Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Quite the topic change.
“Maven is an atypical caster,” I explain, having read her sparse file of student records earlier. “She manifested magic from a fully human bloodline less than a month ago.”
Everett’s pale gaze flickers to me. “You’re saying Maven came from a human family?”
“Yes. Why?”
He shuffles uncomfortably. “It’s nothing.”
“Just spit it out, Snowflake,” Baelfire huffs.
“Fuck off, dragon,” Everett mutters, just as irritated by the nickname as he was when we were children. “Fine. There’s a rumor going around the faculty here that the legacy-human peace treaty is in peril. Supposedly, a political movement among humans advocating for war with our kind has been gaining momentum. They view legacies as monster spawn that should be eradicated or sent back to the Nether. They seem to think that’s all the Nether wants, is our kind back.”
“There’s always some tension between legacies and humans,” I acknowledge.
“Well, it’s gotten worse. To the point that all staff members and professors have been asked to look for anything suspicious among atypical casters or any other students who might sympathize with that political movement and cause trouble at Everbound.”
“Define suspicious.”
“Vague backgrounds. Antisocial behaviors. Inexplicable disappearances, open rejection of legacy traditions or culture, advocating for human ideologies among other grad students, open contempt for the Legacy Council or Immortal Quintet, and anything else out of place,” Everett summarizes.
For a moment, that sinks in for all of us, and then Crypt hums thoughtfully.
“Come to think of it, Maven’s background is something of a question.”
Bael growls. “She’s not a fucking sympathizer.”
Crypt shrugs. “I wouldn’t care if she was.”
“You wouldn’t care if Maven was a fanatic who thinks our kind is better off dead?” Everett asks, incredulous.
Instead of answering, the Nightmare Prince tips his head as if listening to something nearby. His intricate markings—which I can’t ever remember him not having, even as children—begin to glow softly. It sets off my paranoia again, wondering if I’ve missed someone approaching.
But after a second, he hops off the table, steps on the butt of his cigarette to put it out on the marble floor, and announces, “Our reputations have drawn too much attention to our keeper. Some imbecile two floors away is dreaming about besting our quintet by getting his hands on Maven. I’m starving, and his psyche will make the perfect snack if I don’t break his neck first.”
For once, none of us has a single protest, and he drops into Limbo in the next second.
“Who even cares if the humans are getting antsy?” Bael huffs, getting back to the matter at hand. “They’re mortals. We’re legacies. I’m pretty sure we’d trump them if war broke out, which I doubt will happen anytime soon. So even if Maven is a sympathizer, which she isn’t, there’s no harm, no foul.”
I don’t reply, distracted as I consider whether Maven could really be part of the anti-legacy movement. Admittedly, she does fit some of the criteria for suspicious behavior.
“I’ve worked among humans more than the rest of you,” Everett says, shaking his head. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking they’re harmless. They far outnumber legacies, and they’re more resilient than our kind gives them credit for. They pose a real threat if things get worse.”
“I’m more concerned about how little we know about our keeper than her political views,” I decide. “Something is keeping her from accepting the quintet as a gift from the gods. I want to find out what that something is.”
“And
I want to know what’s made her so damn wary of physical touch,” Baelfire adds.
That catches my attention. “What do you mean?”
“The gloves. That little frown she makes whenever anyone gets too close—and I mean anyone, because I watched her with Kenzie earlier, and even her closest friend sitting too close made Maven uncomfortable. Don’t tell me neither of you have noticed that our keeper avoids physical touch like it’s the plague,” he grits, looking between us.
I hadn’t. But all the reasons my brain supplies for why she might be touch-averse make my fists clench.
“She didn’t seem wary of me earlier,” Everett drawls.
Baelfire scowls. “Yeah, well, enjoy her while you can, Snowflake. Because I’m going to charm my mate’s socks—and hopefully panties—right off.”
The professor rolls his eyes. “My competition is an egotistical man whore of a dragon, a psychotic dream demon, and a pointy-eared bookworm with trust issues. Something tells me I’ll be just fine.”
They continue bickering, but I’ve had enough of this. I leave them and make my way to Maven’s dorm room several halls over. But when my eyes lock onto her destroyed door, a wave of panic and paranoia capsizes any rational thought in my head.
It’s just like earlier when Baelfire finally told me she was missing.
She’s dead, a voice whispers in my head.
They got her. They destroyed her, and they’re coming for you next.
You lost your keeper. You’re stuck with us, another voice triumphs.
Nausea curdling my stomach, I rush to the opening, ready to step through the door and find Maven?—
But I promptly step on a box of chocolates.
I scowl and pick up the crushed box. Someone must have left this out here for her.
“Just because there’s no door doesn’t excuse you from knocking.”
Blinking, I realize Maven is watching me through the doorway with her poker face intact. She has a bag slung over her shoulder and shoes on, standing like she was just about to exit before I so gracefully slammed into her magical defenses.
The sight of her melts the tension away from my temples and chest. The ringing is gone. The shadows are empty. I breathe again. Unfortunately, my godsdamned erection returns with a vengeance—even though she doesn’t smell like blood anymore.
She must have showered.
Gods above, the thought of Maven in the shower is not helping with the painful pressure against the fly of my pants.
I clear my throat. “I was just…”
“Stalking me. At night.”
“Yes,” I admit with a sigh, unable to tell anything but the truth. But then I notice she’s dressed in day clothes, about to leave her room well after midnight. That’s…odd.
Some might even say suspicious.
“Were you going somewhere?”
“Not that it’s your business, but yes.”
“Where?” I pry anyway.
An anti-legacy sympathizer meeting, perhaps? voices whisper in the back of my mind.
She doesn’t miss a beat, holding my eye contact with exasperation staining her voice. “In case you didn’t notice, my door is in splinters because the assholes I rejected think they’re entitled to break into my personal space when they don’t know my whereabouts. You try sleeping in a dorm with a gaping hole for all passersby’s viewing pleasure.”
The idea of sleeping where anyone could peek in sets off my paranoia—but the idea of them being able to watch Maven while she’s in a vulnerable sleeping state?
Unacceptable.
“You’ll sleep in our quintet apartment tonight.”
“Hard pass.”
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.