Cursed by Destiny (WG 3) Read Online Free Page A

must have used his vamp mojo to put Chef on dinner duty. Chef raced between the industrial steel stove and the tan marble counter, slicing, dicing, stirring, and swearing in French. Out of all the vamps in Misha’s keep, Chef was by far the moodiest bastard. “ Merde ,” he muttered the moment he saw us.
    Chef lived—well, in death—to prepare meals almost too pretty to eat. I ignored him and shuffled toward the table, feeling more chilled than I should have in the warm kitchen.
    “I shall discover who attempted to kill you, Celia. Do not fear for your safety in my home.”
    I must have appeared pathetic for Misha’s anger to resurface. “I know, Misha. Don’t worry. I’m fine.” I was getting tired of repeating myself, mostly because I wasn’t “fine.” I was merely forging ahead because, damn it all, there was evil afoot.
    My new life as the vampire’s weapon was probably the most dangerous path I could have selected, and yet it felt right. I’d almost lost a sister to the Tribe and watched countless innocents suffer as I stood helplessly by. But I wasn’t helpless, and while I was far from perfect, I could be the perfect weapon . . . at least where Team Dracula was concerned.
    My powers were unique and strong, even in a world packed with supernatural muscle. My ability to shift underground unscathed made me difficult to track and conquer. My inner beast also made me formidable against anything with fangs or claws. Pure light could sear a demon and detonate an average vamp, but it had no effect on me. Misha’s legion of undead couldn’t say the same.
    Weres matched me in strength, but they’d made it clear they didn’t want me. So in my quest to rid the world of the Tribe, I chose to help the vampires, just as Aric had chosen his pack above and beyond me.
    Crap . I rubbed my face. In the end, my thoughts always returned to Aric.
    Misha watched me closely. The silence between us grew longer and filled with tension. When he spoke, his light Russian accent dripped with frustration. “You must forget about the beast, Celia. Even if that mongrel does love you, he is obligated by blood and pack to breed with his kind. There is nothing you can do. Your relationship with him is over.”
    Misha had recognized Aric’s snarls just as I had. I’d heard them a thousand times out of fear for my safety. Misha had heard them on the receiving end of Aric’s wrath. I’d definitely experienced the cuddlier side of that werewolf. I sat slowly. “Do you realize that you only call me Celia when you’re being serious or when you’re angry with me?” I smiled weakly. “Which is it now?”
    He sat across the table from me, frowning in a way that would have sent his family scurrying in fear. “Perhaps it is a little of both, since you fail to come to your senses. You could be with a more deserving male.” He paused. “You could be with me.”
    His comment hitched my breath. For once, he wasn’t merely asking me to bed. “Are you asking me for a commitment?”
    Misha’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps.”
    I stood and walked to his side and brushed his long blond hair away from his face. His expression softened when he caught my smile. “I think you’re the one who needs to come to his senses. You deserve better than what I can give you.”
    I meant that. For a vampire, Misha was a tremendous catch. In addition to his incredible masculine beauty, he was smart, funny, and enjoyable company. And, for anyone who cared, he was also obscenely wealthy. I think he owned Canada.
    Misha regarded me with complete tenderness. It was a look he gave me frequently since I’d inadvertently returned his soul. His expression was one of kindness and compassion I’d never seen him demonstrate to anyone, and it warmed my heart. He reached out and stroked my face. “Thank you for believing I’m a better man than I am.”
    I squeezed his large hand with mine in time for Hank to appear. “Did you find the culprit?” Misha asked