Page 14 of Spicy Little Curses (Scared Sexy Collection #3)

Thirteen

Petra

Epilogue

One month later

F orgive the pun, but New Orleans had a way of getting under your skin.

Maybe it was the sweet air, laden with the scent of magnolia and jasmine.

Maybe it was the romantic wrought iron balconies draped in hanging ferns, the gas lamps that flickered and cast gauzy shadows, or the jazz music that never stopped, seeping from open windows and the doorways of restaurants and bars.

Whatever the reason, against all logic, I’d stayed.

I leaned against the railing of the balcony and looked out over the Quarter, a mug of chicory coffee warming my hands.

The street below was alive with the usual chaos, even at this hour.

Tourists with their daiquiris, street performers making music and magic, the distant sound of a saxophone carrying on the breeze.

Behind me, the apartment was warm and lived in, a stark contrast to the impersonal hotel rooms and barely furnished studios that had defined my life for so long.

Luce, the world’s most intelligent and smug cat, sat on the windowsill, her sly golden eyes tracking a passing pigeon with predatory interest.

Inside, Dax was making breakfast.

I heard him muttering oaths under his breath, arguing with the toaster again. Most of the kitchen appliances seemed hell-bent on defying his wishes, which he found infuriating, and I found hilarious.

A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed this was possible. Couldn’t have believed it, that I’d be here, in the same city, with the same man, waking up every morning wrapped in the kind of warmth I’d always been too stubborn to admit I wanted.

But then again, a month ago I couldn’t have imagined breaking a centuries-old curse either.

Or having literal magic running through my veins.

I’d cautiously broached the subject of my birth parents with my mom on the same phone call that I’d informed her I’d be staying in New Orleans for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t exactly go well. Though my parents had always been open about the fact that I was adopted, I’d never probed deeper, believing firmly that being adopted was a gift and my birth parents’ privacy should be respected. I’d never felt I was missing anything.

But now, as things stood, I was understandably more curious.

Much more curious.

My mother didn’t share my enthusiasm for the topic. She got off the call as quickly as she could.

Knowing her the way I did, it meant she was hiding something.

That was a conversation we’d circle back to, but for now, I was content to let it slide.

I took a slow sip of coffee, watching the sky lift from lavender to gold. The fireflies had been fewer since the night in the catacombs, but every once in a while, I still caught their ghostly flicker in the dark.

And Dax was free.

The weight of his family’s curse had lifted from him. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, fingers twitching as if expecting to feel the cold slither of ink moving over his skin. The raw places where his tattoos had pulled away had healed, leaving no traces behind. The curse was gone.

Yet, deep in the darkest corner of my soul, something lingered.

Not the curse itself. That was buried beneath the rubble of the catacombs. But there was a presence I was always aware of, a vague sense of danger I couldn’t quite shake. It was like a whisper at the edge of my hearing or a weight that never quite lifted, not completely.

And there was Shane.

He’d been calling every few days, asking when I planned on going back to Chicago. He kept the conversation light, but I noticed the undertone of tension.

He was worried about me, and not because I had a steady boyfriend, an unprecedented occurrence.

Shane didn’t rattle easily, but he was rattled now, and that bothered me.

He wanted me out of New Orleans, that much was clear, and I didn’t think it was really due to the deadlines he complained of me missing.

One more mystery to add to the growing pile.

I set my mug down and turned just as Dax emerged from the kitchen, white T-shirt rumpled, hair a mess, Luce jumping down from the windowsill to twine around his legs.

“Toast is burnt,” he announced cheerfully.

“Only burnt, not engulfed in actual flames? Shocking.”

He stole my half-finished mug from the railing and took a sip. “Coffee’s good, though. And I only set off the smoke alarm once, so I’m way ahead of the game this morning.”

“One of these days, when I want to meet the guys from the local fire department, I’m going to ask you to make me an omelet.”

He grinned, setting the mug down and stepping closer. In the golden morning light, he was breathtakingly handsome. Not that I was about to tell him that.

He slid his strong arms around my waist, enveloping me in his scent and warmth, in his steadying strength and grounding presence. He pressed a soft kiss to my temple and murmured lovingly into my ear, “ God , you stink. What are you using for shampoo these days, cat litter?”

I smiled, resting my cheek against his broad chest and trying very hard not to sigh loudly in my stupid, overwhelming happiness. For a moment, the world was still. It was just us, the morning, and the devil cat caterwauling for her breakfast.

Until a shadow caught my eye from the street below.

It moved against the flow of pedestrians, a flicker of darkness that shouldn’t have been there in the bright morning light, darting from tree to tree and slinking along the sidewalk.

That crawling, knowing feeling that something wasn’t quite right returned, chilling me.

Dax felt it too. I knew it by the way his grip tightened around me, the way his heart beat faster beneath my cheek.

Yes, the curse was gone, but something else had awakened that night in the catacombs. I had the troubling feeling it was just biding its time.

Dax pulled me closer. On my wrist, the faint silver scar that was all that was left of the Hollow Man’s brand tingled. But whatever it was, whatever waited in the shadows ...

Dax and I would face it together.