Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Everett keeps up with me, looking around quickly to make sure no Reformists are in this area of the castle. “It was just a few people who annoyed me.”
A few? I stare at the rows of immaculately frozen people, monsters, and ravens gleaming in the cold sunlight. Small piles of powdery snow gathered atop the unmoving displays.
My gaze lands on a frozen winged, tailed incubus nearby. When a shiver of familiar, telling apprehension rolls over my spine, I raise my eyebrows.
“Are they all…alive?”
Everett nods, looking like he doesn’t want to talk about this. “Most of them deserved it. Some of them will be kept like this until they can stand trial, once a judicial government of some kind is formed again. Others are just…decorations. Until I decide otherwise.”
How cruel.
When he sees me smirking at him, he sighs. “I know, it’s really fucking creepy.”
He says that like it’s a bad thing. I stroll through some statues before noticing a corner of this courtyard is filled with misshapen frozen spheres.
“What’s over there?”
Everett adjusts his coat sleeve a few times, grimacing. “Crypt’s contributions from before he went missing.”
I walk closer and pause when I realize they’re all…heads. Disembodied heads, dropped carelessly to the cobblestones and left to freeze, including the skull of the lich who scarred Everett during battle.
As in, the one I told Crypt to bring to me. He didn’t let that go.
Aww.
“Of course, you’re smiling,” Everett sighs.
“From where I’m standing—namely, in the living frozen collection of anyone who even mildly pissed you off while I was gone—you have no room to judge.”
“She has a fair point,” Silas’s voice agrees from behind us.
My pulse spikes. I turn, a smile breaking across my face when I see my blood fae necromancer dressed in a sharp winter coat and an amulet made from my blood peeking out from under a red scarf.
He’s been cleaned up, but he’s still not okay. I don’t miss that his red eyes flick between all the frozen figures before he takes a step back. He flinches and swats at something that doesn’t exist before trying to focus on me again. The shadows of dark circles under his eyes and his more prominent cheekbones and thinner build remind me that he’s been slightly emaciated thanks to his self-imprisonment.
Still, he’s finally outside. Progress is fucking progress. I’ll take it.
“Is the amulet helping?” I check.
“I would not have chance threat left wrong you.” Silas’s words slur at the end. He flinches before trying again, except fae creeps in. When I still can’t figure out what he’s trying to say, he takes a centering breath and finally manages, “If I felt I was a significant threat to you, I would have stayed away longer.”
“Third time’s the charm,” Everett grumbles.
Here we go.
These legacies love being assholes to each other, as if they haven’t gone to extra lengths to help each other in secret in the past. They annoy the hell out of each other to disguise how much they care.
Silas gives the elemental a withering once-over. “Is it safe for you to stand so close to Maven, or will you freeze her like you have everything else?”
“It’s safe,” I cut in decisively, getting ahead of more bickering.
Luckily, Asher Douglas picks that moment to join us in the courtyard. He says something quietly to Everett, who is testy about leaving my side, but goes off to ensure everything will run smoothly when we leave the stronghold.
I’ve been aching to see Silas again. I step toward my fae, wanting to be closer and smell the spiced bourbon scent always lingering on him.
But he takes a step back, swatting at nothing again as his blood red irises remain trained on me. “Only trust me as far as you can throw me, thanafluir.”
Again, he’s calling me Death Blossom. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.
Not that I mind that nickname.
“Considering the permanent alterations my body went through to become stronger and faster, that’s still pretty far,” I remind him, trying to lighten the mood.
He’s not amused as he studies me. “I know your parentage, but where were y—I said stop fucking calling her that,” he suddenly snaps, gripping the side of his head and clenching his teeth.
Godsdamn it. I hate seeing him so…
Insane.
Checking to make sure we’re still alone, I move closer so he can lean on me slightly.
“This is my fault,” I murmur.
He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “No. It was not your fault.
Tha fios anima aih’leat, thanafluir.”
Meaning,
My soul knows yours, Death Blossom.
Then he reaches down to tip my head back until I can see the feral, murderous gleam in his blood-red gaze. “I know you did not leave us willingly, so tell me who took you from us.”
Right.
Bertram.
Considering that he was working for Amadeus, I haven’t spared that vampire much thought. My so-called “father” has the brutal but efficient habit of permanently killing off anyone he no longer finds useful, unless he decides to make them Undead instead. I’m a prime example of both those preferences.
Still, I should see if I can learn what happened to Bertram. If he’s dead, I’ll spit on his grave. If he’s alive, I’ll have the honor of spitting on him before I bury him for being the one to put the final nail in my coffin six months ago.
I focus on Silas again. “That’s not our priority. Right now, our priority is getting Crypt back.”
He pauses, eyes growing glassy as he tries to think through whatever riot is chipping away inside his head. “Crypt…Crypt. He appeared in my prison. While I was mad. He was asking whether I could dèanamh alta facere sum…”
‘Make extra high?’ I can’t understand his fae.
“Try again,” I suggest gently.
Silas groans. “I hate fucking.”
I barely manage to keep a straight face. I’m pretty sure that’s the only lie he’s accidentally ever told. “You mean, you fucking hate this?”
“Yes. That one.” He sighs and concentrates harder. “Crypt brought me a strand of your hair and asked for a tracking spell on…something. It was…”
He cuts off to snap at the voices in his head again, tearing at his hair as his breathing picks up.
I consider what he said. Many tracking spells call for DNA, so that doesn’t help much. But why was he trying to track me when I was already dead?
“
Pìos ostentaoth,” Silas blurts.
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.