Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
And then there are the human reporters.
I know they’re reporters because of all the cameras they’re holding, but also because Lillian stands out there in a light jacket. It’s obvious that she’s asking them to leave as nicely as she can.
One of the photographers says something and flips her off. The others laugh.
I don’t realize how hard I’m glowering at him until Crypt rests his chin on one of my shoulders.
“Shall I make an example of him, love?” he asks, kissing my cheek.
I glance at him, taking a moment to admire the silver flecks in those deep violet irises. He’s just so fucking handsome, but it irks me when I note the few remaining light and dark swirls decorating his neck. If I ask about his missing marks again, I fully expect another brush-off, and now is not the time.
Knowing how much my gorgeous incubus craves our deeper connection, I speak telepathically to just him.
I don’t like it when people disrespect Lillian. Scare him, but don’t kill him.
His gaze transforms into a deliciously dark smirk before he vanishes. A moment later, the rest of my quintet and I watch as the Nightmare Prince appears just beside Lillian. He reaches out as if to shake the disrespectful reporter’s hand. The man is so shocked and wide-eyed that he extends his own hand as if on autopilot, his mouth hanging open.
As soon as Crypt grips the human’s hand, they both vanish.
The other photographers freak out. Meanwhile, Lillian glances back at the castle with a perturbed frown. I’m not sure if she can see us from this one window, but I wave anyway.
Crypt doesn’t reappear below, but the reporter does. He staggers out of Limbo, shoves his way out of the crowd of reporters, and throws up before falling to the ground in a shaking, sobbing mess.
“Sadist,” Everett murmurs, brushing my cheek with the back of his cool fingers to point out that I’m smiling.
“He deserved it,” I defend before sighing. “We’ll have to deal with the rest of them before getting to the cultists.”
“Easily done,” Silas says, raising his blackened fingertips glowing with blood magic at the ready. “I’ll hex them any way you like.”
“Freezing them takes less time,” Everett points out.
Baelfire shrugs. “Sure, but I bet lighting those intrusive, rude fuckers on fire and listening to them scream would make our little goddess smile again.”
Oh, my gods. Not a single hesitation to jump to extremes. They’re all so fucking unhinged now.
I love it.
But as much as I loathe the idea of being in front of more cameras, the reporters below are just another piece on the metaphorical chessboard.
When I was seven years old and so isolated in my hovel outside Amadeus’s citadel that I sometimes forgot what it was like to speak out loud, Lillian taught me chess. She carved the game pieces out of dead pieces of wood, drew a makeshift board with charcoal on the floor of my hovel, and taught me everything she knew. She said that her fae ex-husband had loved chess, and told me that if I looked at life like it was a chess game, I would be able to predict things and strategize much better.
Whenever I wasn’t playing chess with Lillian, I played it with myself. It taught me to analyze both my opponent and myself and look for every possible future attack and outcome. Those skills translated into outthinking and outmaneuvering anyone I faced during my training, and later on in Amadeus’s arena.
Once Amadeus has fallen and my quintet and I are left in peace, the reporters will have more to focus on as the world begins to repair itself. But for now, their biggest focus is going to be on me, whether I like it or not. Killing them off or harming them will lead to retaliations—or worse, my quintet being compared to the vindictive, selfish Immortal Quintet. I’d rather staple my tongue to another stake and get set on fire than be anything like those immortal assholes.
Right now, the world is overexcited about my return and will gobble up any detail these reporters feed to them, whether it’s true or false.
I’d rather they get the truth directly from the source.
“We won’t hurt them,” I decide just as Crypt appears back in the hallway. “I’ll answer a few questions and move on to the cultists.”
Everett grimaces. “Snowdrop, I’ve dealt with paparazzi and cameras and shit for years. Trust me, they won’t be fine with just a few questions or pictures. They’ll try to get too close to you.”
“Then I’ll introduce them to my ravens. Or ghosts. Or you guys. Or my new knife,” I list on my fingers before grinning at my worried quintet.
Baelfire squints. “How about…Cuttrina?”
“What?”
“You named your other dagger Pierce, so you’ll need a name for your scythe-knife thing, right?” he points out. “This one can be Pierce’s girlfriend, Cuttrina.”
I grin. “Are we naming all my weapons now?”
“Why not, hellion? You can name all our cocks while you’re at it,” he flirts, brows bouncing.
Everett scoffs, cheeks turning pink already. “That’s a no. We’re not doing that.”
“Though if she did, she’d also have to name mine Pierce,” Crypt teases, blowing a kiss at me. “For obvious reasons.”
Asher Douglas gags loudly from beside us, making me realize he turned into this corridor while we were distracted. The big bounty hunter is making a face of disgust about what he just unwillingly learned about Crypt’s dick as the blue-haired girl ghost hovers up and pretends to kiss his cheek.
“I just came to see if you five finally dragged yourselves out of bed before the cult leader does something stupid,” he grumbles. “But please, for the love of all the gods, just stop being the fucking weirdest quintet I’ve ever had the displeasure of working for.”
Seeing him so uncomfortable, I can’t help but grin again. “Prude.”
“Hardly. I just really do not need to know anything about your quintet’s junk,” he shudders, gagging again before he turns to stalk out of this hallway.
As he does, I notice the top of a strange, shimmering golden tattoo peeking out from under the long-sleeved combat gear he’s wearing. The ginger has other smaller tattoos visible, but that one draws my attention. There’s just something about it.
Baelfire notices where my attention is lingering. “If you like ink, I’ll get some. Anything you want. I’ll even get all those weird, swirly tats Crypt has that you like so much.”
“For the last fucking time, they are not tattoos,” Crypt drawls, taking my hand as we continue strolling down the hall. His markings light up several times, but he carefully avoids showing any pain.
I still want to know what’s happening to them, I remind him telepathically.
Later, love.
First things first, let’s deal with all your unwelcome admirers.
The moment we step outside of Everbound Castle’s main western exit, it’s an uproar. Nether humans clap and cheer, cameras go off, and people try to swarm closer to us. Luckily, hundreds of ravens have gathered on the tops of the castle. When the sinister birds see me outside, several dozen of them flock to me while the big one I’m fond of perches on my shoulder once again.
It’s an adequate reminder. The onlookers quickly step back to give us a wider berth as we stroll through the encampment toward the cluster of photographers already rushing to greet us.
Walking through an awed, excited crowd is strange after everything we were subjected to in the elite safe haven. Instead of people swearing, screaming, and spitting on me in repulsion, these humans and Reformists have fascination all over their features as they watch my quintet and me walk past. Some look excited, while others watch on in fearful awe.
The fresh rush of power inside my veins reminds me that aside from reaping spirits, my holy magic is now fueled by them revering me like this. But even more notably, my heart is pounding a lot as we walk through all these stares.
Stop doing that, I scowl at it inside my head.
Baelfire grins, scanning the awed crowd for any sign of danger toward me.
She’s talking to her heart again.
Aww. Feeling nervous?
Everett teases, moving to my side opposite Crypt to hold my other hand.
Is this what nervous feels like with a heart?
Ugh. Hearts are such fucking drama queens.
Finally, the reporters and photographers encircle us as closely as they dare to with my entire quintet and a conspiracy of ravens glaring at them in warning.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
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