Cursed: A Book Bite (Book Bites) Read online

  Cursed

  A Book Bite

  H. D. Gordon

  Copyright © 2021 H. D. Gordon

  Published by H. D. Gordon Books

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations in a book review.

  For my two favorite little witches.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Exposed

  Moon Burned

  About the Author

  Also by H. D. Gordon

  Review, please ;)

  1

  12:03 a.m.

  I should know better than to be out this late alone in the city.

  I don’t make a habit of putting myself in compromising positions, unless I absolutely cannot help it.

  Tonight, people had needed my help, and I could not have turned my back on them.

  Not even if it meant possibly getting in trouble with the Coven superiors.

  I slip through the shadows. All I want is to make it back to my apartment in Old City, Philadelphia. Just crawl into my bed and sleep the rest of this night away. I glance around, eyes sweeping. I can still smell her blood on me.

  That means others can smell it, too.

  Like sharks in the water. I wish I did not have to pass through this area, where the bloodsuckers slink through the sewers and stalk the sidewalks. I pick up my pace, willing my heart to steady its speed.

  When it does not, I know I am being followed.

  If growing up as a witch hidden among humans has taught me one thing, it is to always trust my instincts.

  I should have taken the long way home and rode the train around vamp territory, even if it would’ve added an extra forty minutes to my trip.

  Better to arrive late than never at all, my mother used to say. Goddess rest her soul.

  The speed of my heartbeat increases along with my step. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  That is when I see them.

  The only part that’s visible is their eyes, duel red orbs reflecting the moonlight, like predators in a dense forest; only the trees are rundown buildings, the earth paved over with concrete, the creatures more cunning and deadly.

  I quickly cast a spell to make me invisible, though I know it will only help so much. The vamps do not need to see me. They can smell me.

  They can sense me.

  No doubt they can sense the magic in my blood, too. But they are not perturbed. I am more difficult prey than a human—especially with my command of the magic—but vamps run in packs. And if the racing of my pulse is any indication, there are more than a few of them following me right now.

  I count the glowing red orbs.

  One, two, three, four… There are at least four of them.

  Welp, shit on a stick.

  This is what I get for trying to do the right thing. I guess the old saying was true; no good deed did go unpunished.

  I cross the street, trying my best to stay within the boundaries of the streetlights. The dilapidated row homes and abandoned lots stand silent on either side of me. I skirt the litter lining the sidewalks, keeping my head down, magic waiting at my fingertips.

  Just a little further, and I’ll be within the boundaries of Old City, where the Coven’s hold on the territory is strong, where the vamps had to be suicidal to cross, where the magic barrier keeps us firmly away from other supernaturals. Our own perfect little bubble, within which we suffer our own kind of hell.

  A hell, that I, nonetheless, want to get back to.

  There are a couple of little witches waiting on me.

  I summon fire magic, cradling flames in my palm at the same moment the vamps make themselves known to me.

  They appear on four sides of me, having moved in perfect coordination.

  Sharks, I think.

  This does not calm my nerves. The flames in my palm grow brighter.

  The vamps hiss, the sound snake-like and hair-raising.

  I strike, knowing it is this, or death.

  Fire shoots from my palm and explodes upon the chest of the vamp blocking the path before me. She screeches, an ear-shattering sound too high to be picked up by human ears, but nearly debilitating to those of a supernatural. Thank the Goddess I am not wolf or fae, or the sound would be downright painful.

  And I am ready for it. As soon as I release the flames I cast a barrier spell around me. The remaining three vamps collide against it as their comrade rolls and screeches, trying to put herself out.

  Then, I run.

  And let me tell you something; I freakin’ hate running. I do that shit because it’s good for me and the world we are living in has become increasingly dangerous as of late.

  But let me be clear: I. Hate. Running.

  Adrenaline serves its purpose, however, and while I know the air is tearing in and out of my lungs, I can only hear the life-or-death internal alarm blaring in my head, in my bones.

  I chance a glance over my shoulder.

  I should not have done that.

  Crap on a cracker!

  They are nearly on top of me.

  I take a single, slow breath, just as my mother used to tell me. The magic is hard to control as is, but when nervous, it becomes that much harder to wield.

  There is always time for a single, slow breath, Mira, my mother would say. And if there isn’t… Well, then…

  She’d then toss her hands up, as if to say, You’re screwed.

  Old row homes and streetlights flash by as I run for my life. I need one more breath and I will cast another spell.

  It is one more breath too many.

  The wind is knocked out of me as one of the vamps hits me hard in the side. My feet fly out from under me, and I flip as I fall, time simultaneously speeding and slowing. I see flashes of images, catch fragments of thoughts streaking through my head.

  Namely; the vampires that are about to drain me, the life I’m not ready to lose, the people I am not prepared to leave behind.

  The fact that I do not want to die.

  I hit the ground hard enough to send a shock all the way through me, a grunt of pain escaping me.

  Then the bitches are on me.

  My body is singing with pain, but my magic is ready.

  I let the flames explode out of me. The spell takes everything I have.

  The effect is immediate, enormous.

  The vamps are thrown backwards into the air in a shower of flame and light. Their screeches fill the night.

  I feel like a cup that’s been tipped over, energy flowing out of me like liquid. I lay on the dirty concrete, face pressed against the sidewalk, heart thrumming in my chest.

  I see a pair of red eyes, hear snake-like hissing, smell the blood of the no-longer-pregnant wolf mother still on me.

  Despite the fact that she might have died had I not been there, my last thought is a selfish one.

  I wish I would have stayed
home tonight.

  2

  12:27 a.m.

  I am out for a split second.

  As my vision clears, it takes everything in me to lift my head, to pull myself to a seated position.

  It has been ages since I used a burst of magic that powerful. It has bought me precious time, but has left me vulnerable.

  I need to get the fuck out of here. ASAP.

  A lump forms in my throat as I see that the blast has burned the three vamps beyond recognition, has left them as smoking heaps on the concrete.

  And has also managed to grab the attention of other bloodsuckers nearby. Wtf had I been thinking passing through a Red Zone at this time of night? Every supe in Philly knew Red Zones well, knew to steer clear of them after daylight hours. They were vamp hunting grounds.

  I should’ve known better, and if I’d been able to get any sleep lately, maybe I wouldn’t have been so eager to get home. Maybe I would’ve spared the extra forty minutes to go around this area.

  Somehow, I find my feet. My legs wobble beneath me, but I take a step. Then another. My ribs ache where the vamp struck me, and my other side hurts where it connected with the concrete–but those are worries for later.

  Just a little further, and I will be in Old City, firmly within witch territory, magical barrier and all.

  Their whispers carry to me on the wind, though I feel no breeze against my skin.

  You’re on the wrong side of the line, little witch, taunts one of them.

  She smells like flowers, responds another.

  Blood and flowers, cackles a third.

  Fear strikes me cold, to the bone. I am out of magic for the moment. Clean empty until I can sleep, eat, and recharge, and though I have trained in the martial arts since I was a child, I am no match for a horde of hungry vamps.

  They circle the same as had the others, emboldened with the knowledge that I am drained. The fact is written in each of my labored breaths, my sluggish movements.

  They draw closer.

  I try to summon more fire magic. Sparks snap at my fingertips, but hold no flames.

  The vamps laugh. It is as ugly a sound as their screams.

  Then, they move.

  The attack is too fast for me to defend myself.

  I can’t believe this is how I die. People say life is a bitch. I would argue that death is…

  The wolf comes out of nowhere.

  And though I never like to think of myself as a damsel in distress, I thank the Goddess that he does.

  He is in his human form, but I know instantly what he is; dark and muscled, with bright silver, reflective eyes—the eyes of a predator.

  The wolf moves through the night with supernatural speed, taking the vamp nearest me by the neck and tossing her against the side of a building as though she weighs no more than a doll.

  He backhands another, brute strength sending her stumbling.

  The vamp’s mouth spreads wide, until it is a grotesque joke of a smile–three rows of razor sharp fangs flashing in the streetlights.

  He kicks a third directly in the midsection. She hits the front of an abandoned row home so hard the whole structure shudders.

  Then he is shoving me forward, urging me to move faster. I have never known a werewolf to do a kind deed for a stranger, and I do not trust him, but my choices at the moment are that or certain death.

  I do as the wolf says, grateful that he seems to be herding me toward the Old City barrier.

  “You move too slow, witch,” he mutters under his breath.

  I flash him a look but hold my tongue. I haven’t the energy to argue, anyway.

  In my peripherals, I see red eyes flash as the vamps take to the rooftops, leaping and skittering and crawling over them like giant beetles or roaches.

  My stomach twists. We are not out of danger yet.

  “Faster,” the wolf growls.

  I grunt, not bothering to tell him that I’m going as fast as I can, which, to me, should be obvious. It’s not as though I’m considering this a stroll in the park or something.

  Why is he out here alone, anyway? Wolves are as likely to travel in groups as vamps.

  The border lies just up ahead, the magical barrier calling out to the magic in my blood; calling me home, if I can only reach it.

  The wolf, however, will not be able to cross the border—not without my permission, and with the way things were at the moment, I doubted the Coven would look kindly upon me granting access to a different supe without prior approval.

  The idea of this being unjust does not fully strike me at that moment, while there is no time to ponder it.

  As the vamps skitter and stalk from above, I make the decision before I can think better of it. I grab the wolf’s enormous hand, surprised by the warmth of it. He looks over at me, eyes wide and deep and brown at this proximity, and somehow comforting in the stolen moment.

  The vamps stalk closer.

  If they are going to make a move, they must make it now. The houses and buildings on either side of us are a little nicer now, and there is less rubbish on the street. Ahead, the street lights are more ornate, the businesses more upscale.

  I reach deep inside, deeper than I’ve had to reach for quite a while, and pull up a kernel of power, using it to cast a protective shield around us. The effort makes me stumble, and if not for the wolf holding onto me, I would hit the concrete in a jumble.

  He catches me before I can fall, scooping me up as two vamps slam into the magical shield I’ve casted around us, rebounding off of it like birds upon clean windows. I cringe and grit my teeth.

  I am aware of being in the wolf’s arms, his body like a furnace against mine, but that is about all I can process.

  My breath is stolen from me as we cross over the magical border. I hear a gasp escape from him as well. He stops in his tracks as soon as we are within safety.

  I am cradled against his wide chest like a child, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at him, can only live in the brown of his eyes.

  Somewhere in the near distance, I hear screaming sirens, but I pay them no mind. It seems all the two of us can do is hold still and take sharp breaths as we stare at each other.

  Then he sets me on my feet, putting me down like some fragile thing, like he is afraid he might break me, keeping hold of my elbows for a few long seconds to ensure that I am steady. Then backing a single step away, as if having just remembered that he ought not get too close.

  “Put your hands up!” comes the command as bright lights swing toward us.

  Red and blue flickers off the sidewalk, the buildings.

  I shield my eyes with my arm. It takes me a moment to make the connection.

  I do not know what is happening. I think only that I am safe, within the borders of Old City, where witches hold strong.

  And I am not wrong. I am safe, being what I am and looking like I do.

  But that is a pondering that won’t occur until later, either.

  The wolf beside me has a different reaction to seeing the boys in blue. He turns to run.

  And I stand there like a fucking idiot, dazed and confused.

  Someone yells, “Stop!”

  I shudder, gasping as the night explodes with gunshots. The sound pounds against my eardrums.

  I am looking at the wolf as he tries to flee… and is struck several times in the back with bullets. I watch in abject horror as little sprays of blood explode from between his shoulders, at his waist.

  I scream. Or I try to. The sound is lost in the column of my throat, rebounding through my head.

  I think what escapes me now is half gasp, half cry.

  I go to him. I don’t think about doing it; I just do. I move toward the bleeding male on the sidewalk, the one who had just finished saving my life. I fall to my knees beside him, eyes wide at the gaping wounds in his back.

  No, I think. This is not right. This cannot be right…

  What the fuck was even happening?

  I don’t know what I have
left in me. I only know it is not enough.

  I pull on my magic, anyway, begging it to kindle and flow. Just a little healing magic, Dear Goddess, I pray. Please, just a little.

  But as I hover over him, hands poised above his back, no light appears in my palms.

  Only red and blue flashes in the dark.

  His cheek is upon the pavement, his brown eyes meet mine.

  As a healer, I have watched people die before. I know what it looks like just before the light leaves their eyes. It is the stuff of nightmares, the expressions of ghosts.

  I place my hand on his cheek, his beard rough beneath my palm, and I whisper a prayer to the Goddess, asking her to see him safely to the homeland.

  Then I am lifted off my feet, ripped away by pale arms lined with black tattoos.

  I blink and see that it is one of the officers, dragging me away from the body of the wolf he and his boys just shot.

  For no good fucking reason at all.

  3

  2:45 a.m.

  I started this day bringing a new life into the world.

  And immediately followed that up by witnessing the departure of another.

  The blessings and heartaches of being a healer, my mother used to say. Fuck if that hadn’t turned out to be true.

  Now, I sit in a room that is too bright, a cup of shitty, untouched coffee on the table in front of me.

  I don’t know what time it is, or how in the hell I got here. I feel like the events of the last several hours cannot be real.

  But I keep seeing his eyes, the deep brown of them. I keep feeling the warmth of his hand in mine.