S. Harper - Cursed

Demeter’s visit has set my nerves on edge. Exactly her intention.

A cold shower clears my head. I know I’m here for a reason. To gain Demeter’s forgiveness and earn my freedom. I need to remember that. I need to do what I keep telling Zack. Keep my head in the game. I must set Zack straight once and for all. If that means being truthful, so be it. A calculated risk for the greater good. I’ll come clean. I’ll make it clear our relationship is a professional one and can be nothing else. Not ever. It’s a mantra I repeat a thousand times as I get dressed, shop for groceries, and drive out to the beach.

It’s a little after seven when I pull up to his house. Only Zack’s car is in the driveway. If Sarah was with him last night, she’s already left. I curse myself for feeling relieved.

I knock on the door. Wait. Knock again. I pull out my cell. Dial. I can hear the telephone ringing somewhere just inside the door. When it goes to voice mail, I hang up. Where is he? I give the door a try. It’s unlocked, which seems uncharacteristic, so I assume it’s for me.

I walk inside. Just as I’m about to call out, I hear the shower running. It explains why he didn’t hear me knock. This morning’s newspaper is spread out on the countertop next to the coffeemaker, which is already brewing.

I flip on the kitchen light and get to work. Zack’s cupboards are neatly organized. I have no trouble finding bowls, utensils, and an iron skillet. I put the pan on the stove to heat. Prepare blueberry pancake batter. Slide a dozen bacon strips into the skillet.

I figure the smell of the cooking bacon will draw him down.

In no time at all, it does.

Zack rounds the corner into the kitchen like a ninja—quick, deadly quiet, and intent. This ninja, however, carries not the traditional tantoˉ , but a standard FBI-issue Glock.

When he sees me, he drops his gun hand. “Fuck, Emma. I could have shot you.”

“No kidding. You just about gave me a heart attack.”

He slaps his gun down on the counter. “What are you doing here?”

I point to his cell. “Didn’t you get my message? I said I was coming over this morning. I thought you left the door unlocked for me.”

He shakes his head.

“Oh. Sorry. I don’t feel good about the way we left it yesterday. I thought this would be a better place than the office to try to sort things out.”

His shoulders relax, but his expression remains unyielding. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“With reflexes like yours? Unlikely. Besides, what kind of bad guy would break into someone’s house to fix breakfast?”

Zack allows a little smile to crack the shell of his irritation and goes directly to the coffeemaker. “Wait. I know this one . . . a cereal killer?”

“Very funny. I’ll have a cup if you’re pouring,” I say.

I watch as he gets a couple of mugs down from a cabinet. He’s barefoot, bare-chested, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. His hair is slicked back and wet. I realize the shower is still running upstairs. I clear my throat.

“I think you left the shower running.”

He pours out the two mugs and hands me one. “The better to catch an intruder,” he says. “I’ll go shut it off.”

When he returns he’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. He pulls a chair out from the dining room table and slumps into it, watching me from beneath lowered eyebrows. He looks tired. I guess I’m going to have to start the conversation.

“So, where is it?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

“Where is what?”

“The cage. Where you spend the night during the full moon?” I grin. “Or do you chain yourself up? You know, some women might find that kinky.”

“How do you know I didn’t go rampaging through the city?”

“I listened to the news on the way over. No reports of a rampaging wolf.” I take a sip of the coffee.

He does not look amused. “You shouldn’t tease.” His voice is rough. Not from sleep or desire, from something else. “The sun is barely up. My wolf is still restless. New area, not able to roam.” He takes a gulp of coffee before skewering me with a look that’s part anger, part smoldering seduction. “And it’s mating season.” He punctuates the last with another sip before adding, “The cage is upstairs. Right next to my bedroom. I’d invite you up to see, but I don’t want to be accused of misreading your signals again.”

His words send blood rushing to my face. I turn away, busy myself with finishing the pancakes. “Got any syrup?”

Zack comes into the kitchen, reaches over my head to a cabinet just above me. I smell the soap on his skin, or perhaps his aftershave. It’s a blend of spice and citrus that reminds me of bay rum. I feel the heat of his body. I’m sure he feels the heat of mine. His proximity is distracting. But I can’t let my resolve crumble. I close my eyes for a moment, then move away.

He follows.

I can’t deny it. Something is in play here. Something I don’t understand.

Demeter’s face flashes in my head.

I’m kidding myself. I know exactly what this is, what’s happening.

And I have to stop it.

“Damn it, Zack.” I slam the plate of pancakes down on the corner and turn to face him.

“What the hell? I’m just getting the syrup.”

“Your coming here was a mistake.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Yes.” Partly. I move to the dining room, sink into a chair.

He follows again, taking a seat beside me. “What are you afraid of?”

Afraid is exactly the right word. In a rare moment of honesty, I answer, “You.”

He looks surprised. “Because we’re attracted to each other?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Then simplify it.”

It takes me a minute to gather my thoughts. Zack sits quietly, his expression calm, expectant.

Okay. I can do this.

I start with the obvious. “There are so many reasons why we can’t give in to this attraction, the least of which is that we are partners. Even if we’re not breaking any rules, we have to work together. We have an important job to do, one that’s sometimes dangerous. We can’t afford to lose focus. The job has to come first.”

“You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself. But you said you were scared. Why?” he says. “Come on, Emma. Take a risk, just a little one. Trust me.”

My heart beats like a jackhammer in my chest. So many years. So many secrets. Can I trust him with mine? He already suspects I’m not what I seem. For the first time, I have a partner I can be honest with. Should I be? His gaze, so steady, so patient, coaxes the words from my lips. “You were right yesterday when you said I’m not purely human.”

He smiles. “I already knew that.”

“How did you know? When did you know?”

He taps the side of his nose with a finger. “Everyone has their own scent. Yours changes. It’s subtle, but discernible. The night before last, here in the kitchen, I’ve never smelled anything like it. It was . . . extremely compelling. So much so that I forgot myself and mentioned it. You deflected the question.”

“And you let me.”

Zack nodded. “When I was training, when I was in the field, I came across it all. But I’ve never crossed paths with anyone, anything that smells so intoxicating. What are you?”

I swallow. “There are only three of us.”

“In the area?”

“In existence. I’m a Siren, Zack. I . . .” The words catch in my throat.

His expression grows skeptical. “A Siren? Like in the story about Ulysses?”

“No. That’s a stupid myth,” I snap. I regret the heat of my reply when Zack sits back. Goddamn Homer and his idiotic story of the Sirens’ song. How I wish Leucosia, the elder of my sisters, had never met him and never scorned him. Homer was the reason we had a falling-out. The reason we decided it would be best to go our separate ways, to seek our separate redemptions. “I don’t sing and I don’t drive men insane. And . . . I’m real .”