Blood Cursed Read online

  Blood Cursed

  By

  H.L. Graham

  Copy write page

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  For Ben,

  Who got me to pull this book out of the closet and finish the damn thing.

  I love you.

  And for my amazing Brother Jason, who suffered every comma, period and apostrophe. You are the best!

  Chapter 1

  She ran. She ran until her lungs burned and her legs threatened to give out, but to no avail. The creature landed on her back with a thud, knocking her onto the hard pavement. She screamed with no sound as the monster tore into her body with its long vicious fangs and sharp claws. Her mind recoiled from the gruesome noise. The wet tearing of skin and muscles, her blood spraying as the creature growled with delight. She imagined a Thanksgiving turkey except the turkey was raw and squirming, screaming at the realization that she was dinner. The creature stopped for a moment offering her a chance to escape. Blood pulsated in her ears from the adrenaline. She did not notice the gravel scraping her battered and bloodied arms. As the assault resumed, she felt herself dragged backwards towards the bushes that lined the sidewalk. Broken glass on the pavement cut into her exposed stomach. She knew this was the end. She was going to die. She accepted her fate. She was efficient, known for making quick decisions. This was a quality in which she took pride.

  Her mind flooded with happy memories as the creature slowly pulled her toward the bushes, and her death. She remembered the sweet smell of gardenias from her walk home. The bees sang and buzzed feeding on the tiny white flowers. The evening was peaceful and warm.

  The latest victim in a killing spree that plagued her town, it never occurred to her the creature was a werewolf. Today’s newspaper reported a woman was recently killed by an animal attack on the other side of town. She had done everything right. Streetlights fully illuminated her route. She even carried a can of pepper spray which had flung from her hand at the onset of the attack, now out of reach.

  The creature dragged her passed the bushes into the darkness, savagely flipping her onto her back to finish feeding. Its head jerked up at a distant sound. Growling angrily, it opened its massive jaws and bit into her neck and shoulder, tearing the flesh from her body.

  The last conscious thought, ‘it’s not an animal,’ echoed through her mind as she bled out onto the dark ground.

  Chapter 2

  I arrived home as the sun was setting. Orange, red, and purple streaked through the sky. I ran inside to find Gaven, disappointed the house was dark. He hadn’t been home before 8:00 pm for months. So many late nights at the studio. Gavens’ been busy with an impending deadline.

  Gaven’s my personal dreamboat. Six feet of tall lean perfection. Legs of a soccer player, emerald green eyes, and thick wavy out of control blond hair. He carries himself like a surfer, laid-back personality to match. An artist, actually a sculptor, Gaven’s underwater scenes have an almost magical quality.

  We’ve lived in Punta Gorda for about 8 years. Gaven convinced me Florida’s fishing is the best in North America. With no fishing experience of my own, I said sure.

  “Your idea of a great catch is a plate full of jumbo shrimp.” He’d joked. “Some of the nicest beaches in the world are less than an hour away!” Not a tough sell. When he’s not locked away in the studio, Gaven’s offshore kayak fishing.

  Dressed in sexy overalls and work boots, he crafts metal into a myriad of sea creatures. Starting to receive recognition, several local galleries carry his work. A blessing, and a curse. I’m proud of him, but lately it seems he’s married to his latest sculpture.

  We met in an upstate New York junior high classroom. Two pimple faced kids fall in love and actually make it work. It was 7th grade pre-algebra. The new kid in school, Gaven was pretty tall and gangly. I spotted him the second he stepped into the room. The teacher assigned him the next seat over. I hid behind my bushy auburn curls. Gaven awkwardly plodded over and plopped down into his seat.

  “Hey dude, I’m from California” he stated confidently in an annoying half formed surfer drawl. His attempt to seem cool. In reality, he masked his fear of being the new kid at a new school.

  “Hi,” I croaked.

  “Man, do I miss the rad breaks.” He exclaimed.

  “No surfing here, dude, you’re in the mountains,” I retorted with the sarcasm that only a 13-year-old girl could convey.

  “None?” he asked quite concerned. He started to look a little pale as his accent began to fade.

  Feeling terrible for him, I tried to distract him by showing off my local knowledge. “Well, there are mountain lakes created by glaciers millions of years ago during the ice age. There are actually many large bodies of water nestled throughout the Adirondacks. The closest is Mirror Lake. It freezes in the winter, a great place to ice skate. Lake Placid is a wonderful place both summer and winter.” I babbled. A 7th grader turned minister of tourism.

  This seemed to calm Gaven down. “Thanks.” His emerald eyes peaked through his blond shaggy hair.

  Wow, I was hooked.

  “You’re welcome. There are so many fun activities around here...,” I clamped my mouth shut, forcing a shy smile.

  I tend to talk excessively when I’m uncomfortable.

  We sat smiling at one another. The uncomfortable silence lingered a bit too long.

  I offered, “Um, I could take you to see Mirror Lake after school? I walk by it on my way home.” Where did that bravery come from? Gaven had a strong effect on me even at 13.

  “That would be great,” his smile brightened.

  From that day on, we spent every afternoon by the lake getting to know each another. I introduced him to snow sports. He taught me to water ski. I showed him the best places to camp. He taught me to appreciate the ecology of the lake. Our friendship grew over the years. By high school we were dating, by college we were married. Fate brought us together. He even laughs at my annoying comments. Well sometimes…

  Gaven’s love of the water never faded. In college, he majored in marine biology. But he discovered sculpting during an intro to art elective. He dropped his biology major to devote his time to art. From the very beginning, his works flowed like water, yet possessed a strong sense of life. Since graduation, he’s been able to squeak out a decent living. A recent increase in demand for his work meant I saw less and less of him, something we are struggling to adjust too.

  Since I found myself alone, I decided to go for an evening run. A frequent occurrence these days. Running is another hobby Gaven and I enjoyed together. He acted as my coach when I competed in the local 5K. 1st Place in my age category, thank you very much. I enjoy the synchronized sound of our shoes tapping the pavement as we circle the neighborhood, high on endorphins as we pushed ourselves. Gaven’s always been into fitness. He loves running, biking, and swimming. You name it, he loves it. He introd
uced me to running and after a short period of minimal complaining I actually warmed up to it.

  I changed into my running gear and headed out the door: a cap to tame my wild auburn mane, an iPhone strapped to one arm, and a red blinking LED safety light on the other. I ran a few times a week to offset my love of ice cream. At 5’6” and 120 pounds I can gain or lose a pound and still fit in my clothing without much problem.

  A perfect night for a run. Spring in Florida was great for any outdoor activity. Rainy season hadn’t kicked in yet and the scorching temperatures of summer were still a few weeks away. After a few minutes of warm up, I settled into a groove. The initial burning in my legs began to fade as an amazing bliss overcame my body.

  But, running in Southwest Florida can be a tricky prospect. One must content with several factors. It took me eight years to build up a tolerance to the sweltering heat and humidity. Then there are the bugs. The mosquitoes and no-see-ums are the trickiest part. Then the other flying critters that don’t bite, but tend to fly up your nose. I spent many a day scratching little red bumps all over my body. Luckily, tonight was post thunderstorm, with a light wind, to keep those little suckers at bay. The full moon brightened my path with that shiny pavement thing going on. This is a runner’s paradise.

  My mind turned toward how much I missed running with Gaven.

  I tried to sing along with The Barenaked Ladies, but got annoyed about running alone. Lately, Gaven and I have been having more and more disconnects. Even when he is home, we end up fighting. He works all the time and I feel neglected. I don’t have many friends. Outside of some colleagues from work, I spend a lot of time alone. I need a social life, but all attempts have failed. I’d meet a potential friend, invite her and her husband for dinner, then discover he and Gaven have nothing in common. Or Gaven would bring home a friend and his wife, and she and I would have nothing in common. It seemed were constantly dating other couples and it was exhausting. Now we just work and take in the occasional movie.

  I wanted to clear my mind, so I took a deep breath, cranked up my music and picked up the pace. The best way to clear your mind when running, inflict more pain. Push harder and pain is the only thing you think about. As a psychotherapist, I could argue the pros and cons of this theory, but decided to give into my baser instincts.

  As I passed one mile I decided to run three more, when I heard what I thought was a wolf howling in the distance. I stopped, pulled off my earbuds, and listened for it again. Suddenly a car honked, flashing their high beams in my eyes. I squinted as I looked up to see Gaven approaching in his pickup. He pulled onto the curb next to me.

  “Hannah Dorian, what are you doing?” He asked, irritation accentuating the pronunciation of our last name (Gee-ohs).

  “Climbing Mt. Everest, what does it look like?” I answered sarcastically.

  “Get in.” He ordered. “Don’t you remember Leslie advised us not to run in the evenings until they catch that wild animal? He called there was another attack last night. It’s getting more dangerous.”

  “Leslie is coming over for dinner as soon as his shift ends. Don’t you remember we invited him?” Gaven asked with increasing irritation.

  I jumped into the truck, “Oh shit, I totally forgot, I had my hands full with a new patient.”

  “Let me guess, the latest attack victim.”

  “Yeah how’d you know?” I questioned.

  “Leslie mentioned the referral.”

  I sometimes get so caught up in my head I forgot about the world around me.

  “Hadn’t it occurred to you it wasn’t safe to be out alone? The fact that you’re treating the most recent attack victim didn’t give you a huge clue?” He asked, irritation turning to concern.

  I stared out the window at the night sky.

  “I’m sorry, I needed some exercise. I don’t want to do this again.” I hated fighting with Gaven. Almost every night one of us picked a fight. It seemed this pattern would never end.

  Gaven sighed, “Leslie will be here in a few minutes. I knew you would head out running. You can be so selfish sometimes.”

  “Me! Selfish!” I almost screeched as I turned toward him, “you’re the selfish one, gone every evening. Then you go fishing every weekend. I never see you anymore and you call me selfish? I’m alone and you don’t stop to think that maybe I miss you.” I was hurt by his words, but I was not going to cry. I’d scream at him all night to avoid crying. I was too proud to show my pain, it was not the time to get into it and anger felt better in the moment.

  “Hannah please let’s not fight. Can we get home and start cooking something before Leslie arrives?”

  “Fine,” I answered, sniffling back some unwanted tears.

  “I love you. I worry. I’m sorry if I came at you with guns blazing. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

  I wiped at my tears, “I know, I’m sorry too. Let’s forget about it and go make dinner.”

  Gaven gently grabbed my hand, turned it over and kissed my wrist. My body tightened in a good way. I can’t stay mad when he kisses me like that and he knows it. My on-switch, is what he calls it. I scooted closer to him.

  He kissed my wrist again, “Alright trouble maker, no time for that. The neighbors would talk.”

  I smiled. “Too bad.”

  I pulled him in for a big wet kiss. When I broke away he was slightly breathless. “See? Two can play at that game.”

  His eyes glowed with desire, “You wait my dear.” He revved the engine and off we went. With such a sexy husband, I couldn’t stay mad for long. I hoped we could work out his schedule so I wasn’t as lonely.

  I had just enough time to pull a container of homemade marinara out of the freezer and set some water on the stove to boil.

  Leslie pulled into the driveway.

  Chapter 3

  Detective Leslie Conway was 6’5”, 220 pounds and the scariest guy on the force. I suspect his bright red hair, big muscles and temper indicated Viking DNA in his heritage. He was also the most caring, gentle guy on the force. Leslie believes in helping those who can’t help themselves and severely punishing those who do the hurting.

  Leslie let himself in the front door.

  “Hey, didn’t I tell you guys to lock the door,” he joked as he locked it behind himself. He carried a white box, and from the shape, it appeared to be a pie. I love pie. Actually, any kind of dessert made my mouth water.

  Leslie wore jeans, cowboy boots, a button up shirt and a suit jacket. His attire melded both cowboy and stockbroker. The twang in his voice make him sound like a redneck masking his true intelligence. This was beneficial. Very little got past him. He made detective quicker than most of his peers and had the highest arrest rate. Leslie took his work extremely seriously and produced results. He was well respected throughout the community.

  Also single, a fact not lost upon the local women, Leslie receives more invitations for dates than he is willing to admit. He successfully avoids these social disasters by working long hours. The one acceptable excuse.

  The only lets his guard down when hanging out with Gaven and I. He can be himself, not the detective or the single guy. I think Leslie’s avoidance of intimacy is due to fear of rejection. He was in a serious relationship when he first joined the force. Still young, she couldn’t understand his ambition. She wanted to have fun while he focused on building their future. She left one night while he was working and moved back with her parents somewhere in Tampa, devastating Leslie. He had been saving for an engagement ring and a house when she ripped his heart out. He compensated for his pain by pouring himself into his work. Now, all he does is work, except for dinner with us and the occasional fishing trip with Gaven.

  “Yeah, yeah, Leslie, quit nagging and bring that pie over here.” Gaven joked back.

  When I first moved to Punta Gorda eight years ago, I began to set up my practice. I gave free lectures to different groups about trauma and psychotherapy treatment. I met Leslie at a Crime Victim Traum
a Workshop I ran for the local police, hoping to generate some referrals. And it worked. Leslie came over to talk about referring crime victims. We chatted. I learned about his passion for fishing, immediately inviting him for dinner hoping to find Gaven a new fishing buddy.

  Leslie’s a frequent flyer for dinner. He contributes by bringing over the most amazing pies. Apparently, he stopped a robbery at this little local bakery and they thank him with daily pies or pastries.

  I instantly forgot about the fight with Gaven and rushed over to see peak in the box.

  I snatched the box from Leslie and opened it with a well-practiced hand. “Oh, goody, chocolate silk, my favorite,” I cooed at the pie. Chocolate always fixes my bad moods.

  “Yep, Baker Bob certainly ensured a customer for life.” Leslie smiled fondly at the pie.

  “Wait a minute, you get these for free. You’re not a customer, you’re a mooch,” Gaven laughed.

  “Man, you know I can’t say no, I’m lucky I saved a bakery and not a plastic surgery center. You wouldn’t recognize me.” Leslie said.

  We all laughed.

  “So, what’s cooking folks?” He asked us.

  “The usual,” Gaven said, “spaghetti and some veggie tomato sauce ala Hannah.”

  Leslie looked at me as I set the pie down to stir my sauce, “Can’t we just once have some meat with our spaghetti?”

  I stirred my sauce with the wooden spoon, “You know I hate touching that stuff. It’s so slimy, the thought of ground beef grosses me out. I can’t eat it unless Gaven cooks it beyond recognition.” I shivered at the thought. “If you want meat, go to a restaurant.” I added with attitude.

  “Alright Chef Cantankerous.” Leslie liked to use his word of the day calendar I got for his birthday. His favorite activity, finding synonyms describing me as stubborn or irritable.

  “Good one.” Gaven laughed.

  “I don’t think it’s fair to torment me with your word of the day. The gift meant for good, not evil.” I replied, enjoying my banter with Leslie.