The Cursed Bloodline Book 2: The Broken Oath
Автор
Salem Morgan
Прочтений
156K
Глав
48
Chapter 1
Book 2: Broken Oath
LUXURY
The world was quiet. For once.
Selene lay curled beside me, her head resting on my chest, her skin flushed warm and glowing from sleep. I had my hand splayed over the gentle rise of her belly, where our twin pups were curled up inside her—safe, perfect, ours.
The bond between us pulsed with contentment. Even in sleep, she reached for me, anchored by instinct alone.
Her hair was a wild tumble of black silk against my skin, and every time she moved slightly, the curve of her body—ripe and full with our children—had my chest tightening with a different kind of hunger.
I’d never wanted anything the way I wanted her like this.
Not just the aching need to touch her, to claim her again and again, but the deeper craving to keep her wrapped in this peace. Protected. Worshiped. Whole.
She stirred, lips brushing my collarbone. “I think they’re kicking again,” she murmured sleepily, her voice like smoke and honey.
I smiled and kissed the top of her head. “They know their father’s home.”
“Mm,” she hummed. “Either that or they’re already fighting in there.”
“They’re mine,” I said, “so both.”
She laughed, the sound low and full, then went still—like she could hear something I couldn’t.
And then I felt it too.
The bond snapped taut.
“Alpha. Where is he?” Erik’s voice cut like a blade across the pack link—sharp, strained, and laced with something I hadn’t heard from him in years.
Fear.
I sat up fast, nearly jolting Selene from the bed. “Who?” I linked back, already reaching for the clothes draped on the chair near the door.
“My brother. Cain. He’s gone, Lux. No one’s seen him since sunset. He didn’t come home. He’s not answering.”
Selene’s amber eyes met mine instantly. She was wide awake now. “How bad is it?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I just kissed her, hard and fast, and slid my hand over the roundness of her stomach one last time before heading out the door.
Because I already knew—it was bad.
The door to my wing slammed behind me, and when I finally got out into the fresh air, the sky was split open. Rain poured like the gods were punishing the earth, thick and hard, soaking me through in seconds.
The cold didn’t matter, not compared to the gut-deep dread starting to pulse through my veins.
Cain was sixteen, having just recently shifted for the first time, and was still in training. Still figuring out what kind of wolf he was going to become.
Erik had been rough on him, didn’t even acknowledge him until he got his wolf, but was never unfair. The kid was strong. Loyal. Eager to prove himself.
And now, he was gone.
The downpour made everything harder. Mud sucked at my boots as I stalked toward the tree line where Erik was already waiting, his shoulders squared like he was holding back a scream.
“Anything?” I asked.
He didn’t turn, just kept staring into the woods like he could will his brother to walk back out of them.
“There was a trail,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “One of the guards caught it for a second near the training grounds, but the rain—”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
I already knew. Whatever scent Cain left behind had been swallowed by the storm.
I lifted my head and inhaled, trying to pick up something—anything. But the wind was wrong, and the scent of wet earth and pine choked everything out.
I hated this. Hated the sick twist in my gut, the cold realization curling under my ribs.
I couldn’t track for shit anymore.
Not like I used to.
When I was blind, my other senses had sharpened like blades. I’d learned to hear the difference in breath patterns, taste adrenaline on the air, feel footsteps in the soil like whispers in my bones.
But sight—sight had made me comfortable.
And comfort made me soft.
No one said it out loud. No one dared. But I felt it every time I failed to notice something first. Every time someone else beat me to the threat.
I flexed my hands at my sides, trying to shove the self-loathing down. Not now. Not when Erik was unraveling beside me.
“I’ll help you find him,” I said, my voice low and steady. “We’ll find him.”
Erik finally turned. His eyes—usually so unreadable—burned with something raw.
“He’s just a kid, Lux. He’s my baby brother. If someone took him… Hunters…” His voice cracked, but he didn’t look away. “I’ll kill them.”
I nodded once. No false comfort. No empty promises. “Then let’s go hunting.”
The forest bled into mist the deeper we went, the trees older here, warped and leaning with age and power. The rain had dulled to a steady drizzle, but everything dripped, soaked, and silent.
This land was different. Always had been.
The air buzzed faintly with something more than magical wards to keep us separate from regular society… Memory, maybe. Pain. A residue from what my father did here, and its cure.
I owed the witches for that. For what they helped undo. For what they gave me back.
Erik, on the other hand, would rather swallow glass than say thank you to a witch.
“We shouldn’t be here,” he muttered beside me, scowling as we crossed the faded boundary stones that marked the edge of their newly established protected land.
“They’re our only shot,” I reminded him.
“They’re not ours,” he snapped. “They’re just mortals who play with fire and think it makes them gods.”
I didn’t respond. Not because he was right—but because the truth was, Erik always got like this near witches. Short fused. Tight lipped. Like his skin didn’t fit right.
The scent of lavender and smoke curled around us before we saw them. Three witches stood in a half circle just beyond the clearing, each shrouded in a reddish-purple velvet cloak, eyes aglow in that not-quite-human way that made even seasoned wolves hesitate.
And behind them, standing apart, was a younger witch, definitely new to the coven. She leaned against an ancient tree like she had all the time in the world. Dark-brown skin that shimmered like honey in moonlight, long braids draped over one shoulder, eyes the color of storm-soaked moss.
She was watching me.
Not just looking—watching.
Like she saw something I hadn’t noticed about myself yet.
“Alpha Theron,” said one of the elder witches. Madame Verda’s second; I recognized her as Mora. Cool, reserved, with a permanent air of disapproval. “Your scent still clings to this land.”
“I’m not here to disturb any of you,” I said. “We just need help.”
Mora’s gaze flicked to Erik, then narrowed. “You brought him.”
“You’re damn right he did,” Erik growled. “And if you witches know anything about my brother—”
“Erik,” I snapped, my voice sharp. “Shut up.”
He did—barely.
I turned back to Mora. “Cain is missing. He’s sixteen. He’s not part of whatever bloodlines or bullshit still stains this place. He’s just a kid. We’ve searched everywhere. If he came through here—if anything touched this land that had to do with him—please, help us find it.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then the younger witch stepped forward—the one who’d been watching me. She cocked her head slightly, a smile teasing the corner of her mouth. “I could do a memory walk,” she said, her voice warm and smooth like velvet over steel. “But I’ll need something of his. Something personal. Tied to him.”
“Screw it. I’ll get it,” Erik said instantly, already turning to go.
“You’ll need to be fast,” Mora said flatly. “The threads of memory are slippery things, especially in rain.”
Erik shifted then, not wasting another second, and his wolf vanished into the woods without another word.
I was left standing in the circle of witches.
The younger one stepped closer. Close enough that I caught the scent of mint and rosewater on her skin.
“What’s your name?” I asked her, careful not to let my gaze linger too long. She was striking—and she knew it.
“Thalia Nocthrae,” she said. “But I think you already felt that.”
My brow twitched. “Felt what?”
She just smiled, wide and knowing, and walked past me, fingertips brushing lightly against my arm as she moved toward the clearing.
“Relax, Alpha,” she murmured as she passed. “I’m not trying to seduce you.” Then, quieter: “Yet.”
I stared after her for a second too long, confusion wrapping around my senses. Damn witches.
Suddenly, Selene’s voice slammed into my chest like thunder, sharp and hot through the bond. “Don’t make me waddle my pregnant ass out there. Kora and I are THIS close to doing it!”
I blinked, inhaled, and shook off whatever spell Thalia had been trying to cast. “What?”
“Luxury Dane Theron, you heard me.”
I flinched. Full name. Never a good sign.
“She just brushed past me—”
Her presence crackled through the bond—fiery, furious, and yes, a little hurt. “And your dumbass stood there like a wolf with his tongue out. Do you not realize I can feel you, Lux? I feel everything you feel, remember? You’re confused, and slightly turned on, and I swear to the Goddess if you don’t shift that attention back where it belongs—”
“Selene,” I cut in, “you’re the only thing I want. Always.”
She huffed a loud sigh. “Then maybe stop gawking at females who smell like temptation and poor decisions.”
I almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, I pulled the bond tighter between us, let her feel it—really feel it. The tether of my heart to hers. The heat in my chest that flared not from lust, but from guilt, then love.
And then steady, focused purpose.
“You are my mate,” I said, with everything I had. “My luna. My home. My end.”
There was a pause, a quiet exhale across the link, then, more tenderly: “Good answer, Alpha.” Followed by a sharp little jab: “Just don’t make me come out there in this storm, swollen and barefoot, to drag you back by what’s left of your pride.”
I bit my lip. “Yes, my luna.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The bond settled again, her presence drawing back like a tide, but not before brushing affectionately across my mind, a warm reminder of exactly who I belonged to.
I turned back toward the witches, shaking the water from my hair and dragging my focus to the task ahead.
Cain Blackmoor was still out there.
And even if I had to deal with Erik’s temper, witch politics, and flirty spellcasters—I was going to bring him home.
