Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Assholes.
Someone else enters the room, and Silas’s formerly soft tone turns razor-sharp. “You still haven’t hunted today, therefore you’re still a threat. Get the fuck out before you hurt her.”
Baelfire’s voice is guttural, unhinged. “I would never hurt my mate.”
“As if your dragon leaves you with a choice. You were mid fucking shift when I hit you with that immobilization spell earlier. Between you and putting no less than nine hexes on that godsdamned DeLune to temporarily lock him in Limbo so Everett could get her back to this apartment for me to heal, my magic is annoyingly depleted. If you lose your shit again?—“
“She looked dead.” Baelfire chokes and then breathes out slowly like he’s trying to diffuse a bomb in his head. “Of course, I lost my shit. I’m in control now.”
“I’m not taking chances with her. Leave.”
“If you think I’m leaving her in this fucking condition, you’ve lost more of your mind than you realize. Shut up and heal her already.”
“I’m trying,” Silas grits, and I feel his hand brush lightly over my hair again. “It’s not working.”
I’m perplexed. If I was just a bet to them, why the hell do they both sound so worried over me right now?
Guilt. That must be it.
They must somehow feel responsible for this happening, and even though they’re descended from monsters, they can’t handle the guilt. I cling to that reasoning, refusing to entertain any other possible reasons for their panic.
Because they hurt me. I can’t let it happen again, so I carefully tuck all of my emotions away in a metaphorical cage in my chest.
Right now is about survival, not feelings.
“What the fuck do you mean, it’s not working?” Baelfire demands. “You’re a damn prodigy. I watched you turn raindrops into diamonds when you were seven. You just trapped Crypt fucking DeLune in Limbo—not even his immortal father has ever managed to do that. Why the hell can’t you heal?—“
“I don’t know,” the blood fae snaps. I hear more shuffling and then a savage swear. “I need to feed to boost my magic. Give me your blood.”
Bael growls, but a chair shoves backward, scraping on the floor. “Fine—for
Maven. But you are not fucking biting me.”
Through the hallucinogenic haze of agony clouding my brain, I listen to the sounds of them leaving the room, presumably to find something to collect Baelfire’s blood in. I find the fact that the proud Decimus is donating blood in such a fucked-up way kind of…morbidly sweet.
But that thought disperses as the familiar sensation of leaving tugs on whatever remains of my soul. The release is swift as I feel my body go cold, now completely incognizant of anything in the mortal world as I slip away.
Your first success is done.
Images flicker at light speed through my mind, a cacophony of randomly sickening scenes. Hordes of shadow fiends slinking through a maze filled with bloodcurdling screams. Rotting flesh. Green fire burning piles of corpses. Snow stained with blood and a dark throne made of bones—and, briefly, Lillian.
She’s still alive but bone-thin as she weeps over a fresh grave. I can practically feel her sobs rattling in my chest, and I want nothing more than to stand beside her to silently offer comfort.
Move on quickly, my telum. Fulfill your purpose, and they will be spared.
Reviving is slow and disorienting because I force myself to keep my eyes closed. But I have to because I have no idea how long I was gone or what I’m about to wake up to. If Silas and Baelfire witnessed me slipping away…
But no. I hear them outside this room still, talking and snapping quietly at each other. Peeking one eye open, I realize I’m lying in the enormous bed where I first explored Baelfire and discovered his praise kink.
Just thinking of that creates a twinge of hurt in my chest—but also, to my horror, warm goosebumps scatter down my arms.
Stupid fucking body. It’s been way too confused by them.
The pain is entirely gone now, which I find fascinating. From an objective standpoint, at least now I know that nightshade root powder isn’t listed among the handful of ways to actually kill me, even if it hurts like hell.
My head lolls to the right, and I squint at the closed curtains. Faint gray light peeks through them, telling me it’s nearly dawn. I’ve been under for roughly twenty-four hours, then. The bedside table next to me is crowded with every kind of spell ingredient known to the House of Arcana and several rags stained with drying streaks of blood.
Gritting my teeth, I try in vain to move again. My body is much weaker than it usually is after one of my episodes, probably thanks to the poison. I need to get out of here and disappear entirely so I won’t be caught and suspected of the headmaster’s assassination. I don’t have to worry about the winter solstice deadline anymore—my first target is dead, whether or not it was by my hand. Now, I need to start tracking down the others.
But I freeze as the image of the changeling standing over me comes back.
Kenzie.
I can’t leave. Not yet, not when I know that changeling got to her. I need to figure out whether she’s dead or alive—and if she is alive, there’s a very high chance that the changeling has her hidden away somewhere to use her as a feeding source.
Changelings are uncommon monsters. They’re intelligent, but they lack emotion and loyalty. If they have time to observe a target, they can mimic that person down to the slightest mannerisms, but to survive, they must feed on other people’s memories. So there’s a high chance it has Kenzie stashed away, slowly feeding on her mind until she’s nothing more than a blank slate.
Just a husk of who she was.
Unexpected emotion clogs my throat at the thought of losing Kenzie in that way. Still, I hope that’s the case because at least it would mean the bubbly lioness shifter might still be alive. A surge of anger and bone-deep determination washes over me, finalizing my decision.
If Kenzie is alive, I’ll find her. The rest of my tasks will wait.
Not to mention, I have to kill that changeling to cover my own tracks since it now knows what I am. I can’t count on a faithless changeling not to tell the fucking Legacy Council that the telum is at Everbound University.
But first, I have to get the hell away from these legacies who hurt me.
MAVEN
When I try to move again, I manage to sit up before my strength gives out, leaving me slumped against the headboard. But as my senses return, I tense. Because even though the room is empty, I don’t feel alone.
The Nightmare Prince is here, watching me from Limbo.
He witnessed me slip away and revive.
Again.
I glare at the spot on the bed near me where I feel a slight, indescribable pull. Silas said he temporarily locked Crypt in Limbo, so I’m running on limited time before the psychopathic, dreamy stalker returns. I wonder if he’ll tell the others what he saw in the headmaster’s office and in here.
I also can’t help wondering how much of his stalking was motivated by their little bet. The thought makes my chest ache, and I frown. This shouldn’t be bothering me as much as it is. Sure, they fucked me over. It hurts, but I should be able to get over it quickly and move on with my mission. It’s hardly the first time someone hurt me when I was stupid enough to let down my guard, so why do I feel it so much more this time?
At long last, I drag myself from the bed. Glancing down, I see I’m still in the ripped black clothing stained with mine and the changeling’s blood. That’s a relief. Once I get more magic into my system, I’ll need this dried blood for a ritual to track it down.
Quietly, I move to the door and take a deep breath as I prepare to leave. But then someone shouts from the direction of the kitchen down the hall. Something shatters. Slipping out, I approach on high alert. I can sense Crypt following me closely in Limbo.
Glancing around the hallway’s corner, I see Silas and Baelfire grappling with each other. Silas’s bleeding crystal protrudes from Baelfire’s bicep, which keeps trying to heal around it. Baelfire is gripping the blood fae’s hands with a snarl to keep them from encircling his throat. Shards of a broken bowl speckled with bright blood are scattered across the tile nearby, right in front of a decorative table filled with thriving potted plants.
“Snap out of it, Si,” Bael barks. “It’s all in your fucking head!”
I catch a brief glimpse of Silas’s face, and the mindless panic mixed with fury I see there makes my throat tighten. Because he doesn’t seem like Silas. He looks entirely out of his mind.
From his curse, I realize.
I clench my hands, torn between the desire to sneak out of this apartment and the bizarre urge I have to intervene. But even if I tried, I’m too weak at the moment to stop them from spilling more blood.
Silas starts chanting in fae, but Baelfire snarls as he loses his temper. He shoves Silas’s hands aside, twists Silas’s shoulder under his arm, and wrenches it violently in the wrong direction. The loud crack of a bone breaking makes me inhale sharply.
Silas hisses in pain, cradling his broken arm as he stumbles away, but Baelfire hears my gasp. His attention snaps up to me, and his eyes flare wide. In a blur of shifter speed, he’s abruptly right in front of me, his hands coming up like he’s about to try bracing my weak form against his muscular body.
“Don’t.”
I may be barely holding myself upright, but I can still use my don’t fuck with me voice. The one I perfected in the hellscape I was raised in.
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.