Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse (19 page)

She nearly turned back to her dirt bed when her original theory reared its head.

"Okay, Mike, stop.
 
That's enough."

Mike didn't stop.
 
He forcefully pulled her shirt over her head.

"Damnit, Mike, I said stop!"

"For fuck's sake, Dana.
 
Stop being a tease.
 
You want this just as much as I do."

"Mike…."

Her voice trailed off.
 
There were no more words, only struggling.
 
Mike didn't bother with her bra.
 
He tried to pin both of Dana's hands in place while he fumbled with the clasp on her jeans.
 
He couldn't secure her second hand, which she used to smack him across the face.
 
The blow only angered him, and he struck back, knocking her senseless.
 
Dana cried out and tried to drag herself away, but Mike threw his weight on her, returning his attention to her jeans.

Marie fought with herself on what to do.

The thought crossed her mind to simply do nothing at all.
 
Nothing good would come for her if she intervened.
 
If she scared Mike off as a werewolf, then there was a monstrous, terrible creature running loose in the woods.
 
Not everyone would believe him, but some would.
 
If she changed back into a human, then there was a crazy naked woman running around, with a recognizable face.

Marie licked her lips.
 
The thought of doing nothing only lasted three seconds.
 
Becoming a werewolf didn't completely change who she was.
 
She didn't need to be human to be a good person.

She leapt from the side of the ridge, away from the couple, completely sailing over a tree.
 
Her paws stung only for a moment when she hit the ground, in between two bushes.
 
The change overtook her.
 
Bestial growling turned into quiet moaning.
 
Hind legs shifted into bare feet and thighs.

Near the end of her change, she willed it to slow down.

Not many werewolves were capable of manipulating the change.
 
They either lacked the focus, the willpower, or they simply didn't care.
 
From what she understood from ten-year-old rumors, there were even werewolves out there that thought they were mindless beasts, controlled by the full moon.
 
Utter nonsense.
 
Marie told herself when she was first turned that she'd control the werewolf, not the other way around.

She rose on human legs, still a little wobbly.
 
The shadows in the trees kept her out of sight.
 
Mike and Dana still fought up ahead, with Mike getting the better of her.
 
Her jeans were pulled halfway down, her panties ripped away and discarded.
 
She cried and kicked as Mike struck her again.
 
He turned his attention to his own jeans.

Marie stepped out of the shadows and walked forward, calmly, but with purpose.
 
Neither human saw her.

Violently, she raked down his bare back, from the top of his shoulders to his left hip.
 
His back arched as he shouted at the top of his lungs.
 
She didn't use human fingernails.
 
Her hands were long, razor-sharp claws.

The claws ripped through his flesh like paper.
 
He collapsed on top of her and rolled to the side.
 
Dana was screaming as well from sheer terror.
 
She scooted backwards wildly, kicking up sand and dirt.

Marie was surprised when Mike climbed to his feet.
 
She could smell the blood, see it dripping down his jeans.
 
His eyes were wild as they traveled along her naked body.
 
Rage overwrote all rational thought.

"You fucking bitch!"

He cocked his fist back, but compared to Marie, he had the speed of an infant.
 
She went a little easier the second time; she didn't want to kill him.
 
His chest had three claw marks stretching from rib to chest before he could take a step.

Rage quickly gave way to pain and fear, and Mike ran.
 
He didn't bother checking on Dana, his girlfriend, intended victim, whatever she was.
 
Disappearing into the woods, he didn't even bother getting his shirt.

Marie locked eyes with Dana.

The young woman was nearly in a state of shock.
 
She clutched her shirt to her chest, covering her breasts.
 
A bruise was forming under her eye, which would definitely hurt in the morning.
 
Marie breathed deeply, calming her own nerves.
 
Dana jumped when Marie looked down at the torn panties in the grass.

Marie winced as her fingers popped and cracked.
 
The claws folded into her fingertips, the digits growing shorter.
 
She reached down, scooped the panties in one finger, and tossed them lightly at Dana.

"You might want to think twice about your next boyfriend."

Dana said nothing.
 
Marie smirked at the thought of how she looked.
 
Completely nude, her strawberry blond hair stopping just at the shoulders.
 
Her right side was covered in dirt, the side she lay on during a change.

Dana stood up and ran.
 
She took the same path Mike took, and didn't look back.

Marie put her hands on her hips and laughed.
 
A cool breeze blew across the lake, catching her by surprise.
 
Goosebumps rippled all over her body.
 
She crossed her arms as she leaned against a nearby tree, staring out across the water.
 
If nothing else, maybe the humans would stay away from her lake for a while.

"Still, not a bad night."

A loud banging pulled Jack from his sleep.
 
He rolled to one side, throwing the blankets off.
 
A wonderful sensation came over him as a small smile took hold.

He was groggy.

Sleeping was amazing.

Wakefulness hadn't quite gripped him when his foot touched something hairy at the bottom of the bed.
 
Ridiculous post-sleep thoughts swam in his head.

Did they buy a dog?
 
Did his feet grow hair?
 
Did he have a one-nighter with an Ewok who refused to leave?

He managed to open his eyes.
 
A head of brown hair slowly slid into focus.
 
A tiny arm.
 
Spongebob pajamas.

"Tiff?
 
What the hell?"

Tiffany lay the wrong way across the bed.
 
Her feet hung off one side.
 
One arm was draped over the end.
 
One errant roll would send her to the floor.

"Sorry," she said, rousing from sleep.
 
"I had a bad dream."

Jack sighed.
 
They would have to address that somehow.

"How the hell do you sleep like that?"

"I don't know.
 
I just do."

The loud banging came again.

"I think someone's at the door," Tiffany said.

"This early in the morning?"

"It's nine o'clock, Dad."

"Well, go answer it then.
 
And if it's another one of those goddamn Girl Scouts, tell them to take their overpriced bullshit and go work a corner somewhere.
 
Unless they've got thin mints.
 
Thin mints are okay."

Tiffany hit the floor with a thump and left the bedroom.
 
Jack tried to shake away the cobwebs.
 
He immediately reached for his pocket-watch on the nightstand.
 
If his sleep was interrupted before the magical countdown finished, the pocket-watch would take a hold of him once again.
 
He only had a few minutes to reset the hands to twelve o'clock, to cancel the countdown.

His dream journal sat next to the pocket-watch.
 
He grabbed it and quickly scribbled his dreams on paper, to have a record.
 
They were already fading away, the world of the awake taking over.
 
But some scenes were still there, like fractured movie clips.

Some mundane acts, mixed with the nonsensical.
 
Cooking dinner for Tiffany in a warped version of his kitchen.
 
The garden was inside, near the back door, instead of where it was supposed to be.
 
The breakfast bar was two feet high.
 
He took her to school, but there was no one else inside.
 
For whatever reason, inside the land of dreams, that was perfectly normal, and Jack sat in the empty classroom with his daughter.

There was also a not-so-mundane dream.
 
Namely, sex with Angela in his own bed.

Angela, the witch who cursed him nearly two centuries ago.
 
She'd been killed at the hands of an angry mob, the same mob that tried to kill him before he slaughtered all of them.
 
He felt nothing for her, certainly didn't give her a thought during his day.
 
Erica was the woman he wanted to reconcile with.
 
Yet, in whatever area of the brain controlled dreamland, Angela was there.
 
Having rigorous sex inside his own home, where he let so few people in.

Jack shook his head as he reviewed the dream journal.
 
He'd never experienced what mortals called
being high
.
 
He tried many illegal drugs in the past, hoping they'd counteract his curse somehow, but none of them did.
 
They had no effect.
 
He'd never understand mortals who threw their lives and fortunes away for the quest of getting high.
 
If they wanted to experience an altered state of mind so badly, why not just go to sleep?
 
There was nothing in the world like it.

"Jack!" Tiffany shouted.
 
"It's Miss Hernandez."

His eyes shot open.
 
Erica.
 
They hadn't spoken in weeks.
 
There was only awkwardness between them now.
 
Jack dropped Tiffany off at school every morning, and Erica watched the playground.
 
There were a few glances here and there, but Erica made no move to talk to him at all.
 
She didn't approach him, didn't call him on the phone.
 
She was very serious when she told him to leave her alone, and he followed her order.

But she was now at his house, and he was barely awake.

He slipped on a pair of jeans over his boxers and grabbed an old shirt from the basket in the corner.
 
He gave the mirror a quick glance as he grabbed a pair of sandals, thinking he should look himself over.
 
The idea flew away with a sarcastic smile.
 
Erica was angry at him for killing people, among many other reasons.
 
It was doubtful a primping in the mirror would help much.

Other people apparently felt differently.

Tiffany burst into the bedroom, her eyes wide.
 
She was sucking in air from the run up the stairs.
 
Resting against the door frame, she looked her father up and down.

"Okay," she said, whispering confidentially.
 
"She's downstairs in the kitchen.
 
You're not wearing
that
, are you?"

Jack held in a smile.
 
"And what do you think I should wear?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed, as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, and marched to the corner basket.
 
She picked through his shirts.

"No…not that one.
 
Eh, maybe…no, this one's ugly.
 
Ah!"
 
She held up a collared gray shirt with short sleeves.
 
"Perfect!"

He slipped out of his shirt and grabbed Tiffany's choice.
 
She continued on as he dressed.

"Okay, be nice.
 
And smile at her a lot.
 
Maybe cook her something to eat.
 
Your hair is messy."
 
She grabbed a brush from the dresser.
 
"Lean down so I can brush it."

"Uh, no, that's okay."

She shrugged.
 
"Whatever.
 
I'm just trying to make you cute."

"I'm
always
cute."

"Yeah, you are.
 
But I have to say that because you're my Dad."

Jack smiled and knelt in front of her.
 
At that moment, he wondered who she resembled more, her mother or father.

"Erica and I have to talk about some private things.
 
So please, stay in your room, okay?
 
Just for a little bit.
 
Watch a movie or TV or something."

She pouted.
 
"Will you tell me what you talk about later?"

"Probably not everything, but yeah, we'll talk."

"Okay."
 
She surprised him with a hug and kiss on the cheek.
 
"Good luck, Daddy."

He watched his daughter leave and head to her bedroom.
 
Her footsteps were quiet down the hall, followed by her door shutting.
 
It was moments like those that Jack wanted to lock away forever.

Erica sat at the breakfast bar.
 
Seeing her in sweatpants and sandals, with a loose fitting tee shirt, made him realize how much he'd missed her.
 
She flashed him a nervous smile, resting her hands on the counter.
 
She crossed her legs and fidgeted.
 
He could see in her eyes she'd have rather been anywhere else.