Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Taking one step away is laborious, but I force myself to keep moving until I stand at the double doors, rolling my shoulders back and preparing for the pain that will come from slipping into Limbo, which is something I can’t do inside the walls of a temple. The mercenary stops beside me, resting his hands on the door and concentrating.
“Damn it. This was a hell of a lot easier with Oakley helping,” he grits.
“Amato.”
Glowing light washes over the now-unsealed doors before he drops his hands, puzzled. “What did you just say?”
“My keeper’s real surname is Amato.”
The bulky caster looks far more stunned than I feel is warranted before I push the doors open enough to slip outside, simultaneously slipping into the dream plane of existence.
What’s left of it, anyway.
Limbo fragmented six months ago, the turbulence becoming lethal as pieces of it fell out of place, drifting about the mortal realm. Wisps and shades have accumulated at a staggering rate, using Limbo zones to escape and feast on anything that wanders into those areas. The rest of them still roam Limbo, ready to kill.
There are a few nearby—but far more worrying are the ten or so incubi who are already here, waiting with bronze weapons in hand. These wankers came prepared for me.
We’re too cursed and weak for a fight like this, and they know it.
Fucking Frosts.
MAVEN
My exhausted brain wants to dream about things I’ve experienced, but since the pieces are missing, it makes do with shadow puppets instead. I sink deeper into this heavy darkness, more exhausted than I’ve ever been as tendrils of nothingness try to take up my mind’s stage.
The only dream I can make sense of is me sitting at the edge of a sea of clouds, golden liquid dripping from my arm and fingertips as I concentrate on…something.
Finally, the darkness ebbs until I claw my way groggily to the surface. Heat sears inside my chest in place of a heart. When it passes, a wave of weakness almost drags me back into unconsciousness.
“There’s our girl,” Crypt’s voice rasps, but it’s strained.
Blinking my eyes open, I frown at the colorless, icicle-covered chandelier above me in this freezing space. Why can’t I move my arms? They’re crossed in front of me, banded so tightly they’ve gone numb.
Then there’s whatever the fuck is covering my mouth. My breathing stutters as alarm sets in.
Something is very wrong.
We’re not in Arati’s temple anymore, so where the hell are we?
“Maven?” Everett checks.
He sounds bad, too.
Fighting through the residual heaviness of that impossibly deep sleep, I struggle against the claustrophobic tightness around me. I can’t make this thing that
I’m trapped inside budge an inch, but I hear chains rattling. Apparently, they tied more of those around whatever this shit is.
Thanks to the tape covering my lips, I can’t curse out loud, but that doesn’t stop me from growling in helpless frustration and trying harder.
Crypt swears before quickly explaining, “It’s called a straitjacket, love. Careful not to fall off the sofa.”
Sofa?
Where the fuck are we?
Finally, I’m able to half-swivel on the cushioned surface, which sure enough turns out to be a sofa. This room is excessively nice, complete with mirrors, sconces, chandeliers, rugs, a fireplace, a desk?—
It’s a suite, I realize. A completely colorless, expensive-looking one.
I’m on a couch facing a fireplace with a limited view of everything else, unable to see my matches. That’s not going to fucking work, so despite Crypt’s repeated worried warning, I intentionally fall off the couch so that I can roll on the notably charred carpet to see them.
Oh my fucking gods.
Everett is in a straitjacket like mine, minus the extra chains. A fabric bag is over his head. He’s been left on his back on the massive bed.
Crypt is encased from the shoulders down in bronze—clearly the work of a skilled metal elemental. He’s propped up against one wall with the mother of all syringes stuck into the side of his neck at an angle.
When my gorgeous Nightmare Prince sees me on the floor, he tries for a smile that is more of a grimace. His mesmerizing violet eyes are a burst of color compared to the rest of this grayscale room, and his markings light up now and then.
“Whatever is in this damned syringe, it’s kept me from plane-walking for the twenty-four hours we’ve been stuck in here. Luckily, it’s not quite as vile as the smell of the drink they’ve been forcing down Frost’s throat to nullify his abilities.”
Twenty-four hours. I take it we were captured by someone with resources, but…
I’m momentarily distracted when a ghost passes through a wall. It’s a young woman with bright blue hair. When she sees I’m awake, she looks excited before disappearing through another wall.
Straining on the ground, I try to see into the other corners of this extensive suite. Baelfire has to be here, somewhere. And Silas.
They have to be here, because if I lost them again?—
“They put our necromancer in isolation,” Crypt offers, still sounding pained even though he’s trying to hide it. “Decimus was dragged out a bit ago for starting fires again. Not to worry, darling. They always bring him back quickly.”
“We’re still in New York,” Everett adds. “At my parents’ favorite luxury hotel, across the street from Arati’s high temple. They’re the they Crypt mentioned.”
He sums things up quickly as I try to worm toward the nearest wall so I can sit up while still keeping a view of them. Apparently, we were captured at Arati’s temple while I was passed out. Aside from Silas, we’ve been kept in this room the entire time, but even though Everett hasn’t been let out to see the place, he’s positive this is where the cowardly elite legacies disappeared to once the Divide fell and all hell broke loose.
“A void is posted outside,” he finishes bitterly. “I haven’t seen Asher Douglas since we were taken. He’s probably dead.”
“Such a shame,” Crypt sighs.
Everett’s bag-muffled voice is pure skepticism. “Uh-huh. Let me guess. You’re only sad you weren’t the one to kill him.”
“Naturally. He shot Maven.”
“I made him pay me back triple for that in blood when he showed up at Everbound wanting to work for me. You were there.”
“Doesn’t count, since I was too numb to enjoy it properly.” Crypt looks back at me, concern and raw affection eclipsing everything else on his face. “You all right, love?”
I nod, still trying and failing to get some wiggle room in this godsdamned straitjacket. If it were any looser, I would try to get my arms over my head, but it’s ridiculously tight, and that’s before the chains they wrapped several times around me. It’s a marvel that I could still breathe while unconscious in this thing.
As far as torture devices go, this one is quickly earning my respect. And the extra chain reinforcements? Honestly, the fact that they hindered me this thoroughly is flattering. It’s almost like I killed some of the most powerful beings in the world to get to this point.
They must be terrified of me.
“I’ll make you a bouquet of fingers from the soon-to-be fingerless legacy who dared confined you in that and put that fucking tape over your mouth,” Crypt promises.
Gods, I missed his sweet violence.
My chest continues to burn. We sit in this lightly smoke-scented room for a quiet moment before there’s a bang at the door. Someone yelps in pain, someone else snarls, and then
Baelfire is shoved into the room before the door slams shut again.
And it’s actually
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