Eternally Cursed

Copyright © 2023 January Rayne All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed by Raining Romance LLC, in the United States of America. Graphic: Adobe Stock Graphic and COVER Designer: Dallas Ann Designs www.authorjanuaryrayne.com To all the ladies out there who have good boys. Make sure you tell them every chance you get. They love a good treat. This is a work of fiction. Shallow Cove Dimensions is a world I have created. My imagination ran wild and will run untamed with no reins. Only whips and spankings when asked for. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Fang ˯__˯ bang on, fangbangers. Shallow Cove™Dimensions series order Book 0.5: Eternally Hers Book 1: Eternally Damned Book 1.5: Carnival of Creeps Book 2: Eternally Cursed And Warnings There is going to be knotting (if you don’t know knotting, research it, or take a chance and dive on in. I can’t promise weird photos won’t come up). There will be heat. There will be biting, blood, primal kink, pregnancy, pegging, breeding/praise kink, a bit of rough play, a bit of sub-action from the male character, CNC, mention of child death, and lots of shmex. A LOT OF THAT. So, if you’re reading and you say, “Oh my gosh, there is so much shmex.” Well, yeah. I told you so. It’s werewolf corno. There will be a huge giant eggplant a swingin’ and this is your W-A-R-N-I-N-G. Family, family friends, friends of friends who know my family, Mom, Dad… just don’t even read beyond this page. Turn around. Go back. Pretend I still think boys have cooties. Love you. Fifteen years old The smell of smoke is everywhere, and the flesh of my loved ones are burning. I cover my ears as the screams pierce the air. Tears blur my vision, hot like molten lava as I dart my attention around the village. What remains of what used to be my home. I curl into myself, burying my face in my knees and wrap my arms around my legs. This will all be over soon. My pack will be okay. We will run under the stars tomorrow and all of this will have been a bad dream. I’ll wake up any minute. Any second. “Please,” I whimper to myself, a heated tear dripping from my face to the dry dirt floor. “Please, please, please.” The ground rubs against my butt as I rock back and forth, the pebbles tugging on the thin cloth of my pants. Another bomb explodes, shaking the earth under me. The white noise of grains of dirt slinging against the body of the trees surrounds me. I’m hiding between thick bushes and banana leaf canopies we made to camouflage our werewolf forms while we hunt. We don’t have to hide when we hunt. We’re the apex predators, but sometimes, we like to play with our food. Not even our werewolf forms are strong enough to beat whatever force is at play here. Before mom shoved me into the bushes, I saw the electric firebombs sparking through the air before landing on someone or something. The electricity is black, inky with long fingers waiting to grab whatever is in its way. It makes my stomach feel funny— like I’m going to be sick. A man controls it. Mom and Dad told me stories when I was little about warlocks and how usually the ones who weave magic are good. But then there’s one line of warlocks, the Halls, who want nothing more than to cause pain, destruction, and death wherever they go. They are powerful. Stories have said the warlock family got their name from walking the halls of Hell itself, making a deal with the devil to take and own as many souls as possible. Halls is a plain, boring name but knowing why it was given to them always reminds me there is always more to the unseen. I don’t know how they walked Hell and I don’t want to know, but after seeing the darkness of the magic they wield firsthand, I believe it. A howl rips through the air and my breath catches when I recognize the call. I fall to my knees as others answer my mom’s call. She’s dying. The ache causes me to change into my werewolf form. My bones stretch, my skin morphs to grey, and I bolt for the tree line, dropping to all four paws to lengthen my stride, ready to attack. No restraints, no more hiding, no more control. I’m ready to fight for my family. Ready to kill. Ready for vengeance. Ready to die. “What the hell are you doing?” a harsh, exhausted voice snarls from my right. An arm stretches out and a hand folds over my snout, gripping it tightly, forcing my jaws shut. I narrow my eyes at Aziel, my brother, and he applies more pressure as he tightens his grip. I whine. “Don’t look at me like that.” Aziel lets go of my snout and curls his fingers into my neck, clutching the baby skin I still have since I’m not full-grown in this form and he picks me up like I’m a pup. He looks around, blood and soot smeared on his cheek. “Look around for more young wolves! I don’t give a fuck how long it takes. I want an army.” Aziel’s eyes round, sweat dripping down his face as he tries to think of a plan. He sets his sights on the closest village cabin and runs into the woods, holding me in his arms as he does. He is light on his feet,