Clarity

  Clarity

  (Cursed # 2)

  By Claire Farrell

  Perdita’s still dealing with the consequences of her actions when her enemies change their targets with no warning, but it’s the unexpected betrayal of those closest to her that hurts the most. When her world shifts beneath her, Perdy has to figure out how to stay standing without losing any more of herself to the werewolves.

  Nathan’s watching everyone pull away from him, but he can’t control his destiny. He’s trying to protect his loved ones, but something always seems to get in the way. A public attack has everyone talking about wolves, and all eyes are on his family. His grandfather has lost his mind, and Nathan’s caught in the crossfire, but all of his choices will cost him a sacrifice. One way or another.

  Nobody’s watching Amelia… Big mistake.

  Smashwords Edition

  April 2012

  Copyright © Claire Farrell 2012

  [email protected]

  Book cover images provided by:

  © Y0jik @ Dreamstime.com

  © Sbelov @ Dreamstime.com

  © Smithore @Dreamstime.com

  Licence Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Prologue

  Maritime-Alps, France

  May

  Ryan

  Ryan managed to squeeze one eye open, but it was a monumental effort. His throat might as well have been packed full of dirt, it felt so dry. One arm was numb, and he realised it was strapped tightly over his head, squeezing his blood flow so he couldn’t phase fully. He could try, but his arm wouldn’t change, and that would be excruciating. For an instant, fear and panic swept through him, but as he twitched the rest of his limbs, down to his fingers and toes, he found everything still where it was meant to be. Lucky.

  He licked his lips and tried to clear his throat, but all that came out was a strange broken noise. His sight returned too slowly for his liking, but he sensed no anger around him. For the moment, he was safe.

  “Here, drink this.”

  His one good eye found Willow by his side, a cup in her hand. He tried to speak, but she shook her head. “Drink first.”

  She lifted his head gently and held the cup to his mouth, tipping it so the gloriously cool water trickled into his mouth. He swallowed gladly, drank more, and was finally able to take the cup himself. Using Willow’s arm, he sat up as much as he could.

  He watched her carefully over the rim of the cup, unsure of her intentions. She wanted him dead; he knew that. But when the werewolves punished her for her father’s sins, he had stepped in, unable to bear her screams any longer. Only one purple bruise marred her skin, but her hair was tangled and dirty, and he wondered how long she had been sitting by his side.

  “Why?” she whispered, her eyes wide with that periodically present innocence. He should have been used to the shifts in her mood, but they never failed to unsettle him; the naivety reminded him far too much of the purity in his own young daughters’ eyes.

  He tried to shrug, but it hurt too much. How could he stand by and watch someone else’s daughter be harmed for her father’s deeds? How could he do that knowing those very werewolves who had beaten him were waiting for their chance to do the same to his own daughters? He still had a conscience, no matter how many times Vin had tried to beat it out of him.

  A silence shrouded them as he sipped and waited for something worse to happen. He recognised the room as the alpha’s very own torture chambers. The shack was so far off the beaten path, no one would hear the screams. Vin made his werewolves wait there while he decided what to do with them. Ryan had been taken there when the werewolves first found him, and the place hadn’t changed much. The heavy stench of fear and blood lingered, the kind of scents that intimidated the ones who shook within those walls. Ryan did his best to ignore the instinct to cower.

  After the fiasco in Dublin, an enraged Vin had been too quick to punish, and even though Ryan had wormed his way out of Vin’s bad books, he had jumped straight back in to let Willow off the hook.

  “I must be crazy,” he whispered. Willow glared at him, her eyes dark and wild, and he laughed, almost delirious with pain and hunger. “Not as crazy as you, Willow. Never as crazy as you.”

  She thumped hard on his chest, causing him to hack up a dry cough that might have been a laugh. Ryan wasn’t quite sure himself. She stormed out of the room and left him on the narrow bed frame.

  In his time with the pack, he had slept in worse places, but he needed to be alert when the others came back. They always came back. He wasn’t walking out of there. Crawling maybe, if he was lucky. Vin’s savage lust for power had become Ryan’s death sentence. Even with the best of outcomes, Ryan couldn’t see a way out for himself.

  Although Vin claimed his orders were for the good of the pack, Ryan knew it boiled down to fear of losing power. As soon as Ryan had scented those werewolves in Ireland, he knew. The alpha strength was obvious among them, far greater than the tainted will Vin possessed. It had taken everything in him to even face the one he fought. They were as tame as werewolves could be, but they didn’t need ferocity.

  If the Evans family of werewolves decided to come knocking, Vin would have to bow his head in obedience. But even in the heart of battle, they hadn’t tried to force their will. That kept playing over in Ryan’s head. It made no sense. Vin never hesitated to use that alpha power against his pack, his method of keeping control.

  Ryan sought the wallet in his pocket. Gone. Not the worst thing that could happen because they couldn’t take his memories. He didn’t need the picture in his wallet. His girls’ faces were imprinted into his mind, a part of his soul.

  He dipped into his memories, trying to find a good one. Back before his family was taken by a crazy werewolf determined to keep his place as the alpha of all alphas.

  Then again, Ryan hadn’t been raised by wolves. Born in Glasgow, he had grown up to be a carpenter, hiding his little secret from everyone but those closest to him. With only his werewolf grandfather for guidance, he had created a perfectly ordinary life with a trade that managed to somehow soothe the wolf.

  He could almost feel the wood against his calloused fingers.

  Not working.

  A fun memory maybe. One where his girls squealed out they loved him. Christmas. Pink and purple bikes. Glittering strings from the handles. And his girls, so excited. Their faces.

  Yes. That moment, right there. That was the one to get him through the pain. The adoration in their eyes had been obvious. That one look could get him through anything.

  “Still dreaming?” Vin’s harsh voice hacked through the memory, dissolving it into fragmented echoes of reality.

  The pain came back. Ryan glanced over at his leader, the one who had persuaded him to hunt down little girls not much older than his own. He hated the man with every cell of his body. “Always a dreamer,” Ryan croaked, surprised to see Vin fully dressed. The man was more wolf than human. On two legs, he moved awkwardly. Less intimidating really, Ryan tried to convince himself.

  “Never been good for a wolf to dream.” Vin stared at Ryan for a couple of minutes.

  Ryan avoided Vin’s eyes, an instinct that was inbred, no matter how often he had been told by human adults it was wrong. He had learned the hard way to trust his wolf when Vin was in the vicinity. The Italian werewolf was educated, fluent in a number of languages, and capable of organising werewolves scattered around the world, yet he hid his wolf and ruled with violence. Ryan had yet to figure out why.

  “You’re so good at finding things, Ryan.” Vin settled onto the stool Willow had vacated. Ryan sensed her standing next to Vin’s mate
by the door. “If you had followed our ways from the beginning, you could have been quite the tracker. It’s such a pity you can’t follow through. But I’m willing to give you one more chance, one last chance, to save the lives of those pretty little girls of yours. Although, I’m not so sure killing them would be a good idea. With werewolf blood in their veins, they might make excellent mating material.”

  Ryan convulsed at the idea of Vin’s gnarly hands on his daughters. Biting the inside of his cheek until blood flooded his mouth, he tried to calm himself, knowing Vin didn’t need much of an excuse to punish him. “There isn’t an ounce of wolf in those girls. I’m not wolf enough for that, remember?” He referred to Vin’s past insults. The older wolf had never managed to breed himself, but it was his favourite insult, intended to call the lower pack members out as lesser wolves, lesser men. Ryan had once hit back at the hypocrisy. His first punishment had been the most severe.

  The way of the pack wasn’t working anymore. The wolves couldn’t breed successfully, and Ryan was pretty certain it was due to the level of inbreeding over the years. The packs had stupidly decided to close ranks long ago, so there were rarely viable candidates for forced change. Biting any old human didn’t work, and nobody could figure out why.

  Except for old Jakob Evans. He had managed to turn his mate and produce two healthy werewolf sons, two healthy werewolf grandsons. Jakob’s success probably bothered Vin more than anything.

  Vin spat on the floor. “Ha. Not wolf enough. I thought the same about your mother, and look at you. You might have been magnificent if the humans hadn’t stolen and kept you for so long.”

  “It doesn’t work like that anymore,” Ryan bluffed, having no real idea if his daughters were cursed by his blood. “Our breeding days are over.”

  “And yet, some have no problem with it. They could strengthen us all if they had a mind to.” He shook his head, but Ryan knew the truth of it. Vin was terrified of the Evans family, terrified of the strength coming from the males. Each generation appeared to be stronger than the last. Ryan had heard the stories of how one of them had taken down three strong wolves before his enemies finally managed to rip out his throat.

  If the Evans wolves knew how to focus that willpower, and if they felt like taking over a larger pack, there would be no place for Vin. He talked the talk, filling the pack with hate and ideas about mixing the blood for the greater good, but really, he wanted that family distracted enough to weaken them, so he could one day destroy them all, probably as punishment for some kind of made up treachery. Ryan had a talent for finding the truth, too. Vin had slipped up a few times, making it clear he had known the oldest wolf in a past life.

  “What’s the plan then?” Ryan asked wearily.

  “You’ll have some backup, and as soon as you’re healed, you can leave. Last time, you let the woman die; this time, you’re going with wolves I can trust to stick to the plan. You’ll lead them to the family, directly to the girls. They’ll do the rest. I can’t have you screwing everything up a second time.”

  “I’ll get rid of the girl. I want revenge. I need to repay her,” Willow cried.

  Ryan swore inwardly. Pushing a person in such a weakened mental state was beyond unfair. Why couldn’t Vin do it himself? Of course, he would never say that. At least not smack-bang in the middle of Vin’s territory.

  Vin beckoned Willow over to him. She hesitated, but Vin’s mate shoved her forward with a hardened look in her eye. Vin twisted a lock of Willow’s hair around his finger. Distaste crossed his face, but Willow’s expression was blank, perhaps from fear. She wouldn’t say anything to bring more trouble on herself, Ryan realised with some relief. With her father gone, he felt some responsibility toward her. He couldn’t protect his own girls, so he was taking care of someone else’s.

  “Fine. Take your vengeance,” Vin said in a soft voice that still sounded like a hacking dog. “You can run along with Ryan. If you do well, I’ll buy you something pretty. Maybe you’ll earn your father’s place in the pack.” He turned back to Ryan. “The plans have changed. I’ve been thinking about the youngest one. She’s the only one left. The key must be in her blood. We need to take her. The others are on their way. Get better soon because you’ll be heading in first to stir up some distractions.”

  Before Vin left the room, he wrapped his fingers around Ryan’s neck and squeezed. Ryan tried not to struggle, tried to ignore the way his entire body felt as if it were floating, tried hard to look as if he didn’t need to breathe. But most importantly, he didn’t look Vin in the eye, and before any permanent damage was caused, Vin let go.

  “Good boy,” Vin whispered. As he passed Willow, he slammed his closed fist against her face and kept moving without missing a beat. Willow fell to the ground, whimpering, but even she knew better than to lift her head again.

  Ryan closed his eyes and sucked in deep breaths of air that hurt his lungs. He couldn’t see a way out—not for him, not for his children, not even for Willow. She made little howling sounds, refusing to get up off the ground.

  Feeling all hope seep away from his body, Ryan wondered who the others were and how he could manage to stop them from hurting the young girls he had already risked his life to protect. If he’d been grouped with any wolves other than Willow and her impulsive father, he might have succeeded. He only had one chance left, but the Evans family was gunning to kill him.

  Chapter One

  Dublin, Ireland

  Late May

  Perdita

  I heard his footsteps behind me and felt that usual surge of happiness whenever he was around. It wouldn’t last. As soon as he left my side, the natural boost of endorphins caused by the curse would disappear all over again, as would the way I held in my guilt and grief around him so he couldn’t feel it.

  He plonked himself on the step next to me and kissed my cheek. I gave him a sideways glance. The dark circles under Nathan’s eyes were becoming more pronounced, the stress more apparent in his expression. I resisted the urge to ask if he was okay. Stupid question.

  He took my hand, and we waited together in silence, letting the effects of the werewolf curse soothe us both. A centuries-old gypsy curse inflicted Nathan’s male family members with the compulsion to find their soul mate and experience bliss. That sounded good until you remembered the bit about them also having to mourn their soul mate. Being Nathan’s soul mate meant that I would die before my time unless his sister discovered her role in the curse and figured out a way to end it. I leaned closer to him at that thought because I needed him more than ever.

  School had just ended, but I couldn’t remember learning a thing all day. Even my favourite class had become dull and pointless. I hadn’t painted in weeks; I kept staring at blank pages, hoping something would spill onto paper. Sometimes I sketched wolves, erasing them whenever I realised what I was doing. Nathan had watched me once, but he never said a word about it.

  Groups of teenagers passed, most of them waving at Nathan, nearly all of them sunburned by the unexpected week-long heat wave. I had made sure to stay in the shade, religiously reapplying sun cream, but even my pale skin had managed to catch some rays, turning it a disgustingly glowing shade of red.

  I wondered if our future children would tan or burn, then dropped Nathan’s hand as though stung.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Think he’ll come back today?” I covered as I rubbed my palms on my knees, unwilling to share the weirdly random thought that had rattled me.

  Nathan shook his head. “He’ll call first. Probably.” His disappointment weighed heavy in his voice. He thought his grandfather would have called already.

  As far as I was concerned, he should have called. Or rather, he should have stayed in the first place. “Maybe it’ll be today. He has to come back for the memorial, right?” But I didn’t know if Jakob Evans was ever going to return to his family, not even for the memorial service to mark his wife’s death. I had no idea where he was or what exactly he was doing, but he
wasn’t the Jakob I had first met. That much was clear.

  He had ditched his family after his wife’s funeral, sneaking off in the dead of night like someone with something to hide, leaving behind a two-line note. Brief and cold. That was his legacy.

  His departure had been a whirlwind of cold sorrow for the rest of his family, setting the tone for the following weeks. It had been a double loss, and they weren’t exactly coping well without the grandparents, Jakob and Lia.

  Being around Nathan and his sister Amelia had become almost painful. I was sure the same could have been said about me, but none of us knew how to fix it, so we didn’t talk about it much. At first, we had been united in grief, but by the time Lia’s funeral came around, Jakob’s rage had infected us all, leaving a chilling sense of unease and distrust.

  Nathan wrapped his arm around me, his fingers gently stroking my ribcage. Even though my injury had pretty much healed, he still touched me extra carefully. We had come up with big lies to explain my cracked rib and Lia’s death all those weeks ago.

  I would never forget that awful night. None of us would. When Jakob witnessed his soul mate’s death, something in him had changed. His desperation for revenge had led to him leaving his son and grandchildren. They hadn’t heard from him since.

  Nathan needed him badly. They all did, and I harboured a serious amount of anger toward Jakob, as much as I sympathised with him for his loss. Losing Lia had left the family fragmented. They barely held on without her.

  I leaned against Nathan for support as my cousin, Joey, and my ex-best friend, Tammie, sauntered by. Joey nodded at us, but Tammie acted as if we didn’t exist. She had taken to speaking to me only when I was alone. If Nathan or his sister was around, she blanked me completely. Part of me was relieved. If we were still friends, I would have to constantly lie to her. It was bad enough lying to my own family. Still, it hurt because I hadn’t begun to understand why she acted the way she did.