tears dripping onto the stone floor. “Please. It was my mistake. Just punish me for it. Don’t?—“
Livid bile rises in my throat when the figure’s foot snaps out, catching Maven in the face and sending her sprawling. Her head audibly smacks against the stone floor, but it doesn’t stop her. She struggles to get up, still clutching the sheet around herself.
“
Silence. You knew this would happen,” a chillingly deep voice rumbles. “It is time you learned where loyalty always lies.”
Someone else is screaming in the periphery of Maven’s nightmare, and I can sense her horror and terror mounting as someone else is dragged into the room. Whoever it is, when she turns to look at them, I happen to be standing in the way. Sometimes, I conceal myself in dreams to watch them play out, but I haven’t here, and her eyes snap up to me at once. My chest caves in when I see the blood dripping from her busted lip, the tears streaking down her dirty, stricken face.
She’s covered in bruises.
The screaming reaches a fever pitch behind us as if someone is being ripped apart, and Maven’s nightmare shakes around me. She’s trying desperately to wake up, but it has her firmly in its grip.
But she’s not begging the faceless monster anymore. She’s begging me.
“Stop it. Please make it stop,” my obsession pleads.
I do.
Whatever this memory is, whatever invisible scars it left within my keeper, I vow that she will never have to endure this in her subconscious again. Forcing my own subconscious to morph our surroundings, the darkness fades away, and my power branches out, spinning Maven a new dream in the blink of an eye.
She blinks at our new surroundings, sitting on a couch in a beautiful mansion facing a large window overlooking a moonlit lake. Stars twinkle outside, reflecting in the water, and now Maven looks the same age as she is in the waking world, cleaned of any dirt or blood.
It always takes dreamers a moment to adjust to the lucid dreams incubi can craft. But finally, she focuses on me, and there’s a definite surge of want in the dream around us before she looks down.
“What am I wearing?”
The black lacy dress is dipping off her shoulders and clinging to her perfect hips. I was sorely tempted to dress her in nothing—but I haven’t seen my darling stark naked yet, and even in her dream, I wouldn’t dare try to fill in the blanks with the parts of her I haven’t seen. I know nothing I could imagine will possibly be as mouthwatering as she’ll actually be when I do finally get to see her naked.
Maven regards me, uninhibited in this dream state. Her brow furrows in concern again. “Wait. Wasn’t I just…”
“There are enough demons to torment us in the waking world, darling,” I whisper. “From now on, your dreams belong to me. I will allow nothing to hurt you here.”
She’s looking for the truth in my eyes, and she must see it because she visibly relaxes.
“Boo?” Decimus calls in the dream, joining us on the couch and pulling her onto his lap with familiar ease. He buries his face in her neck and inhales deeply. “This creep has been hogging you all day. My turn.”
Creating projections of existing people is easy—especially when I know them well, from their mannerisms to what makes them tick. I’ve also perfected the ability to craft false memories within dreams for those whose subconscious I’m lingering in. The memories don’t last past them waking up and don’t affect their psyche in the least, but while in a dream, they’re very believable.
Which is why, in this dream, Maven rolls her eyes with a smile and kisses Decimus.
In this fictional moment, we’ve been together for years, and the only thing she can’t stand about our touch is how much she wants it.
“Getting started without me?” Crane asks, sliding in on Maven’s other side. She breaks away from Decimus when the blood fae takes her chin, tilting her face to steal a deep kiss for himself.
“You’re all so damn clingy,” Maven says, pulling away with a smirk. But she reaches out to trail her fingers slowly through my hair.
I shut my eyes. Gods above, I want this to be real.
Frost is here now, too, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss her forehead almost reverently. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it, Oakley.”
She studies him, then the rest of us as the dream projections exchange more banter. For a moment, I can feel her subconscious realizing that this isn’t what she’s used to. She’s confused, but when I smile at her, she smiles back.
Breathtaking.
I normally weave nightmares, but I needed her to see this. Us. Everything we could be.
Because I couldn’t care less if our suspicions about her are true. She can hate all other legacies but us. If she asks, I’ll help her drive the world mad and watch her enemies rip each other to shreds. I have no loyalties to anyone but us. As long as I get to keep my dark obsession, the world can fucking burn for all I care.
Letting go of the reigns of her dream, I watch, wondering what she’ll unconsciously turn it into. If she genuinely wants nothing to do with us, I expect she’ll snap out of this immediately.
Instead, she adjusts, straddling Crane’s lap to lean over and kiss me briefly.
I can’t breathe.
This is the truth. She wants us.
When she pulls back, the depth and emotion in her expression is stunning. She traces the markings on the side of my neck curiously. “These markings. They’re not tattoos. What are they?”
“Just…markings. From my curse,” I manage.
Now her dream grows watery, a sure sign that she’s starting to rouse from her sleep. But she hasn’t shaken off the dream yet, and she frowns softly at Crane and the others. “How…how are we all together like this? Did I fail?”
“Fail what, sangfluir?”
“My purpose.” Then she tenses, and I see the realization rush through her just as the rest of the dream fades away.
A moment later, I find myself sitting on the bed in Limbo as Maven’s eyes flutter open. Her brow furrows, and then she sits up quickly, eyes narrowing in my general direction as she pulls the blankets closer around herself. She knows I’m here.
Slipping out of Limbo, I smile softly at her. “No need to be wary, love. I would never touch you without permission.”
“You would just violate my dreams without permission.”
“I’d hardly call it that. You were in pain. I needed to stop it.”
She clenches her jaw. “What did you see in my dream?”
That memory clearly distressed her in the extreme. It’s something private, something she wouldn’t want me to know. I didn’t get the complete picture of what was happening, but it doesn’t matter—unlike Crane, I know not everything can be fixed. Invisible scars can’t go away.
I understand that part of her more than she may ever know. I also understand wanting to keep a broken past as a secret.
“I saw nothing,” I murmur. “I just sensed the nightmare and took it away.”
I fully expect her to swear at me or kick me out of the room, so it’s a pleasant surprise when she looks away, dropping the subject to frown at the curtains, which are letting in soft light. Time is warped in dreams, so it’s unsurprising if her sleep felt bizarrely short.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.