Cursed - N. Isabelle Blanco Page 0,3

kissers. Their eager, sparkling gazes are like hungry spotlights following my every move.

Every tilting, wobbly move.

Shit, am I swaying on my feet? I’ve barely begun drinking.

The stares turn questioning. Concerned.

There’s a pounding in the back of my head.

I back away from the crowd, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s upwards of a hundred people crammed into the living room of this penthouse and they all want a piece of me.

Because they’re just like me—soulless, insatiable leeches obsessed with their best interests. Looking for ways to further their own agendas.

Huh? Where are these thoughts coming from? I never think of myself like that.

Not anymore. I became somebody. There’s no need to.

But it’s true though, isn’t it? It’s what you are. Lowest of the low. That’s why you made that deal.

Why you defend the worst of the worst.

Why money is all you care about.

You became the same type of monster that steps on your kind. The class you were actually born into.

The class that’ll always run in your veins. No amount of money will ever wash you clean. You aren’t of their pedigree; you’re an imposter trudging through their midst.

“No, I’m not! I deserve to be here!”

Stunned, hush silence falls over the room at my outburst.

Shame and astonishment rise, yet I’m too bewildered to stop. I’m reeling, literally, falling backward—

I slam into something, a side table perhaps. The pain that shoots along my lower back doesn’t begin to compare to the agony radiating in my bones.

Throughout my skin.

Was I drugged? Did one of the guests slip me something?

Someone rushes to me, a blurred form that grabs my arm. Their worried words are indecipherable, only their tone make it through.

Impulse breaks free at their touch. I’m vaguely aware of my lips pulling back, almost as if . . .

As if I’m growling at the person like some sort of animal.

My dream from the night before flashes in my head. The fur bursting along my skin. That howl I’ll never forget.

A small voice tells me to get away from the person. Get away from them all. If I don’t, something bad is about to happen here. These people are in danger. Every single one of them.

In danger from me?

Darkness comes next, the urge to pass out too strong. I jerk away from whoever was touching me, only to bump into others.

More inquiries. Everyone circling, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

No chance to escape.

No way to save them, my inner voice cries.

Save them? From wh—the question has barely begun to form when I succumb to the call of that darkness.

The call of what I will later learn is the change.

Vision is gone, yet some hearing remains.

That animal growling, followed by the howl from my dreams.

Shouts.

Gasps.

Shrieks of agony.

Someone is pleading. A woman, perhaps? Sounds like she’s begging for her life.

She isn’t the only one.

The audible nightmare continues, horrific moments that are like small bursts in time.

Something crunches between my teeth, but my teeth aren’t the same. They feel too different.

I’m fighting this with all I’ve got, trying to understand . . .

The metallic tang in my mouth is familiar.

Darkness is a heavy fog over my mind, and I’m well acquainted with that, too.

Shit. Did I get into another fight on the streets tonight? Would explain the blood I’m gagging on. How many times have I awoken in a drunken, blitzed daze, with the remnants of another brawl over me?

Too many to count.

Way too many.

Then again, what other outlet do I have? I don’t remember most of the altercations I get into, yet that doesn’t change the strange satisfaction in my soul every time I awake from one. That amazing relief of releasing the fury in me.

Groaning, I turn my head, expecting to feel the grind of a sidewalk against my cheek—

There’s a cushion beneath my head. Or what feels like one, at least.

The hell?

Opening my eyes is a mission in and of itself. My lids seem glued together with cement. As I struggle to get them to rise, sensation spikes throughout my entire body. Aches, the likes of which I’ve never felt in my life, blossom through every limb.

God, it feels like I’ve been put through the workout of my life.

Or through a torture rack. Either works.

There also seems to be some kind of liquid over every inch of my body. It’s cold, and when I flex my fingers, the thickness of it leaves me perplexed.

Ugh. That taste of blood in my mouth is at an all-time high, too. Like I’ve gargled it.

Wonder if