Filed To Story: Cursed Legacies Series Free PDF by Morgan B Lee
Only a second has passed, and I fully plan on getting up and walking it off without drawing more attention.
But Crypt abruptly materializes, grabs the girl by her ponytail, and vanishes with her. In the next second, she reappears—at the height of the very tall ceiling, screaming in abject terror before her body hits the stone floor at the front of the classroom with a loud crack.
CRYPT
The sound of her skull cracking on the stone is immensely satisfying.
Maven and I appear to be the only ones of that opinion. From Limbo, where I float high above the other legacies, I glance over and catch the tiny smirk on her face that she quickly hides as she gets to her feet, brushes herself off, and ignores Crane and Decimus fussing over her.
Everyone else is either still in shock or shouting. The quintet who just lost their idiotic match has gone pale and sickly at the sight of the blood quickly pooling around her broken head.
“DeLune,” the professor says sternly, his brow furrowed as he scans the air as if I’m also about to drop myself from this height.
When Maven sits, with Crane and Decimus sitting between her and Frost, I drift over and take the aisle seat beside her. I’d like to stay unseen longer to continue terrorizing the legacies who are scanning the room in acute panic, but severe pain wracks my bones, and I quickly slip out of Limbo while hiding my grimace. The effects of moving back and forth between planes too often feel far worse in Limbo, and I’m out of reverium to take the familiar edge off. So, I suppose I’ll be attending this class in the mortal realm.
Gently, I brush some of Maven’s hair away so I can examine where she hit her head, feeling a wave of satisfaction when she doesn’t push my hand away. She doesn’t acknowledge me, either, as if choosing to pretend nothing happened as she watches the flummoxed professor below.
My keeper isn’t bleeding, but I’d still like to resurrect that bitch and kill her again for good measure.
“DeLune,” the caster says again at the front of the room.
I look at him. “Problem, Professor?”
“Killing is prohibited while classes are in session.”
“Oh, dear me, whatever have I done?” I drawl.
He’s exasperated. Of course, he is. After all, he may be able to punish these legacies, save perhaps Frost, but there is no controlling me. All manner of harsh forms of punishment were attempted when I was younger, but I made sure everyone knew that nothing and no one could discipline me. Whenever they applied pressure, I merely stopped caring or got even.
“Perhaps I should have your keeper clean up your mess alone as punishment,” he suggests, raising a brow.
Although the threat doesn’t seem to bother Maven, Decimus growls, and the sharp chill that fills the air tells me Frost is equally annoyed, even if he’s feigning disinterest.
“She hurt our keeper before you explained the classroom rules,” Silas points out. “He just responded to the threat. I highly suggest dropping this matter and moving on, Crowley.”
Good gods. Now
Crane is defending my actions?
This newfound camaraderie is too strange. I much prefer getting his eye to twitch and watching him descend further into madness.
Oh well.
I blow Crane a kiss to try to get a rise out of him, but he ignores me as the professor rubs his face, appearing eager for this class to be over.
“Fine. Just get the body out, someone.”
The dead girl’s quintet quickly gets to it, their faces ashen—except one of them, who glares viciously in our direction. They carry the body out, and I take the time to survey the rest of the room. I spot a few quintets side-eying me, but they look away if I look at them directly.
“There will be no more violence, maiming, killing, or, gods forbid, cell phones in this classroom,” the professor snaps. “I don’t care that communications are under a magic chokehold, just keep those damn contraptions out of my sight.”
“Amen,” Maven mutters under her breath, making me laugh quietly.
Crane and Decimus also look amused, and I note that even though he acts bored, Frost’s gaze keeps flicking to our keeper as if her presence draws him as intensely as it calls to me.
Poor, pitiful tosser.
Still, if he ever hurts Maven again, unintentionally or not, I’ll tear him to shreds.
The professor moves on quickly, announcing that for the first two weeks, he will cover all the monsters and creatures we will be fighting at the Divide if we survive until graduation. Typically, I would tune it out and observe Maven to my black heart’s content.
But now, I share a small glance with Crane and Decimus as the professor starts his lecture on Nether creatures. Anything about the Nether is worth learning about twice over because now we know that Maven, against all odds, came from that cesspit.
“Now,” the professor begins, looking over the class. “Let’s see how many types of shadow fiends you can list off the tops of your heads.”
Immediately, students offer their input. Wraiths, ghouls, the Undead, banshees, phantoms. A tall shifter sitting two rows in front of us raises his hand.
“There are still demons in the Nether, right? Do they get into the Divide?”
The professor nods. “Quite frequently, unfortunately. Many of them find ways to slip into the mortal realm and blend in amongst humans. Not many other full-blooded monsters or shadow fiends can do that—save changelings, perhaps.”
Maven huffs so slightly that it’s almost unnoticeable.
Another student raises their hand. “One of my moms died in the Divide, and they told me it was because of a shade. What the fuck is a shade, anyway?”
The professor scratches his bald head, his gaze moving to me briefly. “Ah, yes, well…those are fairly rare, as are wisps. They’re quite dangerous, but they aren’t actually classified as shadow fiends because they are native to Limbo, where they are typically guarded.”
“Guarded by who?” the same legacy asks.
When the professor’s gaze slips to me again, I promise him a slow, brutal death with my eyes if he draws any attention to me. The unique nature of my curse isn’t widely known, but he is clearly too in the know for my liking.
He clears his throat and transitions easily, giving a non-answer before moving on, but I notice Maven studying me. She’s sharp, my dark little darling, so I’m not surprised she picked up on that nonverbal exchange.
“How’s your head, love?” I ask quietly, only for her ears.
“Better than hers ended up.”
I smile, and my heart stops when she grins back, pure mischief and morbid humor sparkling in her eyes. It’s fast, and she quickly composes herself before tuning back into the professor’s lecture. But I keep staring at her because gods above, every tiny piece of herself that she drip feeds me only fuels the obsession.
I need more—all of her, every haunting puzzle piece, and I must find a way to make her need me just as badly. So badly that she’ll let me into her head and her bed every night.
I pause. There’s a thought. Maven was clearly frustrated with her body’s reactions to physical touch, but phobias are in the psyche. Which, for me, is somewhat malleable. Maybe I could offer her some reprieve from whatever makes her fear skin contact.
Subconscious therapy, if you will.
The idea consumes me until class ends. As students begin rising from their seats, I decide I’ll pull Maven aside to discuss this with her. I also must let her know that her friend’s candy-floss-colored aura was nowhere to be found within Everbound when I searched last night.
She’ll be disappointed, but I can offer her comfort however she likes. I’ve never attempted to comfort someone before outside of weaving pleasant dreams, but I imagine either an orgasm or a random act of violence will cheer her up.
Both things I am more than happy to provide.
But before I can lead her to a private alcove somewhere, a profound silence sweeps across the classroom as Engela Zuma steps through the door, her gaze locking on mine at once. Of all the members of the Immortal Quintet, she’s the one I’ve interacted with the least throughout my life. She motions for me to follow her.
“Uh oh. Someone’s in trouble with Daddy,” Decimus mutters. “This can’t be good.”
I reach around Maven to flick the shifter’s eyeball hard enough that he yelps before I descend the stairs to see what Engela wants. It’s satisfying how the other legacies part for me, eager to get out of my way. When I reach Engela, she motions for me to follow her down the hall.
I suppose this means I’m about to have another not-so-pleasant chat with her, just as I did during the Matched Ball. She’s the one who had held me up after finding me smoking in one of the school’s hidden alcoves. She’d turned much of my body to stone so she could interrogate me about the peculiarly topsy-turvy state of Melvolin’s office when they’d arrived. She hadn’t mentioned his death but said it looked like my handiwork in there. I’d lied easily, insisting I knew nothing about it but sincerely hoped Melvolin was pissed about the mess, whoever caused it.
As we pass through the halls, I sense slight tremors in Limbo and know it’s because of all the wisps.
Most people don’t understand much about the nature of the little balls of light. They’re ghosts of dreams, echoes of a dead person’s subconscious that linger in Limbo long after the spirits they were once attached to have passed into the Beyond. Wisps are also carrion eaters, which is rather convenient whenever I have a body to dispose of without a trace.
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.