Page 81 of Wicked Curses
She considered asking Zeth if she could feed from him, but after Radagast, she didn’t trust anyone. She didn’t trust Orin either, but at least he’d made his motives clear, and she didn’t believe he’d do anything to put her life at risk.
After she finished here, she’d go to the gardens for a couple of hours, then talk to Orin. It was time, and she could feed without giving in to temptation.
Unbidden, the memory of the kiss she’d been trying to bury came rushing to the forefront. His hands burned into her skin as his tongue entwined with hers as if it were happening again.
This time, her heart wasn’t racing from exertion but excitement as her fangs prickled and her body reacted as if he was truly touching her. Ducking her head, she strove to bury the memory and her body’s intense reaction to it.
“Are you okay?”
Sahira looked up as Elsa strolled toward her with an armload of books tucked against her chest. The witch’s pretty face scrunched with concern as she eyed Sahira.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say.
Elsa didn’t look convinced of this as her eyes roamed over Sahira. Sahira didn’t know what to make of this woman; she was a witch but lived separately from the others and didn’t belong to their coven.
She’d never been anything but nice to Sahira and was one of the few immortals who’d asked if she was okay after Radagast’s attack. However, Radagast had always been kind to her, too… before he tried to kill her.
Elsa also worked in the gardens after her shift in the library. Sahira had no idea why and didn’t ask; they talked about the plants and their care but nothing else.
She liked Elsa and wanted to trust her, but she couldn’t. And that only made her hate this place more.
“Do you need a break?” Elsa inquired.
Sahira forced a smile she hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt, especially since another one of those hot flashes was coming and sweat already beaded her forehead. “No, seriously, I’m okay.”
Elsa didn’t look convinced as she bit her bottom lip but eventually moved on. Taking a deep breath, Sahira ignored the sweat trickling down her nape as she gripped the ladder.
She rolled it down the bookshelves until she reached the section she sought. She made sure the books were tucked securely under her arm and was about to start climbing when, in the distance, a bell rang.
Sahira froze as the first clear ring echoed over the land. It reverberated around the walls as it announced the death approaching them.
Then, as the tolling of the bell faded into the distance, silence descended. At first, no one in the library moved, but the immortals below burst into action when the other bells started ringing.
They scrambled for the windows, and the metal shutters closed with a resounding bang that briefly drowned out the bells. Sahira released the ladder and stepped away as bars fell across the shutters, locking them securely in place.
Immortals scrambled away from the locked windows as a flurry of noise and motion came from the entrance. Others flooded through the archway and into the library as shouts came from the front door.
“Hurry!” Gromuck bellowed as more immortals poured into the library.
Light fae, dark fae, vampires covered in still-smoking blankets, lycans, dwarves, imps, and berserkers filled the space, along with witches, a warlock, and other assorted immortals.
She’d never seen the library so full, but they kept coming as they sought shelter amid one of the original buildings. Even as more rushed in, the front door slammed shut with a bang.
A second later, something crashed off the side of the building and scratched across its surface. Something else skittered across the roof.
The hair on Sahira’s nape rose. The Reaping was upon them.
Certain death had arrived.
CHAPTERFIFTY-EIGHT
Orin setthe clean mug on the bar with a barely audible thud. Half the occupants of the packed pub spun to glower at him. A few feet away, Carmella shushed him but didn’t tear her eyes away from the ceiling as dozens of scratchy feet scrambled across it.
He didn’t point out that her shush was louder than he’d been. Speaking wasn’t the best idea since everything had gone deathly silent following the toll of the bells, the rapid influx of immortals, and the shutters closing.
He’d never dealt with scarog beetles, but they supposedly had an insatiable thirst for blood and mandibles that ripped the flesh from their victims. He wasn’t looking forward to this.
Were they all supposed to stand in the same spot until these things killed something and twenty-four hours passed?
