The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,105

it to me.

I wipe my cheeks. The gauze comes back black.

Brendan grins wider. “You, uh, missed a spot.”

I look questioningly at Grant.

His lips press into a smile that he tries to suppress. “You’re covered in soot. You kind of look like a sniper.”

Brendan tilts his head in thought. “Or an angry pixie in war paint.” I punch his arm. “Dammit! You’re not supposed to punch me. I’m injured!”

“I’ll injure you,” I snarl.

Grant scoops me up with one arm around my waist and keeps walking, like I’m a pixie-sized clutch purse.

Brendan laughs at me, like I’m adorable. I kick at him. He swerves out of the way, still laughing.

“Oh, you think this is funny! You wait until you taste my fist down your throat. And you should see your face! You look like a burnt marshmallow!”

Grant chuckles above me.

“Don’t encourage him,” I mutter.

“I think I may have fallen in love with you all over again,” he says, smiling.

Fighting it, I try to keep from smiling but can’t.

Brendan flashes one of his cocky grins. “I knew you loved me,” he calls after me, falling behind Grant’s long strides.

I flip him off over Grant’s shoulder.

“You can put me down,” I tell Grant. “I promise not to incapacitate him.”

When he lowers me, I wait for Brendan to catch up and slam my foot down on his instep.

“What the hell, woman!” He hops on one foot and then limps forward.

“Feel better?” Grant asks, taking hold of my hand.

I shrug. “A little. Now he’ll know better than to get himself killed.”

Luckily, no one’s on the road when we finally reach the car. Grant slips the tarp off. Brendan watches curiously but doesn’t remark on it.

“You two can’t return to Blackwood, looking like that,” Grant says, unlocking the car. “I have a place we can go.”

I squeeze into the nonexistent backseat, so Brendan and his stork legs can sit in the front. Grant steers us away from the woods, leaving the clouds of black smoke in the distance. We pass fire trucks when we hit the main road. It seems like it’s taken them a long time to respond, but then again, the barn doesn’t have neighbors nearby. I wonder how they’ll reach the fire. Or maybe they’ll just make sure it doesn’t set the rest of the forest ablaze. Guess it’s a good thing it rained last night.

About fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up to a house with a tall, peaked roof. It’s basically triangular, and the front of it is almost entirely made of windows with a few enormous beams of dark wood for support. The foundation and chimney are stone, and a huge deck wraps around the entire structure.

“Whose is this?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Our family’s,” Grant says, walking up the steps. “The entire Philips family, to be more specific. We share it in the winter, for skiing.”

“Oh,” I say, following behind Brendan. Why doesn’t anyone I know here own anything small? “It’s … impressive.”

“You’re talking about the house, right?” Brendan teases. I punch his arm. He chuckles. “Well, I don’t know how serious you two are.”

“We are none of your business.”

“But you are a we,” Brendan notes with interest.

“Shut it,” I threaten, walking past Grant, who’s holding the door open. “Can I take a shower?”

Now that we’re away from the burning barn, all I can smell is smoke. I feel like a walking campfire.

“Yeah, there’s a shower upstairs. And another in the master bedroom.”

“I’m not sharing,” Brendan tells Grant. “You two will have to make do with the master shower.” Brendan climbs the stairs without looking back at the stunned expression he left on Grant’s face.

“Shall we?” I offer, walking in the direction of what I think is the master bedroom.

“Take a right,” Grant directs as I’m about to enter the wrong room.

He follows me into a large bedroom with a king-size bed set in a dark wooden frame and enormous headboard.

“That way.” Grant nods.

Tearing my eyes away from the bed, I look at him.

He shakes his head and laughs. “Not sure where your head’s at, but you almost got burnt to a crisp. And your maybe brother is upstairs. That bed is not an option right now.”

“Oh, right. No,” I fumble. “Not what I was thinking. I smell like someone tried to roast hot dogs off my skin. Shower first.”

“First?”

“Just a shower,” I correct. “Then we tie Brendan to a chair and interrogate him.”

Grant raises a brow.

“I promise not to pull out his teeth or his fingernails. I’ll only poke