Page 11 of Cursed to Be Mine
Tonight, I will have to bury my head between her thighs for longer. Until my entire mouth is full of her taste for the whole fucking day.
My cock presses painfully against the tightness of my jeans, but I ignore its prominence despite knowing my mother and brothers can see it as they keep an eye on the room, on me and the groggy soul of the werewolf just now coming to, through the black solid walls with their magic. Runes burn bright red, green, and blue across the floor, walls, and ceiling – a collection of old magic that increases my power (red), drains that of anyone not of our family’s bloodline (blue), and contains the souls we’ve torn from the bodies of our enemies (green).
Lying on the floor in front of me, surrounded by a circle of magic, Cid Garcia flickers between his human and werewolf forms –both being his true identity– as his soul struggles to pick a state without a vessel of flesh binding it.
He jerks upright, half-werewolf, half-human in his translucent self. His green eyes widen, then narrow as he realizes the truth of his situation.
He will not survive this ordeal.
He is already dead, just on borrowed time.
Time I solely command.
As his eyes bore into me, the hairs on my arms and neck stand at attention. The circle of magic should keep him contained, but if he manages to break it, his soul will be able to attack mine.
He could drag me into the afterlife with him while I’m still technically alive, making it so I can never be reborn, forever cursed to walk the planes of purgatory alone as he continues the cycle of life and death.
Then my girl will be on her own.
Unprotected.
There for him to find and take his revenge on.
Rage consuming me, I pluck a pin from the air, shaped by the purity of magic, its smoky lime-green form both a solid and a gas, and slam it into the stone figurine I have in my other hand. The one that I crafted to look like Cid, the one connected to his very soul due to my magic and the drops of blood I took from his body before ripping out his soul.
His soul jerks on the ground as unfathomable pain arcs through him, twisting his body as he growls and snarls and flutters between man and beast.
The claws of a werewolf.
The teeth of a man.
The eyes of a beast that fasten on me when I remove the pin.
His chest moves heavily.
And then he’s on his feet and lunging.
The circle of magic flares bright red and drops him to his knees, the barrier keeping him in. Contained.
For now.
Sweat beads on my brow as I pull on the magic of the runes etched around me, my system already becoming strained. Their heat feeds me, the energy of my ancestorswho crafted this room flowing through me, rooting me with their strength.
Werewolves have natural resistance to magic, and Cid is a strong fucker even for their kind. He is the youngest son of the alpha – powerful, virile, respectable. He killed four witches while he was being brought in – experienced witches high up in our ranks.
The deep anger of his existence reaches the wall of my ears, and I look at him without emotion, pushing thoughts of my girl out. His pained and furious eyes drop to the stone figurine in my hand. The pin disappearing, I place the figure down on the floor in front of me and pick up one of the four other uncrafted alexandrite stones on my right.
The dark-green gems are rare and impossible to get hold of on Earth in the size and purity required even with our large financial reach. My ancestors brought a private collection over when they first passed through the portals from our home world ofBlódyrió two millennia ago. Once our collection is gone, we will have no way to restock it.
But their extravagant use in this moment is worth the waste. In the last four months, the werewolves’ violence against the vampires has been heating up, and we need to know why, if we’re next, and how they’re managing to wipe out the vampires all of a sudden, after two thousand years of a stalemate.
A growl emits from Cid Garcia as his ethereal shape flickers between forms.
My fingers work on the piece of alexandrite I picked up, conducting my magic to flow inside its brilliant green walls. It heats like a rock in a fire, and my digits move faster, attempting to stay cool. Filled with energy, the gem starts to change shape, molded into an image familiar to the werewolf.
I place it down on the floor in front of me beside the stone that looks like him.
“Tell me what your father is planning,” I say as I pick up another piece of uncrafted alexandrite, but my words are lost under his howls of rage and the thrashing of his soul bouncing off the magic barrier.
