Page 75 of Cursed: Ride or Die
“You excited?” Slade asked over the classic rock playing on the radio. He reached over and turned the volume down.
“Nervous more than excited.” Noah lost the battle, turning his head to watch Slade’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and muscle flexing in his jaw, making his beard twitch.
Slade nodded, forcing the world’s most unconvincing smile. “Understandable. You live your whole life seeing one other of your kind. Now, you’re about to meet your first pack.”
“You’re not going to dump me out and leave, are you?” Noah blurted before he could stop himself.
At a stop sign, Slade turned to face him. “Never. We stay, see how things go. If you’re not comfortable, this doesn’t feel right, we’ll look for another pack.” He reached for Noah’s hand, lacing their fingers on the seat.
Really? Hope rose in Noah’s heart.
They followed the sheriff’s car down a long stretch of blacktop, horses on one side of the road, cows on the other. Noah bet they got spooked on full moon nights, hearing all the wolf howls. Then again, how large was this pack? No one ever said.
They pulled off the blacktop onto a one-lane gravel road, pastureland giving way to trees, many bare, branches reaching like bony fingers toward the sky. Noah shivered a bit. He’d need to invest in a good coat soon.
The woods opened into a clearing about a mile down the gravel road. A decorative, split-rail fence framed the road. Beyond, houses stood in neat rows—pack lands. Even without seeing anyone, Noah felt the low buzz of energy, caught a stray scent of one of his own.
Suddenly, Slade stomped the brakes, nearly throwing Noah into the dashboard. The seatbelt kept him upright.
Slade screeched, clutching his hand.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
FireracedfromSlade’shand to his shoulder. Oh, God! What the muthafucking fuck? The pain! He tried to move forward, move back, move anyfuckingwhere. Why couldn’t he move?
The sheriff slung the truck door open. “Get him out of here! Go! Go! Go!”
What? Had they changed their minds?
Someone released the seatbelt and yanked Slade’s arm, dragging him back the way they’d come.
“Get the healer!” Mac barked.
Slade barely registered the words or anything else. Fucking torture! Oh, God, the pain! Where was Noah? “Noah?” he managed to croak.
“C’mon. We need to get you out of here.” Buddy forced Slade along with surprising strength. The sheriff grabbed Slade’s other arm.
“No! Where’s Noah?” Slade struggled. The lawmen held fast.
“He’s fine. We need to see about you.” The pain eased when the officers got Slade on the other side of the fence. He collapsed to his knees, still clutching his hand. “What the fuck happened?” He sensed, rather than saw, Noah drop down beside him.
“Let me see your hand.” Mac knelt, extending his palm.
Slade glowered, panting through the slowly easing agony.
Mac wiggled his fingers in a gimme gesture, one brow raised until Slade complied. He studied Slade’s palm, turned his hand over, and let out a low whistle. “Fuck, boy. Somebody done gone and cursed you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“We got the whole compound warded against evil intent.” Mac puffed his cheeks and blew out a harsh breath. “This curse has the evilest intent I’ve seen in years.”
Noah knelt behind Slade, pulling Slade back to rest against his chest. Slowly, slowly, the pain ebbed, and the sheriff released Slade’s hand.
“Ah, here’s our healer, Sam.” Mac rose and took a step back.
A slender older man with dark skin and white, flyaway hair came running up and knelt, far more agile than someone his years should be. Wrinkles lined the man’s face.
Like the sheriff, he turned Slade’s hand over a few times. “Oh, this is a nasty piece of work,” the old man said after a few moments. “You really pissed somebody off.”
