The Ardennes Curse (The Woolven Secret) by Saranna DeWylde

Author:Saranna DeWylde [DeWylde, Saranna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Corvus Corax
Published: 2015-11-26T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Later that evening, he was still reeling from the experience in the forest.

“I think we need to talk to the Calavari Three,” she said at last.

“They’re in Prague, aren’t they?”

“Yes. I want to go, since I’ve seen her. The witch. But I don’t trust that I won’t Change.”

“I think we’re past that now, Victoria.” It pained him to say it, ripped a hole inside of him that would be empty forever if he couldn’t break the Curse. “You crossed the borders of Malfleur.”

“You won’t let me hurt anyone, right?”

This was where he would fail. He knew it. He would choose her over the pack. He would choose her over himself. He would choose her over the world.

And so he lied. “I won’t let you hurt anyone. I swear it.”

The bright burning hope inside of him flickered and dimmed just a little bit, but it would be the beginning of the end.

“Then I suppose I should get a bag.”

If not for the Curse, he’d want to take her on an adventure. He’d suggest they run to Prague as wolves, under the clear night sky with only the Goddess’s kiss on their flesh.

But if not for the Curse, they’d have no reason to go to Prague.

The witches would want tribute. They loved gold, but if he offered that first, they’d be offended.

So what did one gift to a three-headed oracle?

An iPod with three earphone ports?

Pack it to the gills with Stevie Nicks and Enya?

A Magic 8 ball?

A Ouija board?

No, he knew just the thing. He got a small container and approached the carnivorous flower for which the town had been named. He thrust his fingers deep into the earth, communing with the roots and magic.

The dark petals unfurled and the bloom seemed to be looking at him, waiting. So he made a gash along his palm that began to heal even before he was done cutting. Blood welled slowly, almost as if it were reluctant to leave his body. He flung it toward the plant, and the bloom snapped shut.

A great root thrust up from the dirt, seeming to offer the same. Something thick, purple and viscous bubbled up from where the plant split itself. He held up the small vial and the substance obediently crawled inside.

What witch could say they had the blood of the Malfleur?

The Calavari Three, after tomorrow.

He hoped he was doing the right thing.

Armand couldn’t deny he was looking forward to the trip. He hated being a car that long, but being trapped with her in the back of an Escalade with reinforced doors and a privacy wall meant to protect the driver from whatever they could throw at him?

For a moment, he let himself wonder what it would be like if he did break the Curse. He would have everything he dreamed of. How was he supposed to let go of hope?

He didn’t want to learn that, he didn’t want his people to learn that.

His cell rang. It was Marchessa, his father’s mate.

The one who’d given him his life when she’d bitten him and infected him with the silver aberration.

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