Chapter 75 76
Marigold POV
A few kisses later.
By the time the fire settled into lazy orange coals, I’d stopped shaking. My body still ached like I’d been thrown through a blender, but the warmth helped. Gregor sat across from me, arms on his knees, staring at the flames like they personally offended him. Barbie, of course, was hovering above a puddle, using a leaf as a mirror to fix her soggy hair.
I poked the fire with a stick, trying to ignore how quiet it got. Quiet always meant something bad was coming—or Gregor was about to say something important.
“Marigold,” he said finally, voice low, serious.
Oh no. That tone. That plot-reveal tone.
“Before we go after the Queen,” he continued, “you need to understand something about the curse.”
Yeah, I kept thinking about that.
I frowned. “You mean the one making Black Fang psychos scream Latin during full moons?”
“Not just them.” His eyes lifted, and the firelight caught the scar at his jaw. “It’s her, too. The Queen. The curse binds her and the Fang together—every one of them. They’re connected through blood and magic. Old magic. Fae-born.”
“Fae-born?” I glanced at Barbie, who froze mid–hair flip.
She cleared her tiny throat. “I was hoping that little fun fact wouldn’t come up tonight.”
Gregor’s gaze hardened. “You know something.”
Barbie crossed her glittery arms. “Of course I do! Everyone knows the story—well, everyone who was alive thirteen thousand years ago, which is me.”
I blinked. “You’re seriously that old? You weren't kidding?”
She smirked. “Honey, I had wings before humans had pants.”
Gregor sighed. “Your Highness...”
“Hey! She’s a queen?” I asked with raised brow.
“I was…but enough about me.”
“Wow!” I sassed.
“Fine, fine!” Barbie grumbled, flying closer to the fire. “The curse of the Queen was cast centuries ago, before your kind even remembered the word ‘supernatural.’ There was a war—the first war—between the fae and the dark wolves. The Queen’s ancestor tried to steal fae blood to make herself immortal. The High Fae didn’t like that, so she cursed her bloodline. Said her children and her soldiers would be forever bound to their hunger—half-dead, half-beast, never free.”
“So that explains the Black Fang,” I murmured.
“Exactly,” Barbie said, flipping her wet hair. “They’re basically cursed puppets. They live, but not really. They obey, but not by choice.”
Alpha Gregor nodded grimly. “That’s why they can’t stop fighting, even when they want to. It’s in their blood.”
“That’s why she was after me, even though she knew Margaux was dead? This was not just about Prince Leon’s bride and womb sponsor?”
“Yes.”
The bitch!
I felt my throat tighten. “Then what does this have to do with me?”
Barbie looked at me like I was the last donut in a police station. “You, my muddy friend, are the prophecy’s punchline.”
“Excuse me?”
“The prophecy,” she continued, fluttering to sit on a rock near my boot, “says that only the blood of a female young dark warrior, born under the shadow of war and blessed—or cursed—with wolf and flame, can break the chain of the Queen’s curse. But it has to be mixed with fae essence.”
“Mixed? Like, in a smoothie?”
Gregor pinched the bridge of his nose. “She means a ritual, Marigold.”
“Okay, good, because I’m not about to start drinking Barbie’s glitter.”
Barbie rolled her eyes. “The prophecy’s old, vague, and probably written by some poetic drunk. But it basically means your blood and my magic together could heal the curse—or destroy it. No one knows which.”
Gregor leaned forward. “And that’s why ASA wants you both. They’ve been experimenting—trying to force that prophecy to come true on their terms. If they can control the mix, they control the outcome. Imagine an army of wolves freed from the curse—but loyal only to them.”
“So ASA, this was not just about making hybrids?”
“Yes, or maybe both.” Gregor answered with a sigh.
“Then, why was the Queen affiliated with ASA?”
“Because she was desperate, Marigold.” Barbie stood, her wings glistened by the fire.
“Oh, perfect,” I said, throwing my hands up. “So the Queen’s cursed, Black Fang’s cursed, humans are trying to weaponize us, and I’m the magical blood bag who can fix it all.”
“Pretty much,” Barbie said cheerfully.
I stared at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Just a little.”
Gregor’s voice softened, almost regretful. “That’s why they attacked the camp, Marigold. They don’t want to kill you—they want to use you. And the Queen will stop at nothing to get what’s left of your blood.”
My pulse pounded. “So she’s cursed too. She’s just… hiding it?”
“She’s dying,” he said. “Slowly. Every spell, every serum—she’s trying to delay the inevitable. Her curse eats her from the inside.”
I swallowed. “And if she gets me?”
Barbie whistled. “Then congrats, you’ll be the magical Band-Aid for the most psychotic monarch in history.”
“Great,” I muttered. “I always wanted to be a royal accessory.”
Gregor smiled faintly at that—small, tired, but real. “Still making jokes.”
“It’s either that or cry. And my tears don’t come with healing properties, so here we are.”
He reached over and took my hand. “We’ll find a way to end this. Together.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles, rough and gentle all at once. I met his eyes, and for a second, everything else—curses, prophecies, psychotic queens—faded. Just us, breathing in the dark.
Then Barbie broke the silence with a dramatic cough. “Okay, lovebirds, hate to ruin the tragic tension, but we still have two ASA drones flying around, a vampire nest half a mile north, and a murderous monarch hunting us. Maybe save the hand-holding for after we survive?”
I groaned. “You’re like the universe’s worst chaperone.”
“I prefer the term ‘sassy life coach.’”
Gregor stood, every inch of him radiating resolve. “We move at dawn. We’ll head north, follow the ravine to the fortress ruins. If the fae prophecies are true, the ritual site should be there.”
I tilted my head. “You sound pretty confident for a guy who almost drowned.”
He gave me a wolfish grin. “Confidence keeps us alive.”
“And sarcasm keeps me sane.”
“Then we make a good team.”
Barbie snorted. “You make a noisy team. But fine, I’ll guide you through the forest. Just don’t expect miracles.”
“Barbie,” I said, grinning, “you are the miracle.”
She preened, wings fluttering. “I know.”
As the fire dimmed and Gregor laid out a rough map on the cave floor, I couldn’t help glancing between him and the tiny fae who’d somehow become part of this madness. A cursed queen, a doomed prophecy, a fae older than the moon, and me—muddy, sarcastic, maybe destined to save or ruin everything.
Honestly?
Just another Tuesday.