From the national bestselling author L. A. Banks comes a walk on the wild side with The Cursed , the ninth novel in the popular Vampire Huntress Legend series The Chairman has been killed and now Lilith, Satan's Consort, sits on the vampire throne as the Vampire Council's new Chairwoman. She raises all the dark covens―calling every major dark witch and warlock to do her bidding. Her goal is to distract the team members, while the unborn heir to the Dark Realms awaits his own birth. All Lilith needs now is Damali's newly discovered angelic powers to make that come to pass. That will allow her evil progeny to walk through the veil between worlds and take his throne as the true Anti-Christ. Damali and her crew race to stop Lilith. However, raising not only the dark covens, but all vampires that had not been slain by Damali, puts the world out of balance and kicks off the Armageddon. “Stunning.” ― Publishers Weekly on The Damned “Each book in this. . .series gets harder and harder to put down.” ― Romantic Times BOOKreviews L. A. BANKS was the author of the Vampire Huntress Legend series and the Crimson Moon Novels, including Left for Undead and Never Cry Werewolf . She had a bachelor's degree from the University of Pennsylvania's Wharton School of Business and a master's in fine arts from Temple University. Banks considered herself a shape-shifter, writing romance, women's fiction, crime and suspense, and of course, dark vampire huntress lore. She lived with her daughter in Philadelphia until her death in 2011. Chapter One Tahiti . . .  He was lacing up his Tims in the living room of their hotel suite by the time Damali opened her eyes, struggled to sit up, and half-stumbled through the doorway to argue. But there was nothing she could tell him. None of this was up for debate. It was a knowing that slammed his core, sat him straight up in bed, killed his libido, and sent him over the edge of the mattress, ready for war. Never in his life had he been so sure about what he had to do. What hit him felt like a white lightning charge direct from the archon’s table of old. He’d mentally sent the call out to the brothers already. Twelve days of bliss and the honeymoon was over. The meeting was already scheduled—2100 hours, sharp. Nary a man in the joint objected. They all knew what time it was. It was about protecting theirs—if the world got saved as a fringe benefit, cool. They all had something serious to lose. A preemptive strike was in order. An unmistakable energy jolt, throne level, had run up Carlos’s spine, just like it hit Shabazz’s locks and fucked with Mike’s hearing in a low, relentless buzz. Dan and J.L. felt it no differently than Rider and Jose smelled it. Pure sulfur was rising. Carlos stared at Damali. She lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest. He would not be moved. Fine as she was, standing there half-naked and draped in white silk, that was the primary reason he was gonna do what he had to do. Unlike all the times in the past where the team sat back, hid, waited for trouble to come to their door, this time his squad was going in to blow the roof off the mother—first. “So, I guess there’s nothing I can say to you?” “Nope,” Carlos muttered, pulling his foot down from the white wall and collecting a snub-nosed pump shotgun off the coffee table to stash in his long, black leather coat. Damali stared at the huge boot print he’d left on the wall for a second and sighed hard. “Don’t you think we should have a full team meeting about this?” She stepped away from the bedroom door, worry blotting out the fury in her eyes. “Nope.” “Well, at least won’t you tell me where y’all are going?” “Nope,” he said, hoisting up an Uzi to sling over his shoulder. “Stop,” she said, walking deeper into the suite, now talking with her hands. “Team protocol. One half of the team will not know where the other half is—not done, brother. And you all just can’t up and leave Tahiti on a dime, no explanation, no nothing, Carlos!” He stared at the door. “You’d better go put some clothes on before the brothers get here.” “Carlos Rivera, are you listening to me?” His response was very simplistic and to the point as he went to the door. “Nope.” Big Mike was two steps from the door as Carlos swung it open. Carrying a shoulder launcher, Mike pounded Carlos’s fist. “Ride or die, brother,” Mike said in a low, ready-for-war rumble, and then nodded toward Damali. “Evenin’, D.” Consumed with frustration, she raced into the bedroom, grabbed a T-shirt and her jeans, and hurriedly threw them on. She looked at her ten-carat engagement ring and matching diamond-studded wedding band and sighed, then slipped them into her small front jeans pocket. Clearly, the honeymoon was over for everybody, and there was no sense in getting her rings fouled by nasty demon gook if she had to go to war. Men! They’d lost their minds. She came out of the bedroom like a bee had stung her, just in time to see Rider roll through the door with Sha