Cursed Prologue

The tombs are coming down around us.

Literally.

Everything is a blur from the speed of our movements. I have her against yet another crypt and we’re tearing it apart while we fuck—a reality defying act for an ex-mortal like me, and if we’re caught, all hell will break loose.

Do I give a fuck? No. Getting my cock into this witch was my driving goal for years now, I just didn’t know she was real before.

Now that she’s twitching in my arms, pussy trembling, there’s no stopping me.

No stopping us.

She sinks her fire-lit claws into my back, penetrating deep.

Fuck,” I groan, yanking her head back by her hair and sinking my enlarged canines into her neck. “What did I tell you about doing that shit? You want me to wreck you.” And I will.

Her dark gods help us both, because I will.

The creature her kind turned me into demands no less.

“As if you could,” she hisses, turning her head and sinking her little teeth into my forearm.

The fires surrounding us grow brighter, emanating from her unnatural body.

A body I’m pile driving into like a demon possessed.

Her insides are just as hot as the inferno she gives off, a tight cunt that strangles me with each thrust. Her juices drench my groin, the wet slap amplified by the emptiness around us.

Perceived emptiness. I’m sure someone will come around eventually. The Cities of the Dead are hardly empty at night, regardless of whatever laws the New Orleans officials enact.

And that’s only in regards to the living.

I can see them now, the dead, their barely visible forms spread throughout this city by the millions.

Most are oblivious. Confused. Lost in their prisons between this realm and wherever they’re supposed to be.

Others are conscious, alert.

Frantic as they try to get our attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see their efforts to get us to look their way, but I ignore every single one of them.

They want to be voyeurs to this? So be it.

Same thing goes for anyone else that happens to go by.

Nothing and no one is getting in the way of this.

I yank her leg higher around my thigh, circling my hips with my dick as far inside her as it can go.

She gives off this little gasp that sends shivers down my back, walls fluttering.

“How’s that, baby? That what you want?”

Claws dragging across my heated skin, she tightens her hold and lifts her other leg around my hip. “Maybe,” is her cheeky, moaned response.

Wrapping my hands around those gorgeous thighs, I pound her harder, and fuck, we’re about to break through into that crypt at the rate we’re going.

Screw it. I’ll screw her right on the coffins inside. Don’t care. That wet, luscious pussy is all that matters.

I clip her ear with a fang, groaning long and deep. “Is it what you imagined, witch? My dick owning that pretty cunt? Filing it with my cum?”

She cries out loud as fuck, clearly not caring if we’re caught either. “Fuck you, werewolf.”

I slam her onto my dick again, pulsing at the end of her. “No, witch. I’m the one fucking you. Stretching this perfect—tight—pussy—to—the—brim.” My hips bang into her with every word, concrete further collapsing all around—

As predicted, the wall finishes giving way, and I find myself stumbling into the interior of the crypt with her wrapped around me.

Sweating, maddened, I rush forward, hands on her ass, until I can sit her on the surface of one of the coffins. Once I have her on it, I spend no time forcing her backward and yanking those legs over my arms.

Pretty face flushed, she whimpers at the new angle, dark hair plastered to her forehead.

She’s not as physically strong as I now am, but she’s proven to be able to take the beating, and I give her just that, heaving thrusts into her so hard there’s no doubt that coffin will be the next thing to break. “That’s it, witch. You love this. Can’t live without it any more than I can.”

Her back curves, breasts jiggling. “Still going to kill you when this is all over, wolf.”

Sadly, of that I have no doubt.

Only makes me more frantic to fuck her as much as I can before I die, like a glutton at the buffet table hosting his last meal.

In case you haven’t realized by now, my life is a sad, sad mess.

How did I get here, you ask?

I sold my soul to an ancient voodoo priestess.

Or so I thought.

Sounds like the beginning of a worthless, B-rated script.

Doesn’t it?

Hah. Just wait. It gets worse. Alice’s rabbit hole doesn’t have shit on mine.

See, the priestess might’ve been ancient, but I was high off my fucking ass.

I was always high back in those days; it was my only way to get by.

Easy to tell myself I imagined that entire night—the odd woman that approached me, her ability to see the rotting pain in my soul. How she offered me everything I could’ve ever wanted, a deliverance from the life I didn’t ask for.

How, according to her, all I had to do was “sign” on the dotted line . . . Or, in the name of complete transparency, press my bleeding thumb to the bottom of an old-fashioned, text-filled parchment.

I told you this crap sounds like imagined garbage.

Except, I did it.

I convinced myself I didn’t.

Shortly thereafter, my life changed in ways I could’ve never envisioned.

Ten years down the line, it’s changing once more—a bad acid trip that’s about to become ten times worse.

The only way I can help you make sense of it—hell, the only way I can begin to truly understand it—is to show you.

Step one: my suicidal idiocy.

Step two: the dark hole it’s about to lead me to.

And the incarnation of fire and damnation that’s waiting for me at the bottom of that pit.

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