Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Taking a deep breath, I step back and make a twisted symbol with my fingers, breathing out a short string of forbidden words. Dark, cruel magic surges to the surface, boiling in my veins as my fingertips blacken and tendrils of shadow swirl around my bare hands.
Silas’s eyes widen infinitesimally, but I can tell it’s from intrigue and not alarm. Baelfire looks concerned as the dark tendrils climb up my arms, circling and twisting until they encompass me. I shut my eyes and hold my breath, focusing entirely on the shadow heart in my chest.
It magically keeps my blood running, but it doesn’t beat. Amadeus crafted this heart for me to replace the one he ripped out. But even with all his foresight, he didn’t realize that pouring his magic into this heart would give me the ability to tap into his precognitive abilities in a tight pinch.
My “father’s” foresight only encompasses death, misery, and future battles. It’s not always accurate, so I rarely glean from it.
But right now, it comes in handy. My body starts to go numb just as images flicker in my mind—a dorm number, blood pooling on a stone floor, the changeling screaming in agony, and a blood-streaked vial of powder.
“Mayflower?”
“Don’t get close to her,” Silas warns. “Some spells are delicate. It might rebound and harm her if you interfere.”
My head spins as I finally break out of the trance-like spell, catching my breath and blinking up at them. But even though Baelfire still looks worried, Silas appears fascinated by my display of the forbidden arts.
I grin. “Follow me.”
Minutes later, we wind up at the door to a private dorm marked with the same dorm number I just foresaw. I can only assume the changeling killed to have this space.
Setting my bare hand against the door, I use another small burst of magic to corrupt all wards or protective spells, and then I try the handle. It’s not even locked. This arrogant piece of shit puts far too much faith in its own lesser form of magic.
Opening the door, I waltz in to find the changeling posing in front of a full-length mirror in what I assume is a freshly stolen outfit. When it sees me, it hisses in a very un-Monica-like way and launches toward its sword propped against one wall.
Before it can touch the weapon, a flare of Silas’s blood-red magic sends it crashing into the wall. A circle of powerful runes emblazons itself into the floor around the monster to keep it from exiting.
He’s efficient. I don’t mind that.
I also don’t mind when the changeling hisses and snarls, flinging itself against the invisible ward, keeping it trapped as it glowers at me. Seeing it trapped and furious like this makes me smile.
Baelfire locks the door.
I approach the sneering changeling. It’s strange to see it do that with the sweet empath’s face, but things only get more bizarre as it smirks at me before its entire appearance ripples and changes. In the blink of an eye, I’m once again staring at myself.
“Would you look who it is?” it snaps in my voice. “Took you long enough to find me, telum.”
“Scourge?” Silas translates with a frown. I’m surprised he knows even that much in the Nether tongue. “Why is it calling you that?”
The changeling peers over my shoulder at my matches and smiles flirtatiously, batting its—
my
—eyelashes and blowing a kiss. Changelings don’t experience human emotions but are great at affecting human qualities.
“Hello, pretty boy toys.”
Baelfire makes a face. “Okay, that’s fucking weird. I can’t unsee that.”
“We both know why I’m here,” I say, drawing the monster’s attention back to me. I slip one of my concealed daggers from its place and twist it in my hand, admiring it before I smile thinly at the creature. “You know what answers I want. So tell me. Are we going to do this the easy way or the fun way?”
Fake Maven wrinkles its nose and clamps its mouth shut stubbornly.
I grin.
Looks like this will be fun, after all.
BAELFIRE
Holy fuck.
Maven is enjoying the hell out of this.
I’m a seasoned hunter who deals with blood and gore daily, but I still grimace as my mate twists her knife under the skin at the back of the changeling’s mutilated hand. Its scream is piercing, so it’s a good thing Silas did some caster shit to soundproof this room. Maven also did something to this monster to keep it from thrashing around. It can only move its head and face.
I don’t know shit about magic, but I do know that the smirk twisting up Maven’s lips is both cute as fuck and terrifying.
My sexy little raincloud has been enjoying the screaming for the last twenty minutes. But since the changeling currently looks like her, I’m just…silently panicking.
Logically, I know that freak isn’t Maven, but it looks just like her as it wails and shrieks. If it’s bothering Silas, he’s hiding it well, but it’s making my inner dragon even more of a pest to deal with. My veins pump with fire and fury at the thought of anything like this happening to our mate, ever—it doesn’t matter that this isn’t her because the visual really isn’t fucking helping.
“Let’s try that again,” my mate taunts smoothly when it stops shrieking. “Where is Kenzie?”
The changeling tries to spit at Maven but misses. Its head lolls to the right to pout at Silas and me. “You’re really going to just watch as she tortures me like this? I’m an innocent who’s just trying to hide from those awful bounty hunters! My situation is no different from hers—we’re both from the Nether, after all.”
It says it as if it’s dropping a bomb. When neither Silas nor I react, it scowls, annoyed to learn that we already figured that out.
Maven tuts in disappointment and uses the tip of her dagger to languidly pry another vein out of the back of the monster’s hand. Its squealing starts again, growing more frantic the longer she toys with it.
And yes, I know that thing isn’t Maven.
But fucking gods above, it sounds exactly like her.
Finally, even though my mate seems satisfied to be getting back at the creature that took her friend, I can’t take it anymore and snap, “Just answer the fucking question already!”
The changeling whimpers. “K—Kenzie is dead.”
“No, she’s not,” Maven sighs, grabbing the creature’s other mauled hand and lifting it to study the wrist. “You’re taking too long to answer my questions on purpose. You’re probably hoping we’ll get caught and punished for missing curfew. But if you want to waste time, two can play that game. Have you ever seen an amputation with a dull knife? It takes forever, but it’s beautifully unbearable.”
Damn, she’s brutal. I like that.
But when she pulls another weapon from out of her boot—this one a blunt blade—I start to feel queasy. Not because gore bothers me, but because I don’t think I can watch even a fake Maven lose her arm.
The changeling appears to be panicking, but then it sees me and sneers. “Of course, you don’t care how they feel about this. You never cared how Gideon felt about things, either. No wonder he decided it was better to strangle you and be done with it after he popped your cherry.”
Back up.
What?
Heat sears through my body, and my very bones shiver under the wrath of my dragon, who is losing his shit over this just like I’m about to.
“What the fuck is it talking about?” I snarl, my voice barely understandable through my dragon’s rage.
When Silas speaks, I catch a glimpse of fangs. He never loses control enough to sprout fangs unless he’s royally pissed off. “Is that the bastard who manipulated you into bed? Explain.
Now.”
I almost black out as my vision bows under my dragon’s attempts to get free. It wants to burn everything to the ground, and when I smell smoke, I know I’m close to combusting.
I can’t let that happen, though, or I’ll hurt Maven.
Her jaw clenches in annoyance, and she doesn’t look away from the changeling. “I told you it might share things it has no business sharing. Ignore it or get out.”
“I am not fucking ignoring this, and we’re not leaving you here alone,” I snap. “You promised answers, so tell me all about this
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