Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse (40 page)

"She saved my life!"

"Get away from her!"

Despite the heroic rescue, Dana did what she was told.
 
She approached the two men as Marie pulled herself to her knees.
 
Her reasons for not killing them seemed so far away.

"See!
 
I told you!" Mike said, pushing Billy's shoulder.
 
"She's some kind of lunie, escaped from a mental hospital."

"That goddamn thing is still around here somewhere," Billy said, looking around.
 
"We have to go."

Mike ran a hand along his shirt, still feeling the wounds that were only beginning to heal.

"I told you what I would do if I saw her."

He took a step forward, aiming the gun.

"Mike, no!"

Dana grabbed his arm as he pulled the trigger.
 
The bullet missed its target, but still slammed into Marie's shoulder.
 
She clenched her eyes shut and went to the ground.
 
Bullets had no trouble penetrating her human form.

Dana put a hand to her mouth as she stood motionless, stunned.
 
Billy approached Mike and grabbed his shoulder.

"Mike, you just shot someone."

"What are we gonna do?
 
We have to take her to the hospital," Dana said.

"The hospital," Mike said.
 
"So she can say we attempted to murder her?
 
No.
 
There's only one thing left to do."

He leveled the gun at Marie's head.
 
She looked up at him and snarled.
 
She was going to rip them all to pieces, limb from limb.

Marie's breath hitched when a familiar scent wafted through the woods.
 
She'd only smelled it once before, but it would always stick.
 
Chocolate, cherry, roses.

"Oh my God," Billy said, grabbing his hair.
 
"We're gonna get in so much trouble."

A voice she'd never heard before.

"I'd say it's too late for that."

The man stepped out of the tree line, out of the darkness.
 
He carried a large tree limb and marched with a purpose.
 
He didn't hesitate as he swung the limb at the first person he saw, which happened to be Billy.
 
Billy crumpled to the ground, unconscious, as the limb broke across his face.
 
Mike fired the gun wildly, but the man didn't slow or flinch as he yanked it from Mike's hand and beat him with it.
 
Five times, not letting up until Mike was sprawled on his back, his face bruised.
 
Dana tried to run, but he showed her no mercy as well.
 
He grabbed her in mid-stride and wrapped an arm under her chin, cutting off her air supply.
 
The fight left her, and he didn't even bother easing her to the ground.
 
He let her drop with a thud.

Marie pulled herself to a knee and closed her eyes, focusing on her ears.
 
She listened for heartbeats, and despite her anger, was relieved when everyone was accounted for.

She looked up at the new arrival.
 
He didn't bother offering her a hand.
 
He certainly wasn't dressed for a stroll in the woods.
 
Black jeans, with a white button-up dress shirt, open at the collar, with a nice coat.
 
Very dapper.
 
That heavenly scent of his was nearly distracting.

His eyes traveled over her naked body, but there was no lust in them.
 
He was studying her, dissecting her, like she was doing to him.
 
She looked at the three humans nearby, almost like a crime scene.
 
The stranger's brutal efficiency was frightening, but also fascinating.

She pulled herself to her feet.
 
Her shoulder stung, and she could feel the bullet in her.
 
She tried to stand with the moon behind her, to keep her in shadow.
 
Werewolf or not, she still had her modesty, and wasn't comfortable with the stranger eying her nude body.

"You could have killed them," she said.

He shrugged.
 
"I don't care.
 
Do you?"

Marie said nothing.
 
She wasn't an expert at interrogations, but knew the man was taking her in, learning everything about her.
 
She needed to do the same, and figured the best way to do that was let him start the conversation.

Was he an enemy or a friend?

"So," he said.
 
"Someone let you off your leash?"

He knew.
 
He knew she was a werewolf.
 
She suddenly felt very exposed, and her lack of clothes didn't help.

Still, the humor wasn't lost on her.

"That's hilarious.
 
You know, because I'm a werewolf.
 
I haven't heard any dog jokes in my life at all."

"That's good, because I've got a million of them."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I wasn't."

They were quiet a moment, continuing to stare at each other.

"Well," Marie said.
 
"May I ask your name?"

"Jack."

"Nice to meet you, Jack.
 
I'm Marie."

"I knew that."

"I imagine you did.
 
I would shake your hand, but you know, I'm a little naked here.
 
I'm not exactly comfortable throwing my body in your face."

"Don't worry about it.
 
I wasn't going to shake your hand, anyway."

"Ah, a real gentleman.
 
That was actually a test.
 
I wanted to see if you'd offer me your coat."

"You could have just asked, and I would have told you no.
 
This is
my
coat.
 
Get your own.
 
Or don't go chasing cars naked in the woods.
 
Either way works."

"Just trying to keep me naked to admire me?"

"Reverse psychology.
 
Nice try, but don't flatter yourself.
 
I've seen plenty of women naked."
 
His eyes traveled her once again, brazenly this time.
 
"Your body isn't better than any other."

Jack turned and walked away.
 
Marie was stunned.
 
Was that the end of the conversation?
 
She was curious, apprehensive, slightly insulted.
 
Not at the comment about her figure, but the lack of an explanation.

She followed him, leaving the humans behind.

"So, Jack," she said.
 
"Why do I get the feeling I won't like you very much?"

"Probably because I'm an asshole.
 
Don't worry, I'm not offended.
 
You'll really hate me after this.
 
I'm the one who destroyed your bar."

Marie stopped.
 
Jack walked a few more steps, until he realized she was no longer following him.
 
He turned to face her, his body a silhouette in the woods.
 
She clenched and opened her fists, trying to control her breathing.
 
Conscious thought had left her.
 
Pure emotion coursed through her.

"Destroyed might be too strong a word," Jack said.
 
"The fire was an accident.
 
I just didn't exactly rush to call 911, if you get what I'm saying."

Marie was silent.

"It really wasn't that great a bar, anyway," he continued.
 
"It was just okay.
 
But it didn't even have a real jukebox—"

She attacked.
 
Her hands had completed the change to claws before she reached him.
 
Her teeth grew, her jaw dislocated.
 
She slammed Jack against a nearby tree.
 
He didn't have the speed to dodge.
 
The blow should have knocked him senseless, but it didn't.
 
With her night vision, she could see the panic in his eyes, but it had nothing to do with his well-being.

"Not the shirt!" he said.
 
"That clown back there didn't hit it!
 
Don't ruin the shirt—!"

She raked a claw down his chest, slicing through his coat and shirt.
 
Pushing his head to the side, she bit into his shoulder.
 
Her teeth sank into his flesh, but nowhere near as far as they should have.
 
Through her rage, she realized his blood tasted delicious, even without werewolf taste buds.
 
She shook violently, trying to rip his shoulder off, but she did nothing.
 
Furious, she raked once again across his face and tossed him.
 
He sailed through the air, his back slamming into a tree.

He looked up from the ground with anger.
 
He wasn't hurt, and that only enraged her further.

"You fucking bitch," he said.
 
He looked down at his shirt and coat.
 
"Do you feel better now, Lassie?
 
Do I need to hit you with a newspaper—?"

She was on him again.
 
She grabbed him, his entire face fitting in one claw, and rammed his head into the tree.
 
There was no blood, no crushing of bone.
 
He didn't make a single noise.
 
Her legs broke, and she cried out at the unexpected pain.
 
The bullet popped from her shoulder.
 
The change was upon her, and she didn't wish for it.
 
An uncontrollable change.
 
It'd been decades since she'd experienced one.

"We can do this all night," Jack said.
 
"You can bite me, beat me, hump my leg.
 
The only thing you'll accomplish is ruining my clothes.
 
Which you've done.
 
I hope you're proud."

He stood up, but Marie couldn't join him.
 
Her muscles started to shift and stretch.
 
Her face elongated.

"Oh, wow," Jack said, kneeling next to her as she convulsed on her side.
 
"I've killed enough of you werewolves to know a bit about you.
 
When you change against your will, isn't that like pissing in the house?
 
You guys get real embarrassed about that, right?
 
It's a sign of not being in control, like you're a puppy all over again.
 
Premature ejaculation, if you will."

She looked up at him.
 
"Fuck…you."

"No, fuck
you
.
 
Look at what you did to my clothes."

Marie fought the change.
 
She kept her eyes locked on Jack.
 
He looked down at her with an amused expression.
 
She wanted to reach out and rip his throat out.
 
She fought the urge, fought the werewolf.
 
She was in control of the werewolf, not the other way around.
 
Tears ran down her face at the agony.
 
Her claws turned back into hands.
 
Her jaw and teeth shrank.

She sat on her hands and knees, her hair hanging past her face.
 
She took deep breaths, slowly regaining control.
 
Strangely, his wonderful scent helped.
 
She was conscious of the fact her bare ass was pointing in the air.

"Listen very closely, because I don't say this kind of thing often.
 
I'm impressed.
 
I don't think I've ever seen that before."

Marie slowly stood up.
 
Jack again didn't help her.
 
He shrugged out of his coat and held it out.
 
She eyed it carefully.

"You might as well take it now," he said.
 
"You've already ruined it."

Without a word, she accepted it and slipped in on.
 
Her breasts poked through the tears, but it was better than nothing.
 
She wanted to lean against a tree, but refused to show how exhausted she was.

"I have an acquaintance that can cure werewolves, ya know."

Marie eyed him curiously.
 
"Why would I want a cure?
 
I love who I am."

Jack smiled, and Marie found herself smiling back.
 
There was something there she had trouble recognizing.
 
Respect, maybe.

"Let's try this conversation again.
 
Don't make me get out the muzzle."

"More dog jokes.
 
Hilarious."

"I'm not mortal."

"Yes, you are.
 
You're the most delicious smelling mortal I've ever come across."

"I, uh, don't know how I feel about that.
 
But I'm not.
 
I was born mortal, but I've been cursed by a witch."

"What?
 
A witch?
 
They aren't real."

"And neither are werewolves.
 
Anyway, like I was saying, I can't be killed, so don't even try.
 
See?"
 
He held out his arms, exposed his face.
 
"Your little hissy fit?
 
Not a single mark."

A wave of sadness came over her, which she welcomed instead of the rage.

"Who the hell are you, Jack?
 
Why are you here?
 
Did you track me down just to tell me you killed my bar?"

"Nah.
 
I was actually here to kill you.
 
But looking at you for ten seconds…I can tell you didn't try to kill me, or kill Erica."

"Kill you?
 
Kill Erica?
 
Who the hell told you that?"