Cursed Vampire (Creatures of the Otherworld #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The weight of exhaustion lies heavy on my shoulders. It’s been a hell of a week. My grandad is dead.

The pain from his loss now curls inside me, making a home. Somehow the wait, seeing him suffer for so long, makes it worse.

I miss him. I miss him so much, and I’m sure I always will. I smile. He was my person. I grip the steering wheel with both hands as my smile fades. The world is a darker place without him. Hell, he wasn’t perfect, but who is? Perfect, I mentally scoff. Nobody is perfect.

I rub my tired eyes. My face feels gritty underneath my palm.

At least I got a parking space outside the house today.

Dragging myself out of the car, I bump the door closed with my hip and groan as my feet rhythmically throb with each movement.

I shuffle my exhausted carcass around the car and step onto the pavement.

Work doesn’t stop for my grief. I can’t stop as there are bills to pay. I guess it’s an achievement to stay on top of things when circumstances… fate wants to bury you.

I inhale, then release the breath slowly.

I’m proud of myself; I got us out of the debt hole.

He’d be proud of me. “I’m adulting perfectly, Grandad,” I say into the wind.

The late water bill is paid, nine hundred pounds gone with a click of a button, and my last twenty quid went on petrol. Super Noodles for dinner then. Yum.

Being grown-up sucks.

In an exhausted daze, I flick the latch open on the wooden garden gate.

The things I still need to do before I get to relax roll through my head.

My boots scrape noisily across the path as I trudge towards my front door—I’ve not got the energy to lift my feet.

I take a few seconds to realise that my key isn’t opening the front door.

Huh. I pull it out and stare at it. It doesn’t look damaged. I shove it back into the lock, and my hand meets resistance when I attempt to turn it.

“What the heck,” I mumble.

The hinges on the gate behind me squeak, and I turn just as my uncle smashes his way through. The poor abused gate thuds against the wall, and the impact sends a chunk of mortar to the floor. I narrow my eyes.

“Trudy,” he grunts.

Gah, my name is Tru. T-R-U. Not Trudy. Why does he have to be such a prick? His lips curl into a semblance of a smile. Uh-oh. Whenever this man flashes that creepy smile, I know something bad is going to happen. My tummy flips, but I force my face into what I can only hope is an unconcerned mask.

He loves nothing more than to rile me up.

Looking at him makes my skin crawl. Now Grandad is no longer here to protect me, there’s no telling what this idiot has planned. His short silver hair flops in front of his eyes, and with a thin hand he pushes it out of the way as he glides towards me.

I’ve worked out what’s happened.

I tilt my chin and look down at him, at this moment loving my six-foot height.

With growing dread and barely controlled rage, I nod my head back at the door and raise an inquiring eyebrow.

“Uncle Phillip,” I say through the gritted teeth of a fake smile.

“My key isn’t working… You changed the locks? ”

This is the man who couldn’t be bothered to visit his father when he was ill. When he was dying. This is the man who also couldn’t attend or contribute to the cost of his dad’s funeral. My hands ball into fists at my sides, and I attempt to curb my temper with a self-restraint that I don’t feel.

One… two… three. I slowly count in my head as I wrestle with myself. My nostrils flare as I take in a deep, cleansing breath.

He’s now taking ownership of my home.

This is great. Just fucking great.

The keys gripped in my right hand jingle as I force myself to uncurl my fists and swallow down my rage. With an angry huff, I cross my arms underneath my boobs and attempt to look calm and unconcerned. I am not.

My hands twitch. God, I want to punch him in his smug face.

“My house, my locks.” With that helpful statement, his wind magic whips out and he snatches the keys from my hand. They slap into his waiting palm.

“Oi!” I shout. What is he doing? I snap my hand out and wiggle my fingers. “Give. Them. Back.”

He’s already changed the locks. Why the hell does he need my keys? My uncle spins on his heel and heads to the street and towards my car.

Oh no. Oh hell no.

“That’s my car, dickhead. You have no bloody right!” I yell as I scramble after him.

No, no, no, no.

Adrenaline sloshes through my system, washing away my earlier fatigue.

My heart pounds in my ears and my entire body shakes.

Uncle Phillip opens the passenger door and leans into my car.

“My dad’s name is on the DVLA documents, so legally, it’s mine.

Unless you want to complain to one of the Guilds?

I’m sure they’ll be very interested to find out about you.

” He turns, braces his arm on the door, and smirks.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your shit and disappear.

You’re what, twenty now?” I’m seventeen.

“You need to grow up and stop leeching off old, vulnerable people—”

I swallow my pride. “Uncle Phillip, please,” I beg.

He laughs under his breath, and his eyes flit about as he takes in the quiet residential street. Like a living thing, the silence stretches between us. He looks me up and down with poorly veiled disgust. “I’m not your uncle,” he finally snaps out.

Pushing away from my car, Uncle Phillip takes a menacing step towards me. He drops his voice to a harsh whisper and leans so close his lips brush the shell of my ear. I shiver. “Not your family, not your anything. You’re the kid he picked up at the side of the road. Like garbage.”

I swallow.

He steps away, and from his back pocket he pulls out a sad-looking roll of bin bags. With a tug, he snaps a single bag off the roll.

As he goes back to my car, I move to block him, but he shoulder barges me out of the way. I watch in disbelief and a growing state of numbness as he fills the black plastic with my meagre possessions.

Once he’s finished, he wipes his hands on his trousers, and with a satisfied smile, he drops the bag at my feet. My eyes drop to the bag. The plastic is so thin in some areas it looks almost grey and see-through.

“Here.” He throws something small at me, and it bounces off my chest. I fumble and just manage to catch it between my fingers. I flip the cool metal into the palm of my hand.

It’s a rusty key.

I lift my eyes to his.

“A key to Mr Gregson’s garage.” Uncle Phillip answers my silent question.

“You’ll find your shit, and the stuff of my dad’s that I won’t be able to sell, in there.

The old git Gregson wouldn’t take less than two months’ rent, so unless you empty it, you’ll have to pay him more by the first of October.

” He points an angry finger at my face. “That’s all you’re getting from me, girl, and I only did it ’cause it was cheaper than a skip.

So you can wipe that look off your face… I’m no soft touch.”

I curl my fists again and glare at him. The rusty key bites into my palm.

God, I have the urge to chuck it back at him.

The darkness inside me rises; I narrow my eyes and jerkily tilt my head. Perhaps it would be better to use the key to stab him in the eye, then while he’s distracted clutching at his face, I can get my keys back.

Hit him. Hurt him. Punish him.

Or even the car… My eyes flick to my pride and joy. He won’t be able to sell my car if it’s dented and the windows are broken. I step forward and…

I close my eyes for a moment and breathe deep.

Losing my temper now will achieve nothing. Girls… We aren’t supposed to be filled with so much rage. Sugar and spice, and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of. The crazy words bounce around in my head.

I don’t give a shit what people think about me.

But I have this daymare, a vision of me being caught on someone’s phone and the video going viral: Hybrid Gone Wild or Wild Girl Rampages headlines all over the net.

The thought freaks me out. It’s dangerous to be noticed and isn’t worth the risk. So I keep my temper in check.

How sad.

I grit my teeth. I will get him back for this, but now isn’t the time. I just need to be patient.

My uncle has fucked me over.

It’s already done.

Shit, and I have nowhere to go.

“He’d be ashamed of you,” I say with a glare. I want him to see my hate. Instead, I have to rapidly blink to dismiss the sting of angry tears that no doubt shine in my eyes.

He barks out a laugh, and his own eyes shine with mirth. “No. No, he wouldn’t. You wanna know why?” He leans in, and a manic-looking grin spreads across his face. “’Cause he’s dead.”

I flinch.

“Dead men don’t feel shame.” He continues to chuckle as he walks around the front of my car. He taps on the bonnet and throws me a bright smile.

I watch as my uncle yanks the driver’s door open, and without another backward glance, he drives away.

The car has long since disappeared from my sight, yet I stand and stare down the road. I can’t move. My feet are frozen to the pavement.

Move. I don’t think I can. Fear plants my feet. If I stay here, I’ll die. I need to find some courage. “Courage,” I scoff.

I shake my head, and the wind whips strands of my hair from out of my plait across my face. I force my frozen lump of a left hand that’s pinned to my side to lift and tuck the wayward multicoloured hair behind my ear. My hand shakes.

In this world, magic is commonplace, with all manner of supernatural people, but it’s all about the strong against the weak. It is all about power. It’s been like that since the beginning of time.

I hug myself. We don’t have people out on the street, homeless.

You have somewhere safe to stay… or you’re dead. The vulnerable are quickly snapped up, disappearing without a trace. I turn my head and look mournfully back at my former home.

Here I am. No money. No home. No car.

I raise my eyes to the clouds and contemplate the seriousness of my situation. A mad-sounding giggle rips from my lips. I stand in the middle of the street, clutching at my stomach, and I laugh like a loon. I laugh with my despair. ’Cause if I cry, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

Oh, the irony.

If he’d come the day before, I would be nine hundred and twenty pounds richer. I throw my hands in the air. The urge to scream my pain out into the universe thrums through me. My laughter dies.

How is that for irony? Bloody fate.

God, I feel sick. I fold over and clutch myself tighter. I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m alone. I have no one to help me.

He might as well have choked me with his pathetic wind magic.

It would have been kinder.