Page 22 of Curses and Casualties (Hunters Hollow #3)

Ryan

W e follow him to a hidden elevator, everyone shaken by what we just experienced. Georgia’s hand is a vice around mine. I feel her mind spiraling, logic scrabbling to make sense of supernatural violation.

“That should be illegal,” Scarlett mutters as we rise. “The compulsion thing. That’s like... supernatural roofies.”

“The humans come here willingly,” our guide says without turning. “They leave unharmed, with pleasant memories and a mild case of anemia that resolves within days. It’s far more civilized than the old ways.”

“If you say so, Dracula,” Scarlett shoots back.

The vampire’s shoulders tense, but he says nothing more.

The elevator opens onto an office that screams old money and older power. Everything is mahogany and leather, with paintings that belong in museums lining the walls. Behind a massive, ornate desk sits a man who makes every hair on my body stand on end.

Nicolai, I’m guessing. He looks like he stepped out of a Renaissance painting.

But his presence seeps into the room like smoke laced with poison.

Pale skin, dark hair slicked back, and a face that belongs on a Renaissance statue.

But his eyes—fuck, his eyes are dark . When they land on me, I feel Kane whimper.

Elder thing, my wolf warns. Centuries of death in those eyes.

“Bjorn’s marker,” Nicolai says without preamble. His accent carries hints of places that don’t exist anymore. “Give it to me.”

I hand it over and he studies it closely. “I haven’t seen one of those since...” He pauses, a smile playing at his lips. “Well, since Prague. How is the young pup?”

“Young?” I ask carefully.

“Young to me. I knew his great-grandfather. Helped him once, during that unfortunate business with the Habsburg vampires.” Nicolai stands, moving to a window that shows the city spread below like a glittering feast. “But you’re not here for history lessons.

You’re here because you need something only I can provide. ”

“Information,” I confirm. “About breaking an ancient curse.”

“Ah.” He turns, and his gaze lands on Georgia with laser focus.

“The incomplete vessel. Ancient curses, fractured bonds, a chase through blood-soaked territory…” He hums. “Yes, this story’s made the rounds, and I can smell the fractured magic on you.

Luna, isn’t it? Trapped between states, neither fully bonded nor properly free. ”

Georgia stiffens. “How do you?—”

“Know these things?” Nicolai’s laugh is like aged whiskey, smooth but with a burn.

“My dear, I was old when your species was still deciding whether to come down from the trees. The supernatural world is my business, and business has been very good lately.” He returns to his desk, steepling his fingers.

“The úlfhéenar declaring blood feud, enforcers violating guest-right, and a Soul Bond pair on the run with the help of the witches network. Quite the entertainment.”

“People are dying,” I growl, not liking his casual tone.

His eyes flash. Not red like in movies, but black, endless black.

“People are always dying, young wolf. The question is whether their deaths have meaning.” The darkness recedes, and he’s back to urbane businessman.

“Which brings us to your problem. The curse you carry is elder work—witch magic from before the Councils, before the Accords, before the world was carved up into neat supernatural territories.”

“Can you break it?” Georgia asks.

“Me? No. I’m many things, but witch isn’t one of them.” He opens a drawer and withdraws a crystal decanter filled with something that definitely isn’t wine. “Would you care for a drink?”

“Pass,” Scarlett says flatly.

“Pity. This is an excellent vintage. Type O negative, aged twenty-three years.” He pours himself a glass, the liquid thick and dark. “But I digress. You need the Witch of Greenlake.”

“Who is she?” I ask. “Where can we find her?”

“She is possibly the last of the true witches—the ones who made bargains with forces older than civilization. As for finding her...” Nicolai takes a delicate sip.

“That’s the amusing part. She cannot be found by those who seek her.

Magic, you understand. The more desperately you search, the more invisible she becomes. ”

“Oh, screw that,” Scarlett snaps, throwing up her hands. “There has to be a way?—”

“There is.” Nicolai’s smile shows just a hint of fang. “But you won’t like it.”

“Try us,” Ethan says, speaking for the first time since the dance floor.

“Magnus Erikson.”

The name lands like a stone in still water. Even Amara and Darius react, exchanging loaded glances.

“The Broken Alpha,” Darius breathes. “He’s real?”

“Oh, quite real. Living in his fortress in the Cascades, hiding from what he is, what he’s done.” Nicolai sets down his glass. “He found the witch once. The only being I know of who’s managed it. But then, he had proper motivation.”

“What kind of motivation?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know.

“The kind that drives a man to cage his very essence.” Nicolai’s expression actually shows something like sympathy. “He hates what he is with such passion that he’ll pay any price to be free of it. The witch... helped. In her way.”

“By binding his wolf?” Amara asks slowly.

Nikolai nods. “You can cage a wolf, but you cannot kill it. Not without killing the man.” He shrugs elegantly.

“So Magnus lives in his fortress, neither man nor wolf, forever caught between. He has what you need—knowledge of where the witch lairs, possibly even how to summon her. But he will not part with it easily.”

“What will it take?” Georgia asks.

“That depends entirely on what kind of man you find when you reach him. The Magnus I knew—before his binding—would have helped for honor’s sake.

The creature he’s become?” Nicolai retrieves a business card from his desk.

“He’s likely to demand a sacrifice just to get his hands on the magic of a fresh heartstone.

Approach carefully. He has killed wolves for merely existing in his presence. ”

I take the card. The address is remote, mountains and forest for miles around. Perfect for a man who wants to disappear.

“What’s your price for this?” I ask, because vampires never give anything freely.

“Bjorn’s marker pays for the information. And all I ask is that you deliver a message to Magnus.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“Tell him Nicolai sends his regards.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “That’s it.”

The vampire smirks. “He’ll either help you immediately or try to kill you.” That cold smile returns. “Either way, it should resolve your situation.”

We’re escorted back to the elevator. The club is still in full swing when we pass through, but Amara keeps her hands glowing faintly silver, and the music’s compulsion slides off us like oil on water.

Outside, the pre-dawn air is sharp and clean after the club’s perfumed interior. We walk several blocks in silence before anyone speaks.

“That was fucked up,” Scarlett finally says. “The whole thing. The feeding, the compulsion, that creepy old vampire who probably knew Shakespeare personally...”

“He was older than that,” Darius says quietly. “Much older. We’re lucky he honored Bjorn’s marker.”

I study the business card in my hand. The hand-written address puts Magnus’s property deep in wilderness, miles from the nearest town. “We need transportation. And supplies.”

“And a plan,” Georgia adds. “We can’t just drive up to a paranoid, self-hating werewolf’s fortress and knock on the door.”

“Actually,” Ethan says thoughtfully, “that might be exactly what we do. If he’s as isolated as Nicolai suggested, he’ll know we’re coming long before we arrive. Any attempt at stealth would just make him more suspicious.”

“Great,” Scarlett mutters. “Our plan is to walk up to a crazy powerful werewolf who hates other werewolves and ask pretty please for help. What could go wrong?”

Through our bond, I feel Georgia’s fear mixing with resolve. She’s thinking about the úlfhéenar, about everyone who’s risking their lives for us. We can’t fail them.

Long road ahead, Kane observes. Broken wolves are dangerous. But mate needs this. So we go.

We go , I agree silently.

“We should rest first,” Amara suggests. “Dawn’s coming, and we’ll need our strength. I know a place—neutral ground where we can regroup and plan.”

As we follow her through the lightning streets, I catch Georgia’s hand. “You OK?”

She considers the question seriously. “No. But I will be.”

I squeeze her hand, feeling our bond pulse with shared resolve. Behind us, the supernatural district fades into normal city streets as the glamor reasserts itself. Ahead, mountains wait, and with them, a broken alpha who might hold the key to everything.

Or might try to kill us on sight.

Either way, Kane growls, we will be ready.

I hope he’s right. Because something tells me Magnus Erikson won’t be interested in sob stories or noble causes. And whatever price he demands for his help, we’ll have no choice but to pay it.

The supermoon is coming. And whether we survive long enough to see it… depends on a man who’s caged his own wolf.