Page 1 of Cursed

1

LANDON

The crowd pulses around me like a living organism, each individual just a cell serving a larger purpose. I watch them from the corner, nursing a drink I have no intention of finishing. They laugh, they touch, they emote—all these displays that I’ve learned to mimic without understanding. A performance I’ve perfected.

But she’s different.

Sadie Reynolds stands by the bar, her black hair falling like silk tresses down her back. I’ve been tracking her at work for weeks now.

A man approaches her, leans too close. My hand tightens around my glass. I imagine the satisfying crunch it would make against his skull, the blood mixing with the scotch. The warm wetness between my fingers. But I remain still. Control is a necessity.

She offers him a polite smile, but her eyes betray flat disinterest. Interesting. Most wouldn’t catch that flicker—was it annoyance? Contempt? Or outright dismissal?

I shift my position, moving through the crowd. I’m close enough now to hear her voice as she speaks to the bartender.

Is she like me? Does she maintain a stoic facade, too?

Behind those intelligent eyes, is there a darkness that mirrors my own—a void where normal human emotion should reside?

The thought is... intoxicating.

I move closer to the bar, eyes fixed on Sadie, when a cloud of floral perfume engulfs me. A blonde woman slides between me and my target, her back pressing against my chest as she begins swaying to the music.

“Dance with me,” she says, turning to face me with a false smile. Diamond earrings glint in the light as she tosses her hair.

I step back, putting distance between us. “No.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. She’s used to playing games where rejection is part of the fun. “Don’t be like that. Just one song.”

Her hand reaches for mine. I pull away before she makes contact.

“I said no.”

She laughs as if I’ve told a joke and steps closer. “Playing hard to get? I like a challenge.”

Her fingers brush my arm. The contact sends a ripple of irritation through me. I lean down, bringing my mouth close to her ear, close enough that no one else will hear.

“If you touch me again, I’ll break your fingers one by one. I’ll start with the smallest and work my way up. You’ll hear the bones crack just before your brain registers the pain.”

I deliver this with the same tone someone might use to discuss the weather. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating with fear as she processes that this isn’t a game. I smile—the exact same smile I use at business meetings. The disconnect between my expression and my words appears to terrify her more than the threat itself.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she whispers, backing away.

“Yes,” I agree.

She turns and pushes through the crowd, throwing glances over her shoulder to ensure I’m not following.

I straighten my sleeve where she touched me, erasing her presence, and resume my path toward Sadie. As I look up, annoyance flares when I see her spot at the bar is empty. My pulse quickens. Perhaps I should have broken the blonde’s fingers after all.

She’s gone. While I wasted time dealing with that blonde nuisance, Sadie slipped away.

I scan the crowd, mentally dividing the room into quadrants. Not on the dance floor. Not near the bathrooms. Not at any of the high-top tables. People blur together as I move through them, their conversations a meaningless buzz.

There—a flash of straight black hair disappearing through the exit.

I move with purpose, weaving through bodies. By the time I push through the door, the night air hits my face, and I catch sight of her turning the corner of the building. Her posture is alert, purposeful, as if she knows exactly where she’s going.

I follow at a measured distance. This isn’t new territory for me. People fascinate me—not as companions, but as studies. Over the years, I’ve tracked dozens who sparked my interest. A surgeon whose hands remained perfectly steady even when drunk. A lawyer whose expressions betrayed every lie. I learned more watching them unobserved than I ever could through interaction.