A Cursed Bloodline
Page 9

Misha crossed his arms, the edges of his lips curving into a patient smile. “You cannot deny the future we saw today. We will have children, and you—you will finally love me.”
I buried my face in my hands and willed myself to calm. I didn’t understand the vision—why I’d had it, why he’d seen it. None of it made sense. I loved Aric, and knowing I carried his baby kept my feet firmly placed in reality. I dropped my hands to my sides and took a breath. Misha was my friend, and the last thing I wanted was to cause him pain. But I wouldn’t lie to him just to spare his feelings. “Misha, I don’t love you. The vision we saw isn’t real.”
His smile faded, but he refused to admit defeat. “Perhaps now, but in time—”
I shook my head. “Aric is who I love. You’ve known this from the start.”
Misha took my hand in his and brushed his lips over my knuckles. “If that is so, why did you have me send the mongrel away?”
I froze. Misha’s smile widened, pleased by my silence. He brushed a curl away from my face. “Will you join me in bed tonight?”
My jaw dropped open. “No, Misha. I told you this isn’t real.”
Emme’s soft footsteps had me turning toward the door. She stilled when she saw us in the kitchen, Misha holding tight to my hand. Her cheeks reddened to a bright pink. “Am I-I interrupting?”
I pulled away from Misha, my own face heating. “Of course not, Emme.”
Emme slowly walked in and slipped out of her cream wool coat, keeping her gaze away from mine. “It’s not what you think, Emme,” I insisted.
I might as well have been talking to the door. Misha kissed the top of my head. “I will have dinner brought to you. My love, if you decide to join me in bed, call the main house. Otherwise the women who wait to pleasure me will still be present.”
“Gee, thanks for the heads-up,” I told him.
Misha laughed. “Do not fear, my darling. Once we marry, I will no longer have need for other bedfellows.” He paused and thought about it. “Unless, of course, it’s what you desire.”
My unamused, perturbed, and partially psycho expression must have told Misha exactly how I felt about his bedfellows.
—
I laid into the buffet Chef delivered like my life depended on it. I couldn’t remember ever being so hungry. Halfway through my meal I caught Emme staring at me. “What’s wrong, aren’t you going to eat?”
Emme folded her hands on the wooden table. “I would, Celia, but you took my plate.”
I waved my fork around. “Chef brought four over, take one of those.”
Emme sighed and tried to gather her thoughts. “I did, Celia…and I put food on it, except you took it from me and added it to your piles. You’re eating from all four plates.”
I glanced at the almost empty plates in front of me. “Oh.” I polished off the contents on one plate and handed it to her. “Here you go.”
She took it to the sink and washed it, but when she returned a frown shadowed her soft features. “Celia, what’s happening between you and Misha?”
I shrugged. “He thinks he loves me and is convinced I’ll eventually love him back.”
“Is there more?”
“No, Emme!” I hissed. Even though I’d already consumed what most linebackers ate in a day, I was strangely irate that she was interrupting my chewing and digesting process. When she reached a hand toward me, I growled and gathered my plates closer.
“I was just reaching for a spoon.”
I felt terrible for frightening her, except obviously not enough to stop eating. “Sorry, Emme,” I said through a mouthful of food.
It was only seven at night when I finished devouring everything I could get my hands on, but I thought it best to turn in. I remember brief periods of Emme waking me, otherwise I slept soundly. Perhaps the emotional strain of the day had taken its toll, because I don’t remember dreaming. I just remember a wave of nausea hitting me strong enough to jolt me awake.
I raced to the bathroom and was immediately sick. My stomach continued to do flips as I cleaned up. When I exited the bathroom, Emme sat on the bed. Her troubled expression convinced me she suspected my pregnancy. I leaned against the door and tried to assume a relaxed pose. “What is it?”
“Um, Celia. Misha and I are very worried about you. He’s asked Chang and Ying-Ying to help relieve your condition by doing a combination of Asian mystical treatments.”
My fingers nervously picked through my hair. “When you say ‘condition,’ what exactly do you mean?”
She puckered her brow. “Well, your concussion, of course.”
“Of course.” Relief washed over me until I sensed something more was up. Having everyone believe that I had a concussion should have helped explain my symptoms. I didn’t understand why she appeared so frightened. Concussions were common. I was coherent, and God knew I was eating enough. “Don’t fret, Emme. I’m fine. I don’t need Ying-Ying and Chang’s help.”
“Celia,” Emme said slowly. “You’ve been asleep for two days.”
“What?”
“Everyone is worried sick. I’ve been trying to keep them calm, but it’s hard when I’m scared myself.”
I shoved away from the frame and sat next to her, trying my best to smile. “I’m just tired and need to sleep, Emme. That’s all. Call the others and tell them there’s nothing to worry about.”
Emme covered my hand with hers. “Don’t you want to talk to them yourself?”
I turned my head to look at the time. Two o’clock. Damn. I’d slept for almost forty-eight hours. “I don’t feel like talking to anyone.”
“Not even Aric?”
“No.” I stood and gave her my back, unable to face her blatant disappointment in me. “Could you give me a moment alone? I’d like to shower.”
“Sure, Celia,” she mumbled.
I checked my phone messages when Emme shut the door quietly behind her. There were several from our other sisters and a couple from our werewolf BFFs, Bren and Danny. Most were from Aric. His voice was so different, and not just because the scarring to his lips and jaw limited his enunciation. His deep timbre, once so strong, lacked the conviction that made those he led stand and take notice.