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  Cursed

  Jamie Leigh Hansen

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  For Craig

  For our girls

  Always

  Acknowledgments

  There are many people I would like to thank for their help and support. Just know if your name is not listed, it’s because it’s written on my heart, not my brain, and the two don’t always communicate well. Any errors are mine to claim.

  Jeanne—Friend, computer goddess. What would I do without you?

  Jolene—You are an inspiration.

  Desireé—For all the readings of all my drafts, thank you.

  Dondi and Judy—Thank you both for your patience, encouragement, and enthusiasm. Every artist suffers insecurity at times and you both helped fight away all of mine.

  My family and friends—Thank you all for making the launch of my first book such an awesome success!

  Christine Feehan, Gena Showalter, Sylvia Day, Jenna Black, Caridad Piñeiro, Vivi Anna—Thank you all so much for reading and loving Betrayed.

  Lisa Renee Jones—Your advice was amazing. Thank you for all your time.

  Natasha—Thank you for everything. My dream never would have come so alive without all you’ve done for me.

  Tor—Heather, Anna, Jozelle, Megan, Theresa, Seth, NaNá, thank you all. Neither Betrayed nor Cursed could be produced so well without you.

  My therapists—For keeping me healthy and taking away my pain so I can live my dream.

  Prologue

  October 8, 2004

  The Tunnels of the Forgotten Ones

  Even deep in the midst of tangling green vines, trees, and shrubs, the wind reached them, flowing around them both and twisting the black edges of Draven’s cloak until it flapped like bat wings. It was dark here, with a cloud-hidden moon and few stars to brighten the sky. The air held a chill that wrapped around a body, at first falsely soothing, then knifing bone deep. Draven shivered, but couldn’t tell if it was from the weather or the consequences they were about to face.

  At Draven’s side, Silas stood as stalwart as ever, his long white wings folded neatly behind him, the ends tucked against his ankles. His innate light was temporarily muted by Draven’s innate darkness, hiding them from the brown-cloaked figure that approached on their right, but not from the two Seraphs guarding the sole entrance to the Tunnels of the Forgotten Ones.

  Nothing could hide from them.

  Each fearsome angel had six wings formed of a blazing fire so bright it only paled in comparison to their eyes. The light of the Divine filled their orbs so they saw with perfect truth and justice. Something Draven had never managed to do.

  The Seraphim stood to each side of an entrance that was the darkest, most impenetrable black.

  The Tunnel of the Forgotten Ones was a barren mountain prison that held caverns blocked by large boulders. The only beings strong enough to move them were the Seraphim. All their strength, backed by the power of God himself, sealed tight each tomb. Escape was impossible.

  It was a cold place, a prison worse than any mortal could imagine: solitary confinement in the most oppressive, deeply disturbing atmosphere. In this place, minds broke, evil manifested, and death never offered a reprieve.

  There was only one reason the brown-cloaked Dugan would be here. Deep inside the tunnels laid his mistress, one of the darkest of the original fallen angels, the very catalyst that had begun Draven’s alliance with Silas so long ago: Maeve. Maeve of the long, furiously red curls and deep, dark emerald eyes that were pure temptation. Maeve of the mesmerizing face and perfectly alluring body that stirred lust in so many with shocking ease.

  Maeve with the lush red lips and vicious jealousy that had cursed her son to relentlessly crave his half-brother’s destruction. Those same lips would curse Draven and Silas unto eternity once she discovered their treachery.

  Nearly a thousand years ago, Draven and Silas had combined their gifts and skills to break her curse upon the two brothers. But their first attempt had only altered the curse and made the situation worse, damning two more innocents. But now, after nine centuries of suffering, it was done. The curse was broken and the four souls trapped within it were free.

  But now so was Maeve. She would be freed from this prison because the curse gone awry had placed her here, not the evil she had done.

  One of the Seraphs disappeared into the tunnels with Dugan, leaving the remaining Seraph to stand guard—not that more than one was necessary. What would a thousand years here have done to Maeve? Would she be weak? How long would it take before she came for them? Months? Hours? Seconds?

  “We could run,” Draven offered, now that they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “You must be joking,” Silas scoffed, disbelief on his face.

  Draven shrugged. “I’m just saying, it’s an option.”

  Silas shook his head and returned his gaze to the tunnel entrance. “It isn’t worth contemplating. Not only would she find us, but it would negate whatever good we’ve managed to accomplish.”

  And doing good was their sole purpose. Doing good meant earning redemption. For humans, it was an easy matter to pray, repent, and have faith that they were forgiven. For Nephilim, children of humans and angels, the issue wasn’t quite as clear-cut.

  Draven’s arms crossed, leather-gloved hands sliding into the wide sleeves of the black cloak. “Then hiding is out, huh?”

  Silas emitted an irritated growl.

  Draven smiled briefly, then shivered at a sudden burst of cold wind. Breaking the curse after so many years of heartache and disappointing failure had filled them with a heady, giddy confidence for a short time. Sheer hubris had convinced them they could make a difference, but that kind of innocent belief wasn’t available now. Reality had set in.

  Maeve would come for them, would likely kill them. They wouldn’t have ten chances to get it right this time. No reruns, no do-overs. To win on the first try was a long shot, but it was the only one they had.

  “If she eliminates us, they will be vulnerable,” Silas whispered. “She will unravel all we’ve accomplished. Dreux and Kalyss will lose the lives they fought so hard and long for. Geoffrey and Alex will be cannon fodder to her and Kai will once again be her pawn.”

  No. Draven had sacrificed far more than Silas even knew. Nothing would be undone at this late stage. “Not if their allies are strong enough.”

  “What allies? Even including the two of us, we are nothing against Maeve at full strength,” he pointed out.

  It was a simple fact, but not one Draven would allow to defeat them. “Then we have work to do, allies to gain, before she is at full strength.”

  Draven went silent as Dugan exited the tunnels, a limp, blanketed form stretched across his arms. Behind him, the Seraph returned to the opposite side of the entrance from his companion. The Seraphs watched as Dugan surged into the trees, very near where Silas and Drav
en stood.

  Draven froze as Maeve passed them. The stench of death clouded the air, vile and pervasive. When the two had passed, Draven’s leather-gloved hand grabbed Silas’s bare one. “Come. We need to know where he takes her.”

  Time held no meaning for Maeve as she waited, drifting from shadows to blackness, from confusion to moments of rare clarity before slipping back into the oily onyx of oblivion.

  She was getting stronger. It wasn’t the first time she’d had that thought, but it was the first time she remembered having it before. Familiar hands caressed her skin and soft lips traced every inch of her flesh. Dugan. He cared for her. Kept her safe from her enemies. He would make her stronger. So she could …

  Maeve blinked, but there was no difference to the darkness, nothing visual to focus her mind, so she quit trying and relaxed against the satin-covered pillow and mattress. Heat blanketed her side as Dugan’s strong body cradled hers, his fingers gliding up her arms to her neck, then ever so slowly down her collarbone to trace the sensitive shallows there.

  This was how he fed her, her prized servant. How her mind could open, functioning better with each tense thrill that charged through her. His hot breath brushed her ear, her neck, tightening the tips of her breasts. His passion swirled in the air, sinking inside her pores, nourishing deprived cells and revitalizing deadened nerves. Fucking was her sustenance. Adoration her dessert.

  “Yess …” she encouraged him. Lust rode him hard and for a brief moment, she could remember when she had ridden him harder.

  She hated being fragile. She hated weakness of any kind, but this was worse. Days, weeks, centuries of being deprived of her will, her freedom. Her strength, her mind, her power—all out of her control, at the mercy of those too foolish to relish true freedom. They had robbed her of life. Vitality. But they wouldn’t rob her of vengeance.

  Dugan moved, leaning over her. Wet muscle pressed over the tip of her breast before he blew a hot breath against the peak.

  Maeve floated, boneless and sprawled, his touch so light it was barely there. Yet the soft abrasion of his callused fingers down her torso and over her concave stomach stirred embers inside her. Carefully tending them, fanning them until they blazed. Once, she’d been insatiable. Her lusts devouring hundreds. Now, only one man sufficed.

  His touch was gentle, careful not to break her. After long, strained moments, she recognized the slightly furred limbs that stroked her thighs. There was more to this man than nature had given him. Maeve raised a hand to his chest, her fingers trembling as they searched over his hard muscled skin, up to his neck. There was something … She needed to remember.

  Dugan bent to her neck, finding and licking a particular spot that craved attention. Just returning his touch intensified her passion. Yes. This was what she needed. The inferno inside her built, and her touch lowered to the small black face at the center of his chest. She stroked around it, missing the many eyes, and a high-pitched purr vibrated her hand.

  The eight long, furred limbs she’d given him wrapped around her thighs and pulled them wide. His fingers separated the tender folds of her sex, spreading the moisture to her dehydrated skin. Yes, finally, she could produce her own lubricant.

  Maeve arched. She loved being worshipped. She needed it, fed her power with his lust and heat and faith. Her hand rose high. Higher. There. She traced the intricate pattern hammered on the wide metal torque encircling his neck. Another inch to the left and she found it.

  Smooth and square, the emerald felt cold to the touch. It should have warmed with the heat of his skin, but the power within it prevented the abatement of the supernatural chill. The power was strong, created when she was at the height of her skills. She could draw from that, use it to enhance what was left of her.

  Dugan settled over her, four furry limbs now circling her thighs, four circling and twisting around her arms as his fingers pulled her nipples and his lips and tongue feasted at her neck. Agonizingly slow, he slid into her, stretching her and pulling out before sliding deeper.

  Maeve grasped the emerald and inhaled slightly. Just enough. Dugan slid inside all the way. A deeper breath and she released her hold on the emerald. It wouldn’t do to take too much, or she’d break it and the curse held within.

  No matter her desperation, she couldn’t allow that to happen. Dugan would kill her if she set him free. Even a thousand years of the tunnel’s damage wouldn’t compare to what he would do to her if he learned how long she’d held him.

  Chapter One

  Four and a half months later …

  The tunnel was black, with not even a torch to light it. The atmosphere was so thick it sucked and clawed at her, ripping away any oxygen that could fuel her lungs. Sometimes it seemed the weight of the world rested in this spot, so heavy nothing could alleviate the atmosphere of oppression and doom.

  Elizabeth trailed her hands along the rough walls. The tunnel seemed warm, but the sharp, jagged rocks were cold beneath her fingers. Her hands shook but her steps were steady. She knew this path, and journeyed here quite often.

  Just up ahead thick steel doors blocked many twisted paths to caverns that lay even deeper in the tunnels of her mind. Her right hand stretched toward a door. She read each dent, each scratch like braille. Behind this door were some of the best memories of her life.

  Sometimes it was locked and she stood pounding against the steel, crying and begging it to allow her inside. Those were the nights when her dreams had a power all their own. Helpless against the force of her own mind, she would turn and continue farther, deeper into the tunnels.

  This time she didn’t want to enter that room, and she passed the door quietly, her nightgown whispering against her ankles. She couldn’t see it but she knew it was long and golden and transparent in the candlelight. No, tonight wasn’t a night for happy memories from her past. It was a night for something different, something secret.

  Ahead and to her left was the door she dreaded. The one she edged past, her back pressed to the opposite wall. Even through the thick steel and heavy locks, she could hear the whispers of what waited for her beyond it. The cries and screams of every painful moment in her life called to her from behind that door. It held a monster who crouched, waiting to drag her in.

  Elizabeth held her breath, her right hand reaching farther along the tunnel. Her legs shook now. Her steps weren’t as certain. She prayed not to make a single sound that would awaken the monster. She didn’t want to enter that room tonight. She never did, but the choice wasn’t hers. One misstep and the door would open. The monster would grab her and she would scream—scream until morning.

  Elizabeth eased past it. but she couldn’t breathe yet. Instead she ran, putting as much distance between her and that door as possible. Down twists and turns, her hair flying behind her, her hands blindly scraping over rock walls and steel doors with leather hinges. These doors weren’t locked to her. They were mostly empty, waiting to be filled, though she didn’t know what with.

  Although she couldn’t see where she was going, the atmosphere warmed and she knew she had arrived at the deepest, darkest, most secret caverns of her mind.

  The places where no one could reach her and spoil what lay within. These rooms were the closest to her heart.

  Elizabeth placed her hands on a door, her fingers tracing the heated lines and cracks. Her chest heaved with the effort to draw breath. She had made it through the darkness, past the door of sorrows, to this door—the door of wishes and secret desires. Sometimes it was empty, mocking her for daring to dream. But she hoped, with her cheek held tight to the smooth steel, with trembling hands pressed to the hot metal. She needed so desperately for the room to not be empty tonight. Keeping her eyes squeezed shut, gripping the latch with her fist, Elizabeth eased the door open just enough to squeeze through.

  Dreading the moment when she would find herself alone, she faced the heavy door, and leaned on the steel portal until it slowly closed. She wasn’t brave tonight. She was afraid to hope and dream a
nd be wrong.

  But gentle hands, large and hot, eased around her and settled on her stomach, pulling her back to a hard chest and the moist, seductive heat of a man’s breath on her neck. Elizabeth’s breath stuttered out and her heart leaped inside her chest. Her trembling hands cupped his against her stomach, allowing them to warm and steady her.

  The shake and tremble of her body melted as she leaned against him, her blood now hot, molten. His breath grazed the sensitive skin at her nape just before his teeth scraped against her ear, sending shivers all down her spine.

  “Hi, beautiful.”

  Elizabeth smiled. She was only beautiful with him.

  Tilting her head, she opened her eyes and stared through the candlelight into his caressing, green-and-gold gaze.

  “Hi, Alex.”

  Alex was dreaming. Only in his dreams did Beth Ann Raines come to this room of black stone walls where they were trapped together in a tangle of bare skin and burgundy satin sheets. It was these moments he yearned for. These times he wished were real.

  “Now, Alex,” Beth Ann demanded, her sexy, breathless voice teasing his ears.

  This dream happened so rarely that the torture of making it last was the greatest pleasure of all. Clenching his fingers in her golden hair, Alex said, “No. Not yet.”

  Too soon, they’d find their release, hold each other close and fall asleep. When he awoke, he’d be back in his apartment, the bed beside him empty and undisturbed. Alex withdrew from the kiss, pulling back far enough to stare into her eyes—the most dazzling blue imaginable and they were passionately focused on him. If only that lasted longer than the dream.

  His hips continued to move with that quick, shallow friction that stole her breath—and his. Which was good. It kept him from begging her again to stay and face what lay between them and let it grow into the spectacular future he knew was theirs for the taking.

  Perhaps it was best she wouldn’t stay. The dreams were unique, vivid, and special, but they’d never manifested in the real world. They’d only left him to wake up to an empty, lonely bed. Or worse, a bed that wasn’t empty and a face that wasn’t hers.