A Curse Unbroken
Page 16
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Peter stared down at his wrist, then back at me. “Ah, perhaps I’ve said too much.”
I tore my eyes away from Peter and looked down the hall to where playful giggling echoed from the level below. Two of Aric’s fans skipped up the steps, pausing when they caught sight of me.
Instead of running for their lives, as they very much should have, they strutted like runway models on a catwalk. Then again, runway models didn’t typically dress like whores.
The one with red hair down to her elbows wore a black mesh top, no bra, and tiny black shorts. The other one, a brunette with short spiky hair and long bangs, let her open red robe sway behind so I’d have a direct view of her lacy panties and massive boobs stuffed into the matching bra.
Neither was barefoot. It seemed clear heels were the preferred footwear of were tramps everywhere.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open, still attached to Peter who’d begun to struggle. The members of the slut club smiled, obviously pleased by my dumbfounded reaction. They fell onto their couch, crossing their long legs and laughing.
The redhead who sat nearest to me tossed me a wicked grin over her shoulder before ignoring me completely. “So,” she said to her friend. “Did you get a new car yet?”
“No,” the brunette pouted. She stuck out her bottom lip in a way that made me think she’d practiced that move in the mirror about a thousand times. “But you know what they say, ‘Don’t have a car? Ride Aric Connor.’ ”
Peter dropped my basket and shot off like a jet the moment I released him. He hadn’t quite made it to the second flight of stairs when bimbo number one and bimbo number two crash-landed in the foyer with their demolished love seat on top of them.
I kicked off my shoes and leapt down into the foyer after them, landing in a crouch. It was the furthest and hardest I’d ever landed. And it hurt.
But hell would freeze before I’d show them weakness.
The redhead charged. I had enough time to flip her to the ground and knock her out before the brunette tackled me. Her scent of pine and musk told me she was a werecougar. She was tough. I was tougher. We exchanged a few hard blows before I punched her in the nose and tore her pouty lips right off her face.
She screamed, a ghastly, wet scream, stopping to gape at what remained of her mouth on the floor.
The redhead came to, slamming me down chest first and wrenching my arm brutally behind my back. She would’ve had me if experience hadn’t taught me one thing: Ignore pain and focus on hurting the being trying to kill you.
I rolled in the direction the bitch wolf was wrenching my arm and used my free arm to ridge-hand her across the nose. That didn’t stun her, but my follow-up kick to the temple did.
The lipless cougar then tried to take me out by the knees. She missed. I didn’t. I kicked her with enough force to bounce her flailing body off the floor. They were both bloody, groaning, and limping when Peter raced back through the front door followed closely by the Pack Elders.
Martin was a big man. If I had to go by sight instead of smell, I would’ve pegged him a werebear. He was in his seventies, with the body of a thirty-year-old triathlete who preferred shards of glass for breakfast instead of Wheaties.
He scowled when he caught me holding the redhead up by the throat. She slumped to the floor when I released her then quickly scrambled to stand. She joined her friend and together they bowed to Martin and Makawee.
Martin scanned the large foyer. All that remained of the casting couch were pieces of torn fabric and splintered wood smeared with were blood. Broken chunks of furniture—an end table, a few chairs with missing legs, and a small cabinet—also littered the area from the throw-down.
It was a vicious catfight.
And I’d owned it.
The problem was, I didn’t technically belong in the Pack and I’d fought weres who did, in their sacred institute. I didn’t know all the rules and regulations but was fairly certain this was a big no-no.
The knowledge did nothing to cool my anger. I was livid. I stepped forward, not bothering to bow. “With all due respect—”
Martin cut me off with a simple lift of his hand. He continued to scowl, but now I could see his anger wasn’t directed at me. “Lindsey, Dara, I warned you Aric’s mate wouldn’t tolerate your blatant disrespect of their relationship. Clean this mess up.” He walked toward me and gave me a brief nod before continuing toward the offices located in the rear of the building. “I expect the disbandment of your group, but not before you collect monies to reimburse what you have damaged and destroyed.” He didn’t bother to glance back, yet it was clear his word was law.
The weres hurried to clean the area. The cougar paused to pick her shriveling lips from the floor and toss them in a wastebasket. Eventually, her missing pieces would grow back. I couldn’t say the same if she’d torn off my face.
I stared at my red-stained hands. I was angry, yes, but my response had been cruel. I was many things. Cruel wasn’t one of them.
My own voice filled my head, saying things I didn’t want to hear.
They deserved it.
You should have killed them.
It’s not too late.
Make them suffer.
A horrible sense of hate claimed me, but just as quickly as it came, it left me when Makawee approached. The peace affiliated with her power as the Pack Omega dissolved that awful sense of loathing and reined in my anger.
She took my hand and watched me with sad, dark eyes. “Celia, will you join me in my chambers? I’d like a word with you,” she said gently.
Chapter 6
Makawee and I weren’t friends. But she had always shown me kindness and was one of many who fought to keep me alive. As the Omega of the Pack, she embodied calm, nurturing magic like a second skin. So why did her touch disgust me? And why did I pull away?
Run, my inner voice urged.
“Why?” I questioned aloud.
Makawee cocked her head, believing I was speaking to her. “Forgive me, Celia, but what I wish to say is of a sensitive nature.” Her attention left me to glance at the weres hurrying to clean. Her brows drew together ever so slightly, but it was enough to make the tramps avert their gaze and move faster.
I forced myself to speak. “All right.” Although I agreed to follow her, that urge to flee poked at me. I was afraid to be alone with her. My thoughts, though, didn’t make sense. Out of everyone, why would I be afraid of Makawee?
I tore my eyes away from Peter and looked down the hall to where playful giggling echoed from the level below. Two of Aric’s fans skipped up the steps, pausing when they caught sight of me.
Instead of running for their lives, as they very much should have, they strutted like runway models on a catwalk. Then again, runway models didn’t typically dress like whores.
The one with red hair down to her elbows wore a black mesh top, no bra, and tiny black shorts. The other one, a brunette with short spiky hair and long bangs, let her open red robe sway behind so I’d have a direct view of her lacy panties and massive boobs stuffed into the matching bra.
Neither was barefoot. It seemed clear heels were the preferred footwear of were tramps everywhere.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open, still attached to Peter who’d begun to struggle. The members of the slut club smiled, obviously pleased by my dumbfounded reaction. They fell onto their couch, crossing their long legs and laughing.
The redhead who sat nearest to me tossed me a wicked grin over her shoulder before ignoring me completely. “So,” she said to her friend. “Did you get a new car yet?”
“No,” the brunette pouted. She stuck out her bottom lip in a way that made me think she’d practiced that move in the mirror about a thousand times. “But you know what they say, ‘Don’t have a car? Ride Aric Connor.’ ”
Peter dropped my basket and shot off like a jet the moment I released him. He hadn’t quite made it to the second flight of stairs when bimbo number one and bimbo number two crash-landed in the foyer with their demolished love seat on top of them.
I kicked off my shoes and leapt down into the foyer after them, landing in a crouch. It was the furthest and hardest I’d ever landed. And it hurt.
But hell would freeze before I’d show them weakness.
The redhead charged. I had enough time to flip her to the ground and knock her out before the brunette tackled me. Her scent of pine and musk told me she was a werecougar. She was tough. I was tougher. We exchanged a few hard blows before I punched her in the nose and tore her pouty lips right off her face.
She screamed, a ghastly, wet scream, stopping to gape at what remained of her mouth on the floor.
The redhead came to, slamming me down chest first and wrenching my arm brutally behind my back. She would’ve had me if experience hadn’t taught me one thing: Ignore pain and focus on hurting the being trying to kill you.
I rolled in the direction the bitch wolf was wrenching my arm and used my free arm to ridge-hand her across the nose. That didn’t stun her, but my follow-up kick to the temple did.
The lipless cougar then tried to take me out by the knees. She missed. I didn’t. I kicked her with enough force to bounce her flailing body off the floor. They were both bloody, groaning, and limping when Peter raced back through the front door followed closely by the Pack Elders.
Martin was a big man. If I had to go by sight instead of smell, I would’ve pegged him a werebear. He was in his seventies, with the body of a thirty-year-old triathlete who preferred shards of glass for breakfast instead of Wheaties.
He scowled when he caught me holding the redhead up by the throat. She slumped to the floor when I released her then quickly scrambled to stand. She joined her friend and together they bowed to Martin and Makawee.
Martin scanned the large foyer. All that remained of the casting couch were pieces of torn fabric and splintered wood smeared with were blood. Broken chunks of furniture—an end table, a few chairs with missing legs, and a small cabinet—also littered the area from the throw-down.
It was a vicious catfight.
And I’d owned it.
The problem was, I didn’t technically belong in the Pack and I’d fought weres who did, in their sacred institute. I didn’t know all the rules and regulations but was fairly certain this was a big no-no.
The knowledge did nothing to cool my anger. I was livid. I stepped forward, not bothering to bow. “With all due respect—”
Martin cut me off with a simple lift of his hand. He continued to scowl, but now I could see his anger wasn’t directed at me. “Lindsey, Dara, I warned you Aric’s mate wouldn’t tolerate your blatant disrespect of their relationship. Clean this mess up.” He walked toward me and gave me a brief nod before continuing toward the offices located in the rear of the building. “I expect the disbandment of your group, but not before you collect monies to reimburse what you have damaged and destroyed.” He didn’t bother to glance back, yet it was clear his word was law.
The weres hurried to clean the area. The cougar paused to pick her shriveling lips from the floor and toss them in a wastebasket. Eventually, her missing pieces would grow back. I couldn’t say the same if she’d torn off my face.
I stared at my red-stained hands. I was angry, yes, but my response had been cruel. I was many things. Cruel wasn’t one of them.
My own voice filled my head, saying things I didn’t want to hear.
They deserved it.
You should have killed them.
It’s not too late.
Make them suffer.
A horrible sense of hate claimed me, but just as quickly as it came, it left me when Makawee approached. The peace affiliated with her power as the Pack Omega dissolved that awful sense of loathing and reined in my anger.
She took my hand and watched me with sad, dark eyes. “Celia, will you join me in my chambers? I’d like a word with you,” she said gently.
Chapter 6
Makawee and I weren’t friends. But she had always shown me kindness and was one of many who fought to keep me alive. As the Omega of the Pack, she embodied calm, nurturing magic like a second skin. So why did her touch disgust me? And why did I pull away?
Run, my inner voice urged.
“Why?” I questioned aloud.
Makawee cocked her head, believing I was speaking to her. “Forgive me, Celia, but what I wish to say is of a sensitive nature.” Her attention left me to glance at the weres hurrying to clean. Her brows drew together ever so slightly, but it was enough to make the tramps avert their gaze and move faster.
I forced myself to speak. “All right.” Although I agreed to follow her, that urge to flee poked at me. I was afraid to be alone with her. My thoughts, though, didn’t make sense. Out of everyone, why would I be afraid of Makawee?
