Page 52 of Cursed
I expected him to balk, to swagger, or to mouth something in his half-inebriated state, but he only swallowed and became as still as a stone statue.
With a slow, calculating smile, Cain patted Brian’s shoulder and leaned forward, placing a palm on the other man’s chest.
Against Brian’s dress shirt, Cain’s fingers spread outward and something dark curled and twisted around his hand, rising out from the fingertips to disappear under the cloth.
I blinked twice, unsure whether my eyes were playing tricks on me or if maybe I’d had too much spiked punch.
With a sudden gasp, Brian released my arm and clawed at his throat. “What”—he coughed—“w-what...” His voice faded, and his eyes bulged.
I backed away from him, glad to be free but confused and alarmed.
Did Cain do something?I thought about the black wisp I’d seen crawling from Cain’s hand into Brian’s chest and shivered.No, this can’t be happening. What in the hell is in that drink?
I moved closer to Cain and pointed to Brian, who still dragged in ragged breaths and dug at his throat. “Someone call 9-1-1!”
No one moved.What is wrong with everyone?
I took a hesitant step toward Brian, unsure how to help.
Cain slid his hand into mine, stopping my forward movement. “You can’t do anything for him, Precious.” Cain glanced around, his metallic gaze sweeping the frozen crowd. “He brought this on himself.”
Panic rose within me.What’s going on?
I pulled my hand from Cain’s and rubbed circulation into my arm, unsure if I should insert myself between the two of them or let things play out. After all, he was right. Brian had instigated their tussle then escalated it by tearing off Cain’s mask.
Still, those strange, inky tendrils crawling over his chest gave me pause.
I’m imagining things. Between the masquerade, Halloween, and the most definitely spiked punch, it’s putting my brain into overdrive.I fervently hoped no hallucinogenic drugs had been added, along with the alcohol. But if they had, maybe it would explain me seeing impossible things and the crowd not reacting. Maybe we were all doped up and high as a kite. It certainly beat the alternative, which would be me being completely sober and seeing something absolutely impossible.
Now a reddish-purple, Brian’s cheeks looked like overripe plums. He let out a high-pitched scream, and his eyes rolled in his sockets. He dug his fingernails into his neck and tore bloody streaks in the skin.
I cringed, my hand automatically flying to my mouth as I backed up against Cain, who smiled at Brian and tilted his head. “You are a pathetic, disgusting man. You have no idea how much pleasure this gives me, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger.” Cain gave him a calculating smirk. “Though I’m tempted to give you the full experience.” He lifted his index finger and moved it next to Brian’s cheek, not quite touching the flesh. “It would certainly guarantee you’d never bother my sweet Phoebe again.”
“Whatever you’re doing, Cain, stop. You’re gonna kill him.” Brian was a jerk, but I didn’t want him to die. I laid a desperate hand on Cain’s forearm. “Please?”
“What did I tell you about that word when we first met? It’s the same thing as going to your knees and begging.”
“What’re you talking about?” I wracked my brain, remembering my first run-in with Cain, and couldn’t recall anything about saying please.
Cain’s eyes widened for a moment, and he clamped his mouth shut, cutting his stare from mine to Brian.
I followed his line of vision. True fear shone from Brian’s face. All of his false bravado had fled, leaving only a frightened, gasping, not-quite-sane young man in its place.
“He deserves death.” Though Cain turned his attention to me, he shot a hand onto Brian’s chest.
“Don’t we all?” I stared up at Cain and placed a palm against his cheek, hoping to calm his anger and save my sorry ex. “But it’s not your place—nor mine—to judge. Leave it to God.”
Cain recoiled from my touch, which also released his hold on Brian, who stumbled backward, still clutching his neck. Several bloody gashes oozed onto the dress shirt collar under his suit.
Around us, as if a spell had been broken, dozens of couples shifted and began murmuring in low tones, their focus not on the injured man but on Cain.No, on the art around his eye.
Had they never seen a man with a face tattoo?Or another man shooting black tendrils of smoke into a person’s chest.
I swallowed a burst of crazy laughter.Definitely something in the punch—that’s the only explanation.
“Do not ever mention God in my presence again, do you understand?” Cain hissed. Two bright spots of scarlet bloomed on his cheeks, and his silvery eyes swirled with fury or some other deep emotion.
Even the night he’d saved me from Brian hadn’t evoked such irritation, and my jaw dropped. I could imagine the anger pulsing from his body in dark, hot waves crashing over everything in their path.
