The Curse (Belador #3)
Sherrilyn Kenyon & Dianna Love
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FROM SHERRILYN AND DIANNA
Thank you to our family, friends, and fans. We love you all and couldn’t do this without you! You are the best!
A special hug for our husbands, whose endless support means the world to us … and we so appreciate the great food! A special thanks go to Cassondra Murray and Mary Buckham for beta reads and terrific feedback, plus being major support at any time, day or night.
A major thank-you to Louise Burke, a publisher whose enthusiasm is only surpassed by her genius, and thank you to our talented editor, Lauren McKenna, who is a joy to work with because of her commitment to publishing a great story. We want to send another high-five to the Pocket Art Department, which has once again outdone themselves on giving us a fabulous cover and for the great banner ads, and we appreciate Robert Gottlieb’s outstanding guidance and managing of our projects.
Last, and never least, we want to thank the readers who come out to see us in every city, send encouraging messages that touch our hearts, and read our stories so that we may continue doing what we love. You mean the world to us.
We look forward to hearing from you anytime at [email protected], or stop by www.SherrilynKenyon.com and www.AuthorDiannaLove.com, and make sure to visit the “Reader Lounge” at Dianna Love’s Fan Page on Facebook, where you’ll find free Belador items and scavenger hunts.
Cathbad the Druid doth bind Queen Medb By vow thus struck with blood and blade Birth afore death and death afore birth The last shalt rise afore the first That by fair child of Findabair Medb queens shalt rule the tower lair Twenty score years and sixty-six days Not one more breath shalt they take Until such time the beast doth rise Of ancient blood and flame green eyes And bring to power a queen once more Immortal to rule as none afore.
—Prophecy of Cathbad the Druid
ONE
Answer me or accept death,” a female demanded.
The smooth texture of her voice was familiar to him, but not the dangerous edge in her tone. Storm floated in a timeless cocoon of peaceful darkness, content to stay here if not for that disturbing ultimatum.
“This is your last chance,” she snapped at him, fury powering her words. “I would never have thought you a coward when it came to facing pain, Storm. Speak now or prepare for eternity.”
Time. Pain. Death.
Understanding crept into his wavering consciousness. He focused on his body, or lack of one now that he identified this murky sensation as being suspended between life and death. He’d been here once years ago, as a teen.
Threads of awareness pulled together, weaving a tapestry until an image formed of the woman speaking. Kai.
Storm forced his heavy eyelids open to find her. His guardian spirit sat with crossed legs, surrounded by her favorite meadow, where he always met her. He sat in the same position across from her. Acres of wildflowers swayed gently in a soft breeze that swirled with the fresh scent of outdoors. Sunshine blazed overhead, showering golden light across Kai’s honey-colored skin and coal-black hair that fell past her waist, sliding over the butter-soft deerskin dress. She sometimes took the form of a shriveled crone. He preferred this younger Kai.
Still fighting his way through a haze of confusion, Storm found comfort in seeing the Southwestern Native blanket she used as a shawl. The colors of a sunset woven in the wrap reminded him of one he owned.
His thoughts bumped into each other, knocking loose a memory here and there. Such as, that this realm was always a sanctuary, a welcoming place.
It didn’t feel like that now.
Kai existed only in the spirit world. Storm didn’t recall initiating this visit. That was not normal. Something had happened to him, to his physical body.
He wasn’t here by choice.
She folded her delicate arms. Worry lingered in her doe-brown eyes. “I have given you all the time I can.”
Though simple, her words were weighted with a finality that washed away the last of his mental fog. He asked, “Am I dying?”
“Yes.”
“But I have a choice?”
“You do.”
“Good.”
“Perhaps,” she amended.
Less good. “How damaged is my physical body?”
“Your human form is close to expiring. I have fought to prevent your spirit from crossing over for three weeks, but—”
“Three weeks? Am I in a coma?”
“You were, but no longer.”
He searched his mind, poking at dark corners to open doors to his past. Nobody wanted to die, but he had a strong sense that he had a duty to stay alive, odd as that sounded. Why? “What happened to me?”
“You were attacked, mortally injured. Your spirit burst into my realm, pleading for me to keep you alive, shouting why you must return to the human world. It has been a battle to grant your wish to this point.”
Images sheared past the inside of his eyes. His body crashing into a brick wall. Bones shattering. Internal organs exploding from the force.
But not in his human form.
He’d been a black jaguar.
Strange. He’d refused to shift into a jaguar for many years. Why now?
A new image surfaced. Glowing green eyes on a woman who sent his senses into overdrive. An Alterant.