Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
“Boo…oh gods, please don’t cry or I’ll?—“
As if the gods have finally decided to sprinkle some mercy into my existence, there’s a cheery knock on the front door. I glance down at my incriminatingly bloody ensemble, as do Silas and Baelfire. Without a word, I slip back behind the corner of the hallway. Finally giving in to the lingering weakness from reviving, I brace myself against the wall and listen as they open the now-unlocked door.
I recognize Mr. Gibbons’ voice. “Ah! If it isn’t my two favorites of your most promising quintet?—“
“Are we free to leave now?” Baelfire interrupts impatiently.
“Well, now, not exactly,” the warlock hedges. “Until further notice, students will not be permitted outside the walls of Everbound Castle. There will be some rather heavy supervision and new rules, and some, ah…bold new changes to the school’s schedule going forward…”
He trails off and then clears his throat. “But the wonderful news is that students may now leave their rooms. Classes are on hold for the rest of the day, but at eight o’clock this evening, we will be holding the mandatory Matched Ball—where the Immortal Quintet will honor us with their attendance!”
From his tone, he clearly expects them to squeal and clap at the news.
“Gee whiz, that’s great,” Baelfire drawls, his dry tone going right over Mr. Gibbon’s head. “But what about us shifters? We don’t like being cooped up. It’s the animals inside us. Take it from me—this whole school will become a hunting ground if the House of Shifting gets cabin fever. Wouldn’t want you to be dragon chow.”
The underlying threat in his voice makes me tip my head. Usually, Baelfire is exceptionally charming, but he’s on edge right now. Is he also struggling with his curse in some way I don’t know?
“Well…you’re right,” Mr. Gibbons agrees after swallowing loudly. “I suppose that will only add further excitement into the mix, eh? I shouldn’t be telling you this, gentlemen, but seeing how you’re a Crane and a Decimus…I’ll let you in on a little secret. As of tomorrow morning, the no-killing ban will be officially lifted, and quintet rankings will begin.”
Quintet rankings mean all matched legacies will be at each other’s throats, intent on proving they’re the strongest. It will be an absolute bloodbath.
At least I have that to look forward to.
“Quintet rankings aren’t supposed to start until next semester,” Silas points out. “After the holiday break.”
“By order of the Immortal Quintet, the holiday break has been indefinitely delayed…as has First Placement,” Mr. Gibbons explains, sounding nervous when Baelfire scowls. “You see, we’ll begin next semester effective tomorrow on an expedited timeline. Rather different, but then one is not to argue with the Immortal Quintet. Well then! I have other students to whom I must deliver this news. Here is your official invitation to the Matched Ball—I’m sure your quintet will be the envy of all. Oh, and all food in the dining hall is complimentary for the rest of the day as an apology from our most understanding leaders. Have a good day, gentlemen.”
The door shuts, and Baelfire scowls savagely again. “We’re not allowed to leave for the holidays? My family is going to be pissed when I don’t show up. What the fuck is going on?”
I know what’s going on. The Immortal Quintet is keeping everyone trapped here while they search for the one who killed their mage. They’re going to tear this place apart until they find their culprit…and they might discover me in the process.
Everbound is officially a ticking time bomb.
Pushing myself off the wall, I retreat because I really do need a shower. Then I need to get away from these assholes and start searching.
Please be alive, Kenzie. I’m coming for you.
SILAS
I glance down the hall when I hear Maven shut the door to the bathroom.
What are you hiding, my blood blossom?
My entire life, I’ve studied magic. When I apprenticed with the Garnet Wizard, I learned more about it than most casters ever do. He was never a fan of how the Legacy Council monitors the craft, censoring certain types of magic and many potion ingredients and grimoires. Instead, he made it a point to teach me more about forbidden magics than the Legacy Council would ever have permitted, had they been aware.
So I know magic. Even the kinds I don’t practice.
But my eyes slip back to the withered plants nearby, and I’m…captivated. I’m also in a great deal of pain, thanks to my broken shoulder and the lingering tendrils of pure anguish left behind from Maven’s…curse? Hex? Malediction?
What the hell was that? And what happened to the poison she was fighting? How could it just vanish from her system?
“Sorry about your shoulder,” Baelfire grumbles, drawing his hands through his hair and down his face as he paces like a caged animal.
He’s been stuck in here with nothing to slay to appease his curse for an entire day and night, on top of missing out on hunting yesterday. I have no idea if he’s ever been in a similar situation or how long he will be able to remain in his right mind without hunting, but I suspect his dragon is biting at the bits to get out.
I brace myself against the wall, babying my shoulder. “No, you’re not.”
He grunts. “You’re right. You were out of your fucking mind. I’d do it again.”
When his pacing increases, and he huffs in frustration, I arch a brow. “The door is unlocked. You could hunt another legacy if need be.”
Baelfire grimaces. “See, that’s the difference between me and you. That is my last fucking resort—I’d rather not murder someone in cold blood unless there’s no other option. Besides…”
His amber gaze flicks toward the hall, and his voice turns rough. “She needs to eat. I know she’s pissed at us right now, but I need to make sure she’s taken care of. I just…fuck, I can’t get that image out of my head.”
I know exactly what image he’s talking about because it’s haunting me, too. Maven lying broken and motionless on that floor, covered in blood—
her blood. We had been frantically searching for her and had just crossed paths with Everett on his way to his office when I’d caught the scent of her mouthwatering blood.
It’s a sickening thing how much the aroma of her blood both terrorizes and entices me.
And walking in on her like that…
To take my mind off it, I drag myself into the kitchen, where I stashed a few of my spare spell ingredients over a week ago.
Uncorking a vial of chimera venom and grabbing dried moonflower petals, I prepare a healing mixture. It’s not a commonly prepared mixture since it is painful to ingest, but I’m a fae. Between our mead and our wine, we have cast-iron stomachs.
Baelfire groans and drops into one of the large couches off the side of the dining room, burying his head under a pillow. I realize his shifter hearing must be picking up on the soft sounds of Maven in the shower, and I don’t envy him.
This situation is hard enough without being hard.
I’ve barely had time to down the potent but disgusting concoction before the Nightmare Prince flickers suddenly into existence beside me, grips me by the back of the neck, and slams my face into the cold marble countertop. I feel the crunch of my nose breaking, and the sudden cutoff from oxygen has me choking for air through my mouth.
Crypt leans down to speak beside my ear, his voice a low, infuriated rasp.
“That’s for trapping me where I couldn’t reach her. And this—” He jams his elbow into my broken shoulder, which makes my brain white out for a second as pain overwhelms everything else. “Is for forcing me to watch that happen a second fucking time.”
I don’t know what second time this prick is talking about, but when I sense the warm trickle from my broken nose, I draw from that blood, forcing my depleted magic to lash out at Crypt any way it can. A violent burst of scarlet light flares around me. He’s knocked backward with a satisfying crash.
I straighten and wipe the blood off my nose and chin, but when I glance over my shoulder, Crypt has already slipped back into Limbo. He returns a second later, and I tense, ready to overextend my magic a second time. But he just leans against the dining room wall and digs his lighter out.
As I slump into one of the dining room chairs, feeling the healing concoction hum through my veins and soften the pain, I watch the Nightmare Prince warily. He has dried blood crusted over one wrist, Maven’s blood on his hands, and he looks…uncharacteristically fazed. Perhaps even as rough as Baelfire and I.
Bael says nothing but observes the two of us like he’s waiting to watch a cockfight on which he’s bet good money. He clearly enjoyed that little show just now.
My tired attention zeroes back in on Crypt and how he fumbles with his lighter as he pulls out a cigarette. His hands are shaking so slightly, it’s almost imperceptible—but I notice it just like I take note of the tension slipping from his shoulders after he takes the first deep drag of the odd herb.
Interesting.
Is this a sign of weakness in him I never noticed before? Evidence of strain from being in Limbo? Aside from perhaps being unable to feel true emotion, I’ve never had a solid guess as to what his curse could be. Except now, he clearly feels strongly for Maven.
Or does he? a voice in my head titters.
He’s faking it. He’ll end up hurting her. You should kill him.
The incubus will end you like he ended your family. But first, he’ll watch you go mad.
The voices have been even worse today, twisting my mind and constantly drawing my thoughts back to Maven’s motionless body. They’re making my spine twitch and my head pound.
When Crypt catches me watching him, his eyes flash with warning.
“If you’ve got something to say, Crane, you can shove it right up your ass. And never lock me in Limbo again, or I’ll rip my way into your psyche and make the voices in your head seem like fucking saints.”
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
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