Dark Curse (Darkhaven Saga #5) - Danielle Rose Page 0,4

eyes are sunken, and my skin is taut and dry. My cheekbones are more pronounced, and I feel every rib when I hold myself at night.

I use my fingers to brush my hair, attempting to calm my wild mane, but I only end up looking more haggard, the harsh winter air drying what used to be luscious strands. I frown, giving up as I huff dramatically and take in my appearance one final time.

That is when I notice it.

A sliver of something black is creeping up my neck. I adjust my sweater, hoping to cover it, but no matter how much I shimmy within the fabric, I cannot. It remains there, poking through, announcing its presence to the world I am desperate to elude. I squint, my vision fuzzy, as I try to better look at the mark.

The fine strands, like silky spider webs splayed across my skin, are making their existence known. I cringe. I have known about them for months, using the advantages of winter to hide beneath layers of cloth. I will not be able to do this in the spring and summer, but part of me thinks that does not matter. I will not make it that long anyway. Not with the hex underway. Not with the madness of Mamá’s curse slowly stealing my sanity.

I try to convince myself I must come to terms with my fate. This was the only way I could ensure my coven simply let us be. Together, we live out our final days, sinking deeper and deeper into this wretched void. The curse the witches cast upon themselves the moment they dabbled in the black arts has its hold on us, and each second, it grows stronger as we become weaker.

I tell myself I am not simply giving up. I was the sacrificial lamb in the midst of hungry wolves. This fate is my atonement for all my misdeeds and bad judgments, for all the mistakes I made along the way. If I can die in place of the vampires, well, I figure that is a pretty good way to go. I just wish it didn’t take so long. The worst thing about dying is knowing I am trudging closer to the edge, and all I can do is wait for the fall.

My expression sours, and I chastise myself for thinking like that. Every day I am granted to spend with the vampires is another day to be grateful for. I must remember that.

This does not have to be the end. Holland is certain he and Will are close to discovering a way to sever my magical link to the coven, and if it works, I will be released from the aftereffects of the hex I cast. I try to remain hopeful and optimistic, even when all I want to do is hide under my covers and cry.

I thought the worst part of my situation is my eventual demise, but maybe the disaster is losing myself in these erratic emotions. Just when I was finally getting a handle over them as a hybrid, the vampire was ripped from my very soul. And when she left, the void created in her absence has been nothing but a nightmare.

Sighing, I pull open my vanity drawer a little too aggressively. The many bottles of various makeup products I have accumulated over the weeks since I cast my spell slide forward in unison. They rattle in the drawer and slam against the wooden side. An eruption of glass clanking together tears through the silent room, but nothing breaks. Still, I freeze and wait.

A quick knock on the bathroom door alerts me to his presence.

“Ava? Are you okay?” Jasik asks. I imagine his hand is grasping the knob, wondering if he should enter or wait for my response. Even though I locked the door, I know he can break in if he really wants to. The solid wood is no match for a vampire’s strength.

Suddenly, I am damp, and I whisk away the sweat beading at my temple. My voice squeaks when I try to speak, and I curse inwardly. I need to be convincing, or he really will charge inside.

“Yes! Sorry. I just dropped something,” I lie.

I wait, listening as the floor creaks. Only when I am certain he has left the doorway do I release the breath I was holding. I exhale as quietly as I can, but my breath is ragged. If Jasik is still outside the door, he will definitely hear my