Free Cursed: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 1) by J. A. Cipriano Page A

shifted across the back of my mind, reminding me of a lazy cat opening one eye to blink at me before going back to sleep.
    Another wave of exhaustion hit me like a baseball bat to the skull, and I collapsed against the bar struggling for breath. I sucked in a gulp of air that was mostly smoke and my lungs revolted in a fit of coughing. Through my teary eyes, I could see Duane was nearly to the fire now, and I half thought he was going to leap into the din to look for Sera. Whatever the old man’s relationship to the girl was, it went well beyond simple friendship.
    Even if I could remember my past, I had a hard time thinking I’d leap into a fireball to save someone. Then again, I’d supposedly traded my memories to a devil for enough power to magically throw a tanker truck several feet. Hopefully, I’d had a good reason for doing so and not just because I was a power hungry schmuck. Not that it mattered right now. Moral high ground wasn’t a lot of use to the dead.
    I forced myself to take a step toward the fire as a black form began to take shape within the raging inferno. It wasn’t that tall, standing only six feet or so, but it had enormous bat wings jutting from its back and a couple of horns that would make any stag proud. The creature had one wing wrapped around something slung under one of its arms as it walked purposely toward us through the fire. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it sure as hell seemed like a demon.
    Despite the heat, cold sweat ran down my spine. Was this the demon I’d made a deal with? Was he coming to collect now? Oh God, did that mean I’d died? I didn’t feel dead. I couldn’t be dead.
    Instead of running away, Duane fell to his knees sobbing. “Thank God!” he cried, clasping his hands in front of himself as if thanking the Almighty which was altogether crazy given the circumstances. I struggled toward him, hoping I could reach the old man in time to save him from the beast when it reared back and threw something through the flames.
    Sera burst through the wall of fire and hit the bar with a wet sounding smack. Steam curled from her clothing, but from what I could see of her skin, her burns were little worse than a bad sunburn. As I stood there like an idiot, she rolled into a fetal position. Whatever that thing in the fire was, it had saved Sera. Maybe it was on our side?
    That thought had barely coalesced in my mind when bullets exploded through the blown out front of the bar. I fell, mostly because my knees gave out on me as I tried to whirl around. Hot lead tore into the shelves, the walls, everywhere. Whatever bottles had avoided being turned into slag, shattered under the onslaught. Duane pulled Sera off the bar, and they landed on the cement in a heap. Black smoke poured from a few random spots on his body, but the look on his face told me the wounds didn’t much bother him. It was a little surprising since normally bullets bothered people, but like the werewolves, Duane seemed to just shrug them off.
    The thing in the fire jerked under the hail of bullets but didn’t fall. A howl of rage that made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up exploded from the fire, and just like that, the flames around us died.
    The vampire stood there in full on “creature of the night” mode. Huge black bat wings were extended to their full wingspan, making him seem like some kind of demonic archangel. Horns the color of blood jutted from his forehead, making his cowboy hat slide backward on his head. His white chamois shirt was perforated with bullet holes, but instead of bleeding, golden ichor dripped from the wounds. The damage didn’t seem to bother him at all, or if it did, he kept it from his face because his lips were curled into a bemused smile.
    I barely had time to let that sink in when a couple dozen slack-faced guys wearing midnight blue robes emblazoned with yellow stars and orange moons stepped through the blown out entrance of the bar like they were being