Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Her attention is clinical as she examines me. I can only imagine what she sees. I know Everett makes that bounty hunter magically feed and clean me now and then, and Lillian tries to help me on my better days, but whenever I’m not simmering in lunacy, I black out.
Sometimes I wake up covered in my own blood. Other times, I find I’ve etched dark runes into the floor or walls of this room. The entire place is proof of my disjointed mania, so I’m sure I must look only more wretched.
But if Maven is bothered by my unhinged appearance, it doesn’t stop her from kissing me.
It’s quick. Soft. More a reminder of her affection than a true kiss.
And still, it melts something inside me. I pull her against me, desperate to have her close. The scent of her blood all around us makes mine boil, and suddenly, I realize how much she’s lost.
She needs healing.
No. Let her bleed out. It is the swiftest way of dealing with this bitch, a voice in my head growls.
I’m about to snap at the voices, but metal creaks sharply just before the entire door into my self-imposed prison is broken down. Blood magic flares to life in my fingertips as I prepare to protect Maven, but ice crackles across the ground at lightning speed, encapsulating much of this prison in thick ice as Everett steps into the room.
The utterly furious brutality on his face is surprising.
So is his scar. I thought I was imagining that, the few times I’ve been able to make out his face when he came to visit me in my isolated hell.
“A scarred Frost. Now I’ve seen everything,” I manage.
Judging by the ice covering the door, he dropped the temperature of the metal to make it brittle enough to kick it down himself. That’s an impressive display of power to display on a whim. Was he always this strong, or am I just imagining this, too?
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Everett seethes, storming into the room with frost swirling behind his every step. “You’re the one who nearly ripped her neck open—
heal her.”
Yes! Use magic. We know just the spell she deserves, the voices in my head titter as darkness seeps into the edges of my vision.
Realizing my internal tormentors are just under the surface of my mind, I quickly disengage from Maven despite her protest. Stumbling to my feet, I put distance between us as my heart pounds painfully. She gets up, too, but I don’t miss the slight sway in her legs.
I took too much.
“I can’t,” I rasp, swallowing down the shameful bile trying to crawl up my throat. “My casting can’t be trusted right now.”
In my current condition, if I try to heal Maven, I’ll end up killing her instead.
Think of the suffering you’ve gone through because of her. Do you really want more of that? Killing her now would grant you peace, a voice in my head tries to reason.
Everett moves to our keeper’s side, gently removing her hand from her neck to see the damage before he shoots me a surprisingly intimidating glare. Maven lets him fuss over her, but her dark eyes are fixed firmly on me.
“Ground artemesian blossoms and a blood amulet.”
I can’t tell if her words don’t make sense or if it’s just my insanity keeping me from understanding again, but one glance at Everett tells me he’s just as confused.
“Snowdrop, what are you?—“
“Is this the most present he’s been in months?” she checks.
We both nod, but I immediately prop myself up against a wall as the world spins. I could swear that dark, snake-like vines are slithering across the stone floor toward me, but since Maven and Everett aren’t reacting to the ominous tendrils, I decide it’s another trick of my frayed mind.
I can’t tell reality from the demons in my head.
“My blood helps him.” Maven looks back at me, and gods above, I’ve missed her face. She’s so viciously determined, it puts my stomach in delirious knots. “An amulet can be made with my blood and blessed with holy magic for extra strength. Artemisian blossoms can be spelled to help ward off evil spirits. It might help soothe the voices until I can figure out how to fix things.”
Fix things?
I want to ask what she means by that, but Maven speaks again, cold and angry.
“You’re too weak right now. If I can’t strengthen you, you’re useless to me. You’ll end up getting me killed, or hurting me yourself.
Again.
“
Pain cuts through me at the reminder of my shortcomings, making my voice a violent rasp as I lean against the wall.
“I swear I won’t hurt you,” I insist miserably. “I’ll make myself useful this time.”
My keeper frowns at me in confusion before sad understanding crosses her face. “Silas, I didn’t say anything about you hurting me. Whatever you just heard, it was in your head.”
Damn it.
I was certain it was her truly speaking, but before I can apologize, I’m deafened by the shrieking and wailing of voices inside my head. Their cacophony of fury sends me to my knees before I black out, swept back under the inky asphyxiation of my curse.
What feels like moments later, I blink my eyes open and find myself lying on the bed in the corner of my prison, which is lit dimly by candles to ward off the freezing night. The absence of the iron shackles around my wrists and ankles is bizarre until I catch the enticing scent of Maven’s blood still lingering in the room.
It wasn’t in my head. She’s back—no longer in this room, but I’ll find her.
To end her, my father’s voice suggests excitedly.
“No,” I snarl. “To protect her. I don’t care if I have to crack open my fucking skull to rip you out—if she’s back, she deserves every godsdamned effort I can make for her safety. So long as she allows me in her presence, I will find a way.”
“There’s no one else in here, man,” someone grunts.
It’s the giant leprechaun, voices in my head inform me.
I realize the giant leprechaun—no, the redheaded bounty hunter is in here, magically repairing the door Everett broke. It takes me a moment of blurry confusion before I can pick his name out of the veritable alphabet soup that is my brain.
“Douglas.”
He stops repairing the door long enough to appraise me. “You’re actually in your own head for once. Not bad.”
The fact that recognizing someone I was once hunted by warrants that reaction is just proof of how pathetically far I’ve fallen. I sit up, focusing on him and pretending there isn’t a monstrously large blob of psychedelic goo dripping from the ceiling overhead.
Once again, if he isn’t reacting to it, it’s obviously all in my mind.
“I need spell supplies,” I tell him, managing to pick out the correct English words in the correct order this time.
He nods his chin at a brown-paper-wrapped parcel near the new door, which I didn’t see because of the dim lighting.
“Already brought it. Also, your freaky-ass keeper handed me a bowl of blood before Frost hauled her out of here. Turns out I’m supposed to make it into a couple of strong blood amulets for you, but did she explain that before handing me her zombie blood? Nope. I swear, it’s like she enjoys being disturbing.”
For the first time in gods know how long, my lips twitch. “She does.”
I’ve bitterly missed her streak of sadistic amusement. I’ve missed all of her so much I can’t put it into words, but knowing that I didn’t imagine her return or her delectable blood has my heart pounding.
Six months and still so smitten? That she-monster will be the death of you, a voice in my head huffs.
Free yourself! Run from her!
That fucking Undead bitch
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