Twisted Soul (Cursed Legacies #3)

7. Maven

7

MAVEN

Of my many problems, two have my full attention as we walk through the blustery, cold December night in downtown Hastings toward the diner Kenzie told me about.

My first problem is that I'm starting to…feel things. For all four of my matches.

Sure, I wanted them before. I decided they were mine and that I would fight for them.

But now?

Every time Silas looks at me or speaks in my head, I feel this rush of rightness now that we're bound together. Whenever Everett comes anywhere near me, I get the urge to reach out and pull him closer—though right now, he's trying to keep his distance, grumbling that it's cold enough without him making it worse for me. Baelfire keeps finding tiny excuses to touch me anywhere he possibly can to warm me up, and damn it, I like that.

Adding the fact that I can feel Crypt watching my every move from where he walks behind us just as obsessively as he does whenever he's in Limbo…

My entire life has been spent carefully locking away my emotions, so I have no fucking idea how to deal with all of this . Can't all of these stupid flutters in my stomach wait until I kill off the rest of the Immortal Quintet and have more time to process them?

Catching feelings is so damn inconvenient.

But my second problem is that we're being followed.

I first noticed it two blocks ago and haven't said anything to the others yet. It’s better to play it cool until I have more information on this potential threat, especially since we’re doing an excellent job of blending in with the other humans bustling about this small town, blasting holiday music outside every little shop.

Baelfire opens the door to the busy diner. "After you, Boo."

"One of these days, that nickname has to go."

He winks and tries to kiss me as I pass by, but Everett shoves the dragon shifter back, lowering his voice.

"Remember our cover. Humans are typically monogamous, so we're pretending she's with me. If the rest of you idiots get handsy with her, they'll figure out we're a quintet of legacies."

On top of the camouflage spell that should make their exact features and appearances impossible to remember for others for the next few hours—except for me, since I brewed the potion—I decided to take extra precautions with Everett. To try to dull his modelesque appearance, he's wearing a frumpy coat, oversized scarf, and a fur-lined trapper hat that my fashion-conscious match has made no secret of loathing in the extreme.

Bael flips him off. "Thanks for the reminder, Professor Cockblock."

I slip into a corner booth with my quintet, quickly surveying my surroundings. There are seven potential exits. If a fight finds us, I'll get us out of here in no time to keep these innocent humans from being in too much danger.

The person on our tail hasn't come into the diner.

Curious. If it were a bounty hunter, being in a public place wouldn't have stopped them. Is someone else after us? Are they just waiting outside for us to emerge?

What is it, sangfluir? Silas's voice asks softly in my head.

Nothing yet, I reply telepathically, glancing at my bound match across the circular corner booth. The fae is wearing a dark maroon sweater that somehow suits him perfectly.

Yet?

"If you could stop with the telepathy until the rest of us figure out how to join in," Crypt drawls, glaring at Silas, "that would greatly reduce my desire to crush your skull. Wouldn't want you to lose your head so soon after getting your sanity back."

"Oh, that I could lie so easily," Silas fires back, opening a menu.

Crypt is dressed in a black hoodie smattered in fake blood that reads, "I put the laughter in slaughter." I know for a fact that Bael didn't buy that when he went out to get clothes for us, but I was already aware that my Nightmare Prince has sticky fingers.

Baelfire did, however, buy me a nice oversized black sweatshirt and something called jeggings, which are far tighter than anything I typically wear yet somehow comfortable. I can't prove that he bought the tighter pants just so he can check out my legs and ass, but I keep catching all of them doing just that.

No complaints here.

Baelfire throws an arm around the back of the booth and slides closer to me, flipping open the menu on the table in front of me and whispering in my ear.

"Hungry, hellion? I'm dying to feed you."

Everett smacks Bael's arm away to put his arm around me instead—but we all jolt in surprise when an animalistic snarl rips out of Baelfire's throat as he bares his teeth at the elemental. His gaze has shifted to the fiery golden-eyed slits of his dragon.

Shit. He hasn't hunted today.

Immediately, the gorgeous shifter flinches and buries his head under his arms on the table like he's trying to silence his dragon.

"Damn it. Sorry, Boo," he rasps quietly.

Luckily none of the humans nearby seem to have noticed that outburst. Resting my hand on Baelfire's knee under the table, I rub it reassuringly.

At least, I hope it's reassuring. I suck at shit like this.

"Maybe you should go hunt a squirrel or something."

"I'm not leaving your side."

"But—"

"I can't leave your side," he grits, voice muffled. "My dragon won't let me. Just keep touching me. It helps keep him in check when nothing else will."

Seeing my charming, cheerful match so tortured irks me deeply. Before I can demand that Baelfire go and kill something to appease his curse, a waitress approaches the table. Even though she's smiling as she greets us and starts filling water glasses, there's an unmistakable eyebrow raise of suspicion as her gaze flicks around the table.

"Happy holidays, and welcome to Bella's Diner. What can I get for you… five?"

Yep. She definitely suspects that we're a quintet of legacies.

Except for Crypt, the others place orders while I try to decipher the menu. When my turn comes, I still have no fucking idea what's in most of the dishes listed. I decide to play it safe with something Kenzie ordered for me when we used to go to Halfton.

"I'll have potatoes."

"Mashed or baked?"

Neither sounds right. What are those things called again?

"She means chips," Crypt offers, spinning a butterknife on the table out of boredom.

The waitress frowns. "Like, just a bag of potato chips? We don't have that here."

"Fries," Everett clarifies.

Right, that's what those are called.

My ice elemental goes on with, "Let's make that a large order of parmesan fries, the Southwest salad with absolutely no chicken or bacon, and the vegan specialty black bean burger. What else?" he glances at the others.

"She's never tried hot chocolate. Let's also add the French toast," Silas says. He looks at me and telepathically asks, Yes or no to whipped cream on that?

What the fuck is whipped cream?

"Extra whipped cream," he decides aloud.

"And a hot fudge sundae," Baelfire tacks on, sitting up finally. "Or do you want a milkshake instead, Mayflower?"

Hang on. Are they trying to order all of that just for me?

I'm about to remind them that I'm not a bottomless pit like Baelfire, but then I notice the waitress's wary expression. Obviously, witnessing that interaction has only cemented her suspicions. Now she's staring at us like we're sprouting horns and tails before her eyes. If I don't do something, she'll ask to see legal legacy identification from all of us.

The best way to distract someone from suspicion is by making them wildly uncomfortable. Thinking fast, I recall a musical movie Kenzie forced me to sit through weeks ago and give the waitress an exasperated look as if I'd rather not be here.

"Awkward, isn't it? I'm trying to figure out which one is the baby daddy."

Everett chokes on the water he's drinking and Baelfire does a double-take. Silas and Crypt catch on to my act simultaneously. The fae nods solemnly since that's the most he can do to aid the lie. Meanwhile, Crypt heaves a dramatic sigh.

"While I'm certain it's mine, perhaps we should get a paternity test once our adorable little nightmare comes along. Unless you'd rather enlist the help of a legacy to detect the father now?" He fakes a disapproving frown.

I put on an exaggerated grimace. "Legacies? Gross."

"Freaky little fuckers," Bael agrees smoothly, now on the same page. "Here's a thought: let's just assume it's mine."

"Right, because your family is known for their strong swimmers," Everett grumbles.

Baelfire tenses, and I remove my hand from his knee when I feel a sudden surge of heat emanating from him as his temper slips. "Watch your fucking mouth, professor. At least my parents aren’t overcontrolling nightmares who try to micromanage every part of my life.”

Gods. These two just can't get past the whole fire and ice thing, can they?

I don’t miss the way Everett’s face flashes with anger before he checks out, looking out the window like this isn’t a topic he’ll touch. The waitress seems just as confused and uncomfortable as I'd hoped when I turn back to her, trying to move on quickly before anyone else loses their temper.

"Unless you want to stay and referee the dick-measuring contest that will inevitably happen between these four, that's everything for our order."

The waitress shakes her head quickly and hurries away with our order, bumping into a table and apologizing profusely in her rush to get away from this pretended awkwardness. Poor thing has no idea how amusing it is for me to watch. I can't hide my dark smirk by the time I turn back to the others.

Crypt's purple eyes are full of mischief as he grins back. "Brava, darling."

"Our clever little sadist," Baelfire agrees, his shifter emotions swinging from anger to laughter in the blink of an eye.

Silas lifts his glass, which I notice is now filled with dark wine that he drains quickly, leaving no evidence for the waitress to see when she returns. If he weren't fae, I'd be mildly worried about his drinking habits.

Dinner goes off without a hitch after that. The waitress has to return several times to bring all the dishes. Although I point out that there's no way I can eat everything they ordered for me, my matches eagerly watch each time I try something new. It's borderline ridiculous how much they want me to enjoy myself.

In their defense, all of the food is fucking amazing.

Still, the sundae is by far my favorite. Whoever invented ice cream deserves a Paradise of their very own.

When I go to try the steaming cup of hot chocolate, I flinch back at how hot it is when it touches my lips. Everett quickly takes the mug from me. Glancing around subtly to ensure no one is watching, he blows on the cup like he's cooling it off. I can see the white frost on his breath, and when he hands the mug back, it's the perfect temperature.

Icy breath. Why is that so hot to me?

I glance over as Baelfire bites into a burger. He's on his second, which isn't surprising. He ordered almost as much food for his shifter metabolism as they collectively ordered for me. When he catches me looking, he holds the burger towards me.

"Want to try?"

"Not if it's meat."

Everett tips his head, picking another olive out of his salad. Evidently, he is not a fan of those. "What made you decide not to eat meat anyway? Does it make you feel sick?"

That particular memory isn't worth sharing. "Something like that."

By the time everyone is done eating—aside from Crypt, who only licked my ice cream spoon once it'd been in my mouth to get a reaction out of me—it really does feel like this is an ordinary human date. The waitress comes to take our payment before scurrying away again, obviously wanting nothing to do with the fake drama I fed her.

Baelfire steals a bite of my remaining ice cream. "So, how is this date gonna end, hellion? I'll give you a hint: the right answer is with you sitting on my face until I pass out."

My neck abruptly feels hot. “You’re set on that, I see."

“If I don't die getting smothered by your sweet ass, I'll consider my death a complete failure."

It's dangerously easy to imagine riding his face…and sucking the others off at the same time. I could play with Crypt's piercings and listen to all of them moaning and see that adorably overwhelmed blush on Everett's face as I trace my tongue around his tip…

Gods. I was dicked down just a few hours ago. How am I this horny already?

Their gazes darken on me as they collectively seem to sense the sinful direction my thoughts have taken. One side of Silas's mouth lifts as his crimson gaze flicks over me.

“Do you have any idea how addictive your desire is, Maven?”

Before I can decide what I'll do with them to quench this building need, a shadow moves outside one of the diner's front windows. I snap to attention as I recognize a face just before it slips around a corner.

"We need to go." I nudge Everett to slide out of the booth. "Now."

Baelfire tenses, looking out the same window as we all get up. "What is it?"

"You'll see. Follow what I say exactly."

A moment later, we leave the diner. Baelfire and Silas turn left while Everett and I head right. We pass a tall man dressed in a red suit and fake bushy white beard, carrying a pot and jingling a bell. I don't get this holiday character at all, but Everett tosses a thick wad of cash into the pot without saying a word before we turn down the alley I told him to.

Crypt is with us, unseen in Limbo. The moment we round the corner of the diner into a small back parking lot area that appears to be nothing but a few overfilled dumpsters and broken bottles on asphalt, I can feel it—the sharp hum of a trapping spell.

The world flips as Everett and I are suspended upside down in the magic snare. Cold explodes from beside me as he tries to use his powers to get free, but when I barely tap into the dark, malicious power inside my veins, the spell shatters, and we fall to the asphalt.

A shadow leaps toward me. I instinctively roll out of the way—but not before a sharp pain explodes in my left shoulder, rendering my left arm useless as I take a defensive stance. Silas and Baelfire round the opposite corner into the parking lot, racing toward us. Crypt drops into the mortal realm, tackling the figure from behind.

There's a startled grunt, and another surge of magic explodes from the mage. Silas deflects the spell easily with a blinding burst of red blood magic, and finally, Crypt and Baelfire have the caster pinned.

Crypt rips the hood away from the man's face, and Baelfire snarls.

" Gibbons? "