Dark Curse Read online

  In a rare moment of strength, I take a step forward, allowing my toes to dangle over the edge of the top stair. Facing the woods, my courage dwindles steadily. I pump my hands at my sides, trying to keep away the chill while also reminding myself that I am safe. I am only footsteps away from the vampires inside.

  But a thought occurs to me. How did I get here? I do not remember how I got outside or when I left my bed. I am desperate to return to those sheets, where I should be slumbering just like the other vampires.

  I consider shouting, yelling for Jasik, but something stops me. A set of irises glow in the darkness. They are bold, striking, and crimson in color. I gasp, stumbling backward, falling against the door. The doorknob jabs me in the back, and my kidneys protest the assault. A throbbing pain shoots through my core, and I wince, sucking in a sharp, cold breath.

  I do not turn my back on the monster before me, even when his eyes grow larger as he stalks closer. With my arms behind my back, I twist at the doorknob, but it does not budge. Again, I twist it, almost losing my grip from my too-slick hands. The icy air sends constant shudders down my spine, yet my skin is moist from perspiration, from my fear of becoming food for the very creatures I fear.

  It feels like a lifetime has passed since I last encountered a rogue vampire, and now that I am far too weak to even stand tall, I am to face one. I will never survive, not without help, for a powerless witch is no greater threat than a human.

  I was beginning to think my reputation preceded me, keeping rogues away from Darkhaven once and for all—and maybe it did. But that was before. That Ava—strong and stubborn, powerful beyond her years—died the very night I cast that spell. Powerless, I am forced to fight a superior predator with nothing but my fingernails, which have been chewed down to stubs.

  The rogue vampire is charging forward now, and as he steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight, I can see him more clearly.

  Wearing only pants, the skin of his torso is smooth and pale. His hands are dirty, his jeans scuffed. His head is shaved, his face scarred from cuts he must have sustained during the many years before he became a vampire. The faint white lines scattered across his skin are all that betray his age.

  His eyes are sunken, his irises burning red. His nose was broken once—again, back during a time when he was not such a monster—and the bone never set properly.

  His lips are pale and dry, and his teeth are stained by years of bloodshed. My gaze falls to his fangs. They are long and come to fine points, and as he charges toward me, he exposes them, growling like an animal.

  His bare feet slam against the frozen ground, the force radiating through the earth and up my legs. He sinks into the depths, but it never slows his pursuit. The muscles in his legs, though hidden by shreds of fabric, are more than strong enough to tear through the frozen tundra that separates us.

  My spine vibrates as he draws closer. My arms shake so viciously, I can barely grasp the handle now.

  I am still struggling to open the door, yet frozen by the image before me, as the rogue emerges from the tree line. I scream as he crashes through the wrought-iron fence, not bothering to use the gate door.

  Dozens of black metal spears shower down, all conveniently missing the rogue. He effortlessly glides around them, unconcerned that one might pierce his chest, penetrating his sternum, tearing through his heart.

  The creature before me is like no man and no vampire. He is hideous, with darkness practically dripping from his fingertips like streams of blood cascading from a gaping wound. As he charges forward, the darkness encircling him swarms, coming to life, buzzing all around like happy bees. The sound grows louder the closer the rogue becomes, and it muffles my shrieks.

  I turn my back to the rogue vampire, frantically trying to open the door, to escape inside the manor, where I have stupidly convinced myself he cannot go—if only vampires truly did require an invitation to enter.

  The door is locked, and no matter how hard I grip the handle and twist or how much I shake it in my hand, it never gives way to my request.

  Desperate for entrance, I ball my hand into a fist and slam it against the dark wood door again and again. Surely, the vampires must hear me. From my screams to the constant banging, something must wake them.

  I slam my fist against the door again, and my wrist screams for me to stop. But I ignore it. I cannot stop. Each second that passes is one second closer to an encounter I am determined to avoid.

  I freeze when I hear his footfalls. I do not need to face him to know he is only feet behind me now.

  I am screaming inside, my gut begging me to get inside. Sanctuary and protection are just a step away, but I cannot seem to get there.

  Suddenly, the air stills. The night silences. I am breathing loudly, and that sound is all I hear. Looking down at the doorknob, which I still grasp, my hair falls to the side—by accident or force, I am not sure. I am shaking so violently, the entire door seems to be clattering beneath my grip.

  I feel his breath on the back of my neck. He breathes as loudly and as heavily as I do. I understand that he is taking deep, steady inhalations as he consumes my scent—just like a predator does to its prey.

  The rogue hums as he exhales after indulging in my scent. When he mumbles his approval, he blows loose strands of my hair even farther to the side, revealing even more of my flesh.

  I picture his teeth—all razor-sharp and pointed, more like a demon from a book than a vampire in real life. Something drips onto my skin and slides down my back. I gag at the sticky substances, knowing it is likely drool.

  I am crying. Tears steadily drip down my cheeks, soaking my T-shirt. The moment he touches my skin, by wrapping his hands around my arms, I take my balled fist and slam it as hard as I can against the stained-glass window in the front door. The glass shatters, sending colorful shards into the foyer.

  From the doorway, where I stand with my assailant still holding on to me, I search the manor, praying to find the vampires inside, but I do not. I can see straight through the foyer all the way to the dining room at the other side. The house is not only silent and still, but it is also empty. The furniture is gone. The walls provide no protection. Not anymore. Not without the vampires inside.

  “You are alone,” the creature says, seething. I picture him smiling, enjoying my loneliness.

  I tremble as I try to maintain my composure. I squeeze my eyes shut, silently reminding myself that this is a dream. This is a nightmare. This creature only exists in my mind. I must remember that I am safe.

  The porch creaks as the monster pushes his body against mine. I cower beneath him and suck in a sharp breath as he grips my arms so tightly, I am certain he will break bone. He does not. He releases me, but I still feel his touch, as if he has left his imprint on my body for all to see.

  “This is a dream. This is only a dream,” I whisper. With my arms dangling at my sides, I scratch my nails against the palms of my hands, trying to force myself to wake. It does not work, but I refuse to give up.

  “But I am real,” he whispers. His breath is cool against my lobe.

  “Just wake up,” I whisper, voice quivering, but I soon find my strength. “Wake up!”

  He grabs on to me again, and I jerk upright as he digs his fingers into my flesh. I cry out, but he only laughs at my agony.

  “I am no dream,” he says. “I am your nightmare.”

  He leans against me, sliding his tongue across the length of my neck. I squirm within his grasp, desperate to free myself, but he is a solid slab of muscle pinning me in place.

  “And I am coming for you, Ava,” he whispers.

  I open my eyes, jolted by the reality that this monster knows my name. No longer outside, I am in my room, tucked safely beneath my sheets. Still, I do not feel safe. My skin crawls. I can still feel his body pressed against mine, his breath against my neck, his tongue… I shudder, trying to forget this nightmare ever transpired.

  The ceiling fan above my bed is swooshing overhead, sending b
ursts of air down on me. I sit up, looking around, making sure I truly am alone. The room is dark, and I shiver as the breeze cools my damp skin.

  Still feeling uneasy, I yank the covers off me and stand quickly, breathing frantically as I scan the room, certain I am not the only person in my bedroom tonight.

  I walk backward, only stopping when I collide with someone else. I scream, spinning around and thrashing feverishly at my assailant. I slam my fists against him, wanting him to feel the same fear and pain he just forced upon me.

  “Ava, stop!” Jasik shouts.

  He grabs my fists, clutching his hands over my own. Just his voice is enough to settle my nerves. I blink repeatedly, clearing my vision until his frame fully forms before me.

  I am breathing rapidly, my heart racing in my chest. The moment I see him clearly, I fall against him, letting him wrap his arms around me. I once felt safe when Jasik was near, but slowly, I am losing that feeling altogether.

  Jasik whispers to me, his breath blowing my hair atop my head as he tells me it will be okay, that I am safe now, that he will never let anything bad happen to me. He promises to always be here, to always be the one to wake me in these moments. Never does he ask me what I dreamed or what I saw, because he knows it was a nightmare. He knows it is never anything good.

  By the time I finally settle enough to shake the feeling of utter dread from my soul, my legs hurt from standing for so long. I teeter on my feet, balancing my weight from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pain in both. I do not succeed. Every day, I am reminded of how different I am now, and every day, that dagger sinks a little deeper into my gut.

  Jasik pulls back and smiles at me, running his thumb down the curve of my jaw. His hair is messy from sleep, his eyes tired from restless nights of watching over me. His crimson irises glow in the darkness, just like that rogue vampire’s, but I never feel uneasy when I am with him. The only vampires that scare me lurk outside of these manor’s walls.

  His gaze drops down, and Jasik frowns. I squint, trying to see him more clearly in the darkness. His features darken, and a sudden anguish washes over me.

  Jasik grabs on to my arm, turning it too quickly, too roughly, and I hiss. Immediately, he realizes his mistake and drops my arm, He looks at me, sorrow in his eyes.

  “Is that from your dream?” he asks calmly.

  I frown. “Is what from my dream?”

  “Your arm, Ava. Look at your arm.”

  I glance down, seeing nothing in the darkness. As I walk toward the nightstand to turn on the bedside light, I rub my hand over my arm. I do not feel anything, but when I apply pressure, my muscle screams in protest.

  I twist the knob on the lamp, illuminating the room, and squeeze my eyes shut at the sudden assault. The moment my senses adjust, I glance down, sucking in a sharp breath as I take in what Jasik noticed even in the darkness.

  I hold out both arms, spinning until I face Jasik. His features are pinched into an unreadable slate, but I showcase my fear without shame.

  Because on both arms, there are four slender marks that wrap all the way around. I can’t see the backs of my arms, but I am certain a single mark stains my skin as well.

  The black marks are already turning purple and blue from ruptured blood vessels, forming bruises in the perfect compressions of handprints.

  The rogue vampire told me he was real, not a figment of my overactive and cruel imagination, and now, I believe him.

  The manor is eerily silent at breakfast. The vampires file in, preparing their own breakfast while I eat what Holland already prepared for us. No one looks at me, not even the hunters. But I do not care. I am too busy wondering how my nightmare manifested itself into a real-life side effect.

  I refuse to believe a rogue vampire has the capabilities to find his way into my dreams. He knew my name, which again might only be the cause of an unrelenting imagination.

  I glance at Holland, and he smiles at me as he chomps down a mouthful of eggs. I do not smile back. I keep my mind focused on last night’s events, not pointless breakfast chitchat.

  I play with the fabric of my turtleneck, running my fingers against my soft skin. I feel the same, even though I know I do not look the same. The black marks are threading higher with each day that passes. I was too tired to attempt a botched makeup job, so I decided against concealer and opted for even more clothes. If the others noticed, they did not comment on my attire.

  I push my breakfast around my plate with my fork, never wincing when the metal scrapes against the dish. My senses are too dulled to be bothered by it, but I can tell the vampires do not like it. Even so, I do not stop. I am lost in thought, replaying my nightmare over and over again in my mind until something makes sense.

  If he was real, who was he? How did he know my name? How did he manage to injure me? Is it possible it was more than just a dream? The witch I used to be chastises me for asking such stupid questions. Spirit witches can visit the astral plane. Thanks to my introduction with Will, I now know other hybrids can enter my dreams unwelcomed.

  But I am not a witch anymore.

  And that was no hybrid.

  Right?

  “Everything okay?” Holland asks, breaking my trance.

  I freeze, fork still in hand. I drop it, and the metal clanks against the plate loudly, echoing all through the room. The nearby vampires watch me carefully before they continue nuking their mugs of blood. Slowly, they begin to clear out. I do not blame them. I would not want to be around me either.

  I collapse into my hands, resting my elbows on the tabletop. Sighing, I shake my head, only succeeding in rubbing my forehead against my palms.

  Suddenly, I remember how I scratched my palms in my dream, trying to wake myself from what I assumed was just another bad nightmare.

  I pull back, assessing the damage done, finding nothing but pale, dry skin. I stare at the creases, wishing I taught myself to read the lines as a fortune teller does at carnivals. I never tried before because I only had to close my eyes to see the future. I wonder what my future holds now.

  “Ava?” Holland says again. He reaches across the table to offer me his hand, but I do not take it.

  “I feel like I am losing my mind,” I whisper.

  “Tell me about the dream,” he whispers back.

  My gaze darts to his. “Did Jasik tell you?” I am not truly upset that Jasik informed the others of my midday outburst. What else do I expect of him?

  Holland nods. “Do not be upset. We all heard your screams. He was cornered into telling us.”

  I shrug it off. “He would have told you anyway,” I say, sounding far more bitter than I mean to.

  I know I am being childish, but I can’t help it. I am only seventeen. I am supposed to act like a child. I am not supposed to be planning my impending funeral. Sometimes, I think the others forget they have far more years on me.

  “Ava…” Holland says, chastising me for my behavior without being too harsh.

  I inhale deeply, and before I release my breath, I let my lungs fill until it hurts.

  “Tell me about it,” Holland asks again.

  I stare at my food as I recount the nightmare. Only when I am finished do I peer over at Holland. His forehead is creased, his eyes narrowed. He looks angry, but I have come to understand he is not upset. This is the face he makes when he is lost in thought. He is considering my words carefully, trying to analyze my dream for some hidden meaning that might make sense. He is trying to find a way to make everything okay again, and I worry he will fail.

  “What do you think?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.

  “I think you are looking pretty rough, Ava,” someone says.

  I tear my gaze away from Holland to stare at our intruder. The moment I see Will, I am swarmed with emotion. My heart bursts at the sight of him, and I practically hum with excitement.

  “Will!”

  I shriek as I jump to my feet and push away from the table, my chair skidding against the tile floor. As I
rush over to him, I slam my hip into the edge of the table. Pain surges through me, but I ignore it. I hear the distinct clash of something breaking, followed by Holland cursing under his breath, but I ignore those things too. I am focused solely on Will.

  I jump into his arms, and he wraps them around me. He lifts me a few inches off the ground, allowing my legs to dangle in front of him. My spine cracks, protesting as he sways back and forth with me limp in his arms like an old rag doll.

  “You said you would not be gone long this time,” I say. “Liar.”

  “I know, I know,” he responds softly. “I am sorry.”

  I inhale deeply, finding comfort in Will’s scent. Will is the only other hybrid I have ever met, and I have always felt an immediate, innate connection to him. He makes me feel safe and happy and understood. He never cared about my mood swings or blood lust. He understood why I felt so torn between the vampires and witches, and why I fought so hard to protect them, to include them, to end this feud.

  He understood because he lost everything at the hands of rogue vampires—just like I did. Our lives collided at the perfect moment, right when I needed him most, and I like to think he was a gift from fate as apology for ending my life so abruptly.

  Will chuckles as I bury my face in the crevice of his neck, inhaling deeply. He smells like sage and herbs and spices from spells. He smells like wild flowers and summertime. He smells so familiar, it makes my heart burn. Every time he leaves, I break a little more. I am not sure how many more times he can chip away at me before I shatter completely.

  “I missed you too, Ava,” Will says.

  He squeezes me tightly, and I grunt loudly. My body protests again, but I ignore it. I relish in these moments, because I know, soon, he will leave again. He never stays longer than he must, and it kills me every time I watch him walk away, wondering when—or if—he will ever return.

  “Careful,” someone says.

  I open my eyes, finding Jasik a few feet away. He is standing directly behind Will. Something flashes in his eyes, but he blinks, and it is gone. Jasik has never acted jealous of my relationship with Will, but I know it bothers him to see his sire become so invested in another person. Still, I try to be respectful, because even though we have never spoken about it directly, Jasik and I have become something more than just friends. We both need each other in ways I have never experienced, and if life would stop spinning out of control for just a minute, I might have the opportunity to find out what it is like to be loved by someone else.