A Curse So Vile: Devoured By Dusk, #2

By Lark Anderson

Cursed as a child, Brenna is determined to undo her misfortune at all costs. But when a witch foretells that her fate is in the hands of a strange man from the Heartlands, she finds the answers to her many questions aren't so clear.

 

Twice the size of most men, Cole doesn't look like the type of person who could undo a hex, but she can think of a few salacious things she would like to use him for.

 

Unfortunately, she's not the only one with problems, and as the unlikely pair embark on their journey together, she soon discovers that everything she thought she knew is a lie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lark Anderson
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224636402

Book preview

1

BRENNA

Ishould start back, Brenna thought, but she knew she hadn’t the luxury, for that would surely guarantee her death.

Trudging through the blood-red swamp water as she had been for the better part of the day, she wondered if she was close to the witch’s shack. They often dwelt in dark, dank areas, and this particular occultist held true to custom more than most, inhabiting a place so rancid with decaying vegetation and putrid flesh, it made Brenna’s stomach twist.

The sky was still gray, as it always was during the daytime in this portion of the Dusklands, but darkness was creeping ever closer, bringing with it terrors the likes Brenna would rather not meet.

Mosquitos hovered, but none dared approach. It was one benefit of having Denithian blood: mosquitos and parasites didn’t have a taste for it. She was also immune to most poisons and many ailments that came with age.

Unfortunately, the benefits did not extend to curses.

A raven screeched a throaty caw, calling out her trespass, but she persisted nonetheless, determined to put an end to the folly that had plagued her for so long.

There is no end to this. No way out. Pushing forward will only tangle my senses.

But just as she was about to head back, a pinprick of light flickered in the distance, the only beacon of hope she’s had since entering the dastardly Bloodmoor Swamp.

She knew it was foolish to get her hopes up, and that leaving would be safer than continuing, for now. But she was no quitter, and there was too much at stake for her to give up.

The trees shielded her from the wind, but with brisk season approaching, her hair stood on end. Trudging through knee-deep swamp water only made it worse. If she had taken Icaries with her, he would have surely warmed her, but he was not suited for the swamp, so she left him back at the Den.

Snakes watched her from the trees and gnarled roots, surely wondering who could survive this far into the wetlands. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, she would have skinned and roasted one, as she was near starving.

But a full belly would have to wait.

The pinprick grew into a glow, and now Brenna could see the outline of a small shack between a thicket of trees.

Sweet victory.

She exhaled in relief, hoping her plight would soon be over. She passed an alligator on a small patch of land without fear, as they were beginning their cycle of brumation and had no desire of being forced back into the water if things didn’t go their way.

It’s only a little further. I just have to keep going.

The sound of frogs slapping against the wet earth reminded her of lustful sex, something she knew quite a bit about. It had been a good while since she had last known the intimacy of flesh, and she hoped to remedy that soon, when she was finally done with her mission.

The shack sat slanted on a floating dock; it was a wonder it stood at all. A small boat was tied to a pier, its wood broken and warped.

She scrunched her nose. How could anyone live like this?

After arriving at the pier, she climbed a rickety ladder onto the solid surface. The wood beneath her wobbled, almost casting her off.

No wonder it was so hard to find her. Whenever she feels the need to hide, she can move her whole damn house.

She approached the shack on tippy toes, taking great care to be quiet. Because she was from the Dusklands, she could see well in the dark, but her eyes sometimes needed to adjust when there was glowing light against darkness. She squinted, and things slowly came to focus, but when they did, she was horrified by what she saw.

Standing directly in front of her was an alligator, twice as large as any she’d ever seen.

It stared at her through slitted eyes, daring her to step forward.

He doesn’t want a struggle. Not this time of year.

Oh! Excuse me, Sir Toothy, Brenna whispered, stepping lightly around him. I’ll be out of your way soon enough.

As she approached the window, she held her breath because the last thing she wanted was to be spotted before she was ready.

Please let this curse be over with. Haven’t I suffered enough?

Peering through the window of the hovel she saw a table and two chairs, a pot boiling, and shelves filled with all manner of things lining the walls.

Everything had an ancient feel to it, and if it weren’t for the boiling water, she’d have assumed the place was abandoned.

May I help you? came a scratchy voice from behind.

Startled, Brenna pivoted on her heels, hand flying to the dagger in her belt.

A plump woman, half-hidden by the shadows of her cloak, stood by the alligator, arms crossed over her chest.

You’re the swamp witch… Brenna’s voice trailed off because she hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.

And you’re a thief tryna take me wares?

I am no thief!

The woman glared at her. People don’t come all the way out here unless they think I can do something for ‘em. Tell me, girl, what is it ya want?

I’m not a girl.

Ya are ta me.

Brenna saw no benefit to stalling.

As a child, I was cursed. I need to know if it can be broken and hoped that you could help.

Come on in then, but ya better make good company.

Brenna followed the haggard woman into the shack, eyeing her surroundings cautiously.

Now that the woman was bathed in lantern lights, she saw how truly vile she looked. Pale flesh riddled with brown and green spots hung from bones that jutted out at awkward angles where they ought not to. Her gray eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t floating on a sea of yellow where the whites should be, and her strong, hooked nose in the center of her face overwhelmed her otherwise small features.

I was a pretty thing once, like yerself, the haggard woman said. Age hunts ya like a rabid lover, and the longer ya ah in this world, the stronger its cling.

Thanks…um, I’ll keep that in mind.

Take a seat. The hag gestured to a chair. Ain’t got all night, and ye have less time than me.

Brenna didn’t like the implications of the swamp witch’s words, but held her tongue as she didn’t have time for squabbles.

The old woman ran her fingers through her sparse, gray hair. What kinda curse we lookin’ at? A death curse? Bit ‘o bad luck?

Brenna swallowed and downcast her eyes. It’s a blood curse.

Oh, that’s interesting. Cast by a true blood witch? Or a pretender? Might be ye ain’t got the right of it? Many false witches are often cruel, preying on superstition.

I’ve no doubt she was a real and true blood witch.

How can ye be so sure? the hag asked.

The effects are already making themselves known.

The witch set down a bowl and several jars, then took a seat across from Brenna.

Can you help me, or am I just wasting my time? Brenna demanded.

The hag sucked in her lip and huffed. Fine then, let’s get this started. Ye got coin?

Brenna pressed three coppers to the table, sliding them towards the hag. Here, and if you do your job well, a silver will be your tip.

The woman snatched the coins greedily, licking her lips and biting into one before shoving them into her purse.

Now let’s get started. Ole Mother Gammy needs ta see what’s in ya blood. Now give me yer hand.

Brenna obeyed, cringing when clammy flesh took hold of her. The woman pressed the pad of each finger until finally she seemed satisfied and pulled out a dagger.

Brenna tensed but did not pull away. She was used to this by now, as this was her fourteenth visit to a witch in the last five years. Just the fact that she had the dagger put her above half.

The hag pressed the blade to her finger, piercing Brenna’s flesh, then she pinched and pressed until a pearl of blood welled where smooth skin was but a moment ago.

Not a fainter, I see.

The hag brought the finger to her thin lips, sucking the tip, but as the blood touched her tongue, the hag’s face contorted in horror.

You’re Denithian! the crone rasped.

You’re good and true, Brenna said, impressed with the witch.

The witch’s lips quivered. The curse is strong…no—savage.

Surely there must be something that can be done? Brenna pleaded. I’ll do anything. If it’s gold you want, it’s yours.

The woman’s cheeks puffed out, her tongue working its way in and out of her mouth like a maggot. Brenna felt ill just looking at the sickly crone, but she would not divert her eyes. With so many false witches in the world, she’d gladly suffer the dastardly presence of one who’s authentic.

Your troubles run deep—to the very marrow of your bone, the witch said.

Please. Everywhere I go, they tell me stupid things. I’ve drunk so many rancid concoctions. I just—I just… She felt defeated, knowing she had so little time left, and that her best chance at breaking the curse sat across from her looking…cryptic.

Finally, the witch said, Ye been looking in all the wrong places, girl. She rose from her seat, gathered a few scattered jars, and set to work, throwing herbs and powders into an old, chipped bowl.

Tell me then, where should I be looking?

Long minutes passed as the witch toiled, ignoring Brenna’s many questions, and when she finally set the concoction she’d made down on the table, it nearly made her stomach turn over.

Gimme yer hand, said the crone.

She extended her hand again, and the woman pressed the cut finger until a drop of blood fell into the bowl. Then she added a reddish liquid to it and slid it across the table. Drink.

Brenna scrunched her nose, disguised by the foul-smelling cup, but took it into her hand anyway, choking the fluid down. She would do anything to rid herself of her affliction.

As I said, ye been lookin’ fer answers in all the wrong places.

Brenna forced a smile and lifted the emptied cup. Good thing I found you.

The witch cackled. Yer answer wasn’t in that cup, girl.

Brenna’s brow knit in confusion. Pardon?

You’ll only be awake for another minute, so listen up. The answer lies not in what ye chant or what ye drink. It lies in a heart. The heart of a noble man.

You want me to eat the heart of a nobleman? Brenna asked. Which one?

No, no-no-no. Listen. You’ll find this man, and he won’t seem so special at the time, but he’s yer only hope.

Where is he?

He’ll be the seventh person ye see upon waking.

The room shifted and whirled. Brenna grew suddenly dizzy, her head feeling like lead.

What’s his name?

Yer goin’ ta sleep now. The potion I gave ye, it’s tuned to yer blood. Very interesting blood, I might add. .

What does that mean?

The crone rose, and Brenna reached up to grab her, but she felt nothing. All she saw was blackness—deep, never-ending blackness.

2

BRENNA

Brenna woke to a throbbing headache.

Where am I?

She lay confused, pressing her fists to her eyes to rub the sleep from them.

Seven! I have to remember seven!

She rolled onto her side and felt the ground shift beneath her. Her gut roiled, threatening to expel its contents. What little there was.

She craned her neck so she could look around and saw that she was on a wooden raft, water lapping at her with every shift.

Seven! But what about seven? What makes seven so special?

It was day, though the Dusklands were rarely bright. She tried to think of where she might be. She’d been traveling the swamps around Bloodmoor the previous day, so it made sense that she was at its port. She looked around, clutching her throbbing head. A small boy walked along the pier, staring at her.

Seven people! The seventh person I come across will be the person to break my curse!

As she scrambled to get up, the wooden raft shifted violently beneath her, threatening to cast her into the blood-red waters.

Would ya like some help? a voice rasped, and she looked up to see an aged man missing half his teeth smiling at her.

Two! He’s number two.

I got it, she said, but as she reached for the dock, she fell waist deep in water.

Best be careful, the man said. Leeches and the like are apt ta git ya if ya linger.

I don’t care about your stupid leeches, she thought, but smiled nonetheless as she pulled herself onto the dock.

She walked past the child and the man, her head hung low, worrying she would spot a gathered crowd. She adjusted the satchel hanging at her side and stomped her feet, shaking off the water. A layer of fog shrouded the area, making it hard to see well.

I just need to find the seventh person, annul the curse, and then I can go back to the Den, back to Icaries, she told herself, but worried it wouldn’t be so easy.

She was so distracted, she stumbled, flailing her arms to catch herself.

Would ya look where yer going! a plump fishwife said.

Three.

She walked further inland, thankful it was still early, and the pier wasn’t crowded. Two able-bodied men walked past.

Four, five!

Excuse me, miss!

Brenna stood face to face with a tall, gangly man, gray of skin with a putrid smell. She skirted around him, careful to avoid his touch, and continued on.

Six. Next, I’ll encounter the one who can break my curse, as the swamp witch said it would be the seventh person.

She was close to shore now, passing shacks on the waterfront. Gulls eyed her suspiciously, some being so brave as to step into her path, sending her nearly crashing off the pier.

Hey, Henry! a voice shouted. Ye up for some topples tonight?

The miss ain’t much like me losin’ me coin ta that shitty game.

A hackling laugh sounded. Then don’t lose.

A crowd of voices sounded ahead.

Oh, no! How will I know which one it is if they’re all together?

A few more voices chimed in.

Hey, miss. What ye doin’ on the dock dis early? Ain’t ya gonna wait till trade’s ripe? Ain’t got no coin in da mornin’.

Shit.

Let’s get a looksee. Turn around now, love.

Footsteps approached.

I can’t do this. Not now!

Her eyes darted to a small hovel on stilts just off the pier.

Come on now. Don’t be shy.

Brenna was surprised she had attracted attention in her brown leather trousers, high boots, and dirty, cream-colored tunic, but she supposed to fishermen she was quite a treat. Any other day, she’d snap at them and maybe even push one off the pier. Today was different, though. She couldn’t afford a misstep.

She rushed to the shack, opened the door, and went inside, closing herself in.

I’ll wait until they’re gone, then I’ll find the witch.

You’ve come, a voice cut through the small space.

Seven…

She looked up, her eyes locking on a blond-haired man. He stood tall, at a height with her Denithian brothers, his thick arms folded across his chest.

He wasn’t what