Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
The Nether is creeping into the mortal realm even more.
“Snowdrop,” I breathe in relief, kicking aside the shattered etherium necklace to wrap her in my arms.
Well—arm. The broken one isn’t moving very well.
Maven hugs me back weakly before pulling away, her breaths labored. She grimaces. “Her life force is really fucking potent.”
Shit. “Silas?—“
“On it,” he says, pulling the briefcase out of his pocket void and quickly handing Maven one of the clear etherium pieces.
She grimaces and whispers the strange words until the stone darkens. Silas accepts it and places it with the other two for safekeeping until our keeper needs them later. For a moment, the four of us stand beaten, bloodied, and exhausted in the aftermath of the brutal fight.
Until I notice Silas visibly flinch, closing his eyes as he becomes even paler than usual.
“You good?” I frown.
“There are many ghosts here. Scyntyche is reaping,” he murmurs hoarsely.
A chill rolls over my back as I glance around. Of course, I see nothing because I’m not a fucking necromancer, but knowing the goddess of death, fate, time, and so much else is nearby is…chilling.
Baelfire coughs nearby. We all look over as he sits up and yanks the tranquilizer out of his mouth with a grimace. The shifter’s face lights up when he sees the four of us before he notices the headless immortal.
“Holy fuck. We did it!”
“Maven did it,” I correct, glancing up at the sky when I hear another helicopter approaching. “We can’t stick around here, Snowdrop.”
She doesn’t respond, her eyes closed as if in concentration.
Or—shit, is she in pain?
“Darling?” Crypt checks, stepping over a couple of bodies to cradle her face. His markings glow softly, but he ignores them. “Maven?”
“What’s going on?” Baelfire demands, hauling his ass up to approach. As usual, he’s butt-ass naked after a shift, streaked in ash and dirt.
Maven’s lashes flutter open, relief stark on her face as she looks at the four of us. Her voice has a surprisingly emotional rasp to it. “It worked. The humans can leave the Nether.”
“How do you know for sure?” I frown, reaching out to brush dirt from her jaw.
“Felix has a piece of etherium that I marked with a beacon spell before I left the Nether. He just activated it. I’ll transport us to where my spell was set off.” She takes a deep breath. “And when we get there, the exodus won’t be far behind.”
SILAS
The sky over North Carolina is a thick blanket of turbulent dark clouds as far as the eye can see while I heal Everett’s broken arm—the last of our significant injuries.
The white-haired elemental sits on an old stone bench in the cemetery where we appeared when Maven transported us after the ambush. This cemetery is connected to a massive, empty field of dirt and brambles on the brink of the encroaching Divide.
The Divide itself lurks along one side of the cemetery and field, a towering wall of perturbing dark gray, like a misty veil.
I can sense it even from here. The powerful, old magic humming in the air, now barely keeping the Nether at bay.
Maven stands waiting for the caster named Felix where we first appeared. Crypt waits next to her, smoking reverium and ignoring his glowing markings.
Meanwhile, Baelfire paces nearby as he waits for his phone call to be answered. He’s dressed in spare clothes, which I’m now thanking all six gods that I tossed into my void pouch at some juncture—otherwise, all the poor humans escaping the Nether would be greeted by the idiot’s bare ass.
“Mom?” he checks when Brigid Decimus picks up the phone. I can’t hear her on the other end, but he breathes in relief. “Yeah, we did. No, I’m good—we are all. Yeah, it got pretty fucking rough. What do you mean, footage? Oh, shit, I didn’t realize they filmed that.” He listens for a moment and then grunts. “You’re right. Maven wants any willing Reformists here as soon as fucking possible for when the shadow fiends start to pour out. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
As he talks, I finish with Everett’s arm and straighten, grimacing at my sore muscles. Our entire quintet is sore and exhausted. We’ve been patching ourselves up as best we can while we wait, but we’ll require serious time to recover and rest once this is over.
Earlier, Maven insisted I feed on her to heal the others in any way they need. The intoxicating flavor of her blood has only deepened, becoming richer and even more addictive as she has grown stronger with the completion of our quintet.
It was truthfully a challenge to stop drinking from her pretty neck.
Baelfire hangs up and moves closer to our waiting keeper. “My mom said the Reformist aid will be here within thirty minutes.”
Maven glances over her shoulder. Like the rest of us, she is still dirty from the ambush. Yet somehow, the rough look is incredibly flattering on her—her dark hair tied in a ponytail, her olive skin smudged with dirt and blood, the flash of those cunning eyes.
My keeper will forever take my breath away.
“That’s fast,” she replies to Baelfire.
“They kinda started prepping when they saw us on the news,” he shrugs, pocketing his phone.
As if his words summoned it, we all hear a helicopter in the distance.
“Why does that thing seem to be looking for us?” Maven asks.
“It’s a news helicopter. Humans want to see what’s going on. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to land and interview you,” Everett grumbles.
She pulls a face. “Gag me with a knife.”
Crypt laughs. “But darling, I have something far more enjoyable for you to gag on.”
I roll my eyes. Our keeper grins and starts to say something, but we all snap to attention when a flash of green light is followed by a figure stepping into the cemetery from the Divide.
It’s a thin young man, possibly Everett or Crypt’s age. He has brown hair, pale skin, dark circles under his hazel eyes, and only one arm, which holds an almost laughable makeshift weapon of a piece of etherium affixed to a stick. His haggard clothing looks like something a medieval peasant would wear.
Still, his voice is strong when he greets Maven without his expression changing. “You did it.”
“You doubted me?”
His attention slips to the world behind us, and his strange, Maven-like composure slips momentarily as his voice cracks. “Gods. This is the mortal realm? It’s…it’s so colorful. And bright.”
“It’s a fucking cemetery on a dark and cloudy day,” Baelfire points out.
That draws the caster’s attention to us, and he blinks, recomposing himself. “Who are these guys?”
“Felix, this is my quintet,” Maven says breezily, motioning to each of us. “Silas, Baelfire, Everett, and Crypt. Guys, this is Felix.”
His eyes widen slightly like he doesn’t want to show too much emotion. “These are your gods-selected matches? My gods, these poor men.”
Crypt’s eyes narrow. “Did you just insult my keeper?”
Felix coughs, glancing at Maven. “That one looks like he wants to kill me.”
“He will if you answer wrong,” she grins at him.
Baelfire huffs.
Quit giving him your smiles, he says through the bond.
Those are mine, Boo.
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.