Page 131 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
What it was, I couldn’t say, but it floated, scintillating, above a satin pillow like a star. If the frozen souls were mini nebulae, then this beckoning beauty was a supernova in a bean. Ready to burst.
My eyes locked onto its splendor, my heart damn near stopping.
I couldn’t help myself. I beelined toward it. I reached with both hands,needingto hold it. Like I’d needed to touch Angel Oak, though the allure now was 50 times stronger. Mother save me, there was no one manning its stall. No one to stop me if I snatched it and absconded into the night.
It’s not really stealing. It already belongs to me. Why else would it call to me?
The pulsating majesty was mere inches away when hands pinned my stretching arms to my sides. Whatever spell I was under shattered, the heat and strength of a flesh and bone man flaring against my back.
My arm hairs razored when I peered over my shoulder at Pete. He arched a brow at me, dark and dangerous. My heart thudded back into action.
“Life’s not exciting enough with only one curse on your head? You need another?”
My eyes fell once more on the bean, my mind hazing.
Pete spun me to face him and patted my cheeks until my anger geysered, and I shoved him away.
“Keep your hands off me!” I rubbed a welt on my face.
Pete rolled his eyes. “Then stop being a damned fool! Have you learned nothing from your father’s fate? Or did he also neglect to school you on how curses take root?” He pointed, accusing the glorious bean. “By touching seeds like that.”
Oh, Goddess, am I an idiot?
Uncle Neel had aptly warned us how enticing curse seeds were to fae. Seeing one in person, I should’ve guessed what it was. Anything that bewitching had to be diabolical.
I frowned, still rubbing my cheek.
“You blasted Dananns and your wicked games,” Pete grumbled, urging me from the would-be disaster. “Your kind loves setting traps like that. Not typically on one of their own—but you’d certainly suffice.”
I shook my head, bewildered, as we walked. “Why would someone trap a stranger into a blood curse? Aren’t those usually about revenge?”
“Aye, but I reckon that seed doesn’t sprout a blood curse.” Pete paused. “There are other kinds, ken?”
I hoped my sneer masked my ignorance. “Of course—I ken that.”
His heavy sigh told me he wasn’t buying my act. He strode onward without calling me out. Although, he did continue educating me. “I’d wager that seed sprouts a trystic curse, which doesn’t summon a harbinger, by the by. Most curses don’t if you were curious. Only death and blood curses summon us.”
We’d been spending too much time together if he could guess my thoughts.
“Trystics are for sport, to entrap some unsuspecting halfwit—”
I sniffed at the jibe, though I didn’t expect an apology.
“—so the caster may commit sinful animal acts upon their victim without struggle. Did I not warn you to be wary of such things?”
My pout widened into stupefaction. “You mean that seed could’ve—”
“Subdued you into a meek lack for some lecher? Aye. It happens frequently.”
Taking his meaning despite his unfamiliar vocab, I cringed, then shivered.Damnit, what iswrongwith this world?
“On the whole, however, curses of that ilk are merciful.”
Only a man would liken being magically roofied as merciful.
“In comparison, it’s mercy,” he amended, his mouth taking a grim slant. “At least with trystics, the victims return unscathed to their own lives—after a brief spell trapped under some rutting git, albeit.”
Uck! Can he be any more blasé?
