Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame E.C. Farrell (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📖

a tree trunk. Black bubbles grow and shrink in my vision. Every inch of my body pounds with horrible pressure.

My nostrils flare, reminding me of another body part that is probably broken. I rest my head against the tree. Waves of nausea wash over me, and the ground undulates under my legs. After a few slow breaths calm it a bit, I ask, “Dumb question. What happened? The pain made it a bit fuzzy.”

Max scratches his shoulder. “Giant lady smashed the window and threw you out of it, then just started wailing on you. Friend of yours or another bounty hunter? She barely glanced at me. Not even when she climbed over me to go after you.” He grimaces. “It looked ... personal.”

“I bet our fellow passengers will be traumatized for life.”

“No joke,” Max says.

Attempting to place the woman’s face, I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking back on her features. None of them strike me as familiar. Not her short dark hair, not the beauty mark, not her fierce gray eyes. Other than her Hank-like size, she’s completely, and totally unfamiliar.

“I didn’t recognize her, but she could be a shapeshifter.” I cough, realizing for the first time that I can’t breathe through my nose. The taste of metal intensifies on my tongue.

“Do you have any enemies who might want to turn you into roadkill?”

“I’m a bounty hunter.” I wince as I peel my eyes open again, and grin at him. “I’m sure there are a lot of people — paranormal and otherwise — who want to exact a little revenge.”

Resting his elbows on his knees, Max smirks. “Fair assumption. It comes with the territory, I guess. So, now what? We wait for you to die again so you can reset? Unless you’ve got a way to heal yourself?”

I sigh, though it comes out laced with a bit of a whimper. “Unfortunately, no.”

My stomach sinks. If something doesn’t kill me, I’m going to have to suffer until tomorrow night at midnight. We could, in theory, go to a hospital or search for the nearest healing center, but I’d rather not risk it with Amazons and rival bounty hunters on our tail. I’m also not too keen on dying twice in one day.

“Well, I can get us to the nearest motel or hotel or whatever,” Max says. “Unless Hank packed a tent in that backpack.”

I press my lips together, our options spinning around me. The pound in my head, not to mention the rest of my body, derails my thoughts. Every throb drags my brain off course. I force it to find the first, most simple step: getting out of the open.

When attempting to reach my cell fails and produces a long rant of profound profanity, I look back up at Max. “Grab my phone and find the closest motel.”

“Where is it?”

“My back pocket.”

That smirk spreads into a grin, and Max wiggles his brows.

“No, I don’t just want you to touch my butt. And if you do ...” I trail off, pinning him with a glare.

He laughs. “I’ll do my best to avoid fleshy bits.” With the tips of his fingers, he pinches the rubber part of the case, and pulls it out. A few taps later, he nods. “There’s one pretty close, but it still might take me a few jumps. Ready?”

With a gentle touch of his hand, water encases me again. Each short stint relieves my torment. Our landings bring it back. When we finally pop up outside of a dingy motel that must’ve once been white, I half collapse against Max, pain radiating from nearly every inch of my body. His soft grip on my arm keeps me steady.

Choking down a groan, I twist my fingers into the only thing I can get a grip on: his shirt. I suck in a breath. He smells faintly of soap, and nothing more. Water spirits have no scent. I know this, but it still throws me a little. It’s oddly comforting, one less stimuli to deal with.

Lips parting, I meet his eyes, and my intended words disintegrate to ash. We’re too close together. Far too close. At the back of my mind, I’m sure it’s just his charisma drawing me in, but that knowledge slides away from me at this proximity to him. My aching body thrums with a strange sort of hunger, longing to lean into his embrace, to find comfort there.

With the barest tip of a finger, Max brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, then smiles a little. “Credit card, or fae gold?”

Pain cuts off my laughter almost instantly, and both break the spell of his charms and my own vulnerability. I sway away from him, but thankfully still manage to stand on my own two boots. Arm cradled to my side, I lead the way to the front desk, limping something fierce. Ten minutes later, Max swipes the card for our room.

Hovering a hand in front of the door, I cast a shield spell across it, then collapse on the motel bed, not even caring about how gross this top sheet probably is. Bed bugs and bodily fluids are much less of a concern than broken bones and bruises. Not to mention the fact that I’m still bleeding and covered in dirt, so it doesn’t really matter.

At least we have one day left before we’re supposed to meet Yaritza in Breaux Bridge. Because I will not be moving fast any time soon.

Max drops the pink bag on the bed next to me and slumps into one of the ugly blue-adjacent chairs across from me. “Want me to go raid the front desk for pain killers?”

I grunt, then unzip the backpack, and dig around inside. Hope zings through me when my fingers brush the top of a bottle. Yanking it out, I lift the tequila into the air as best as my injured arm can.

“Unnecessary.”

Max rocks forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “Need help opening that?”

“I’d like to say no, but...” I extend the