Page 5 of Blood Court (Cursed Darkness #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

EVREN

See how she needs you?

I clench my jaw so tightly, I think I’m going to crack my teeth.

Without you, she would be a burned-up corpse.

Stop! This isn’t right.

Isn’t it? You are her god, she yields to you. You can take every part of her now, and she will willingly give it.

I don’t want to take anything.

I close my eyes, driving my cock into her.

It’s been so long since I felt this. And even then, it wasn’t like this .

This is sheer pleasure forced through absolute pain.

Her pussy clamps down on my cock so hard, I think she’s going to break it.

In a way, it makes it better. She is enjoying it.

Her body wants this even if her mind will be screaming at her to stop.

My hands tremble as I grasp Lysithea’s hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh.

The cold that radiates from me is opposite to the heat that pours off her.

The brand on her back is a fiery inferno.

I hate this, hate that the grimoire is forcing me to do this, to take her like a fucking animal.

But even more, I hate that a part of me enjoys it, enjoys the feel of her tight pussy around me, the sound of her moans, the sight of her submission.

I open my eyes, looking down at where our bodies are joined.

Her pussy is slick and hot, gripping my cock like a vice.

I can see the shiver that runs through her, the goosebumps that rise on her flesh.

I can feel her pleasure, her pain, her desperation.

It’s all wrapped up in a confusing mess of emotions that I can taste on the back of my tongue.

My gaze lifts to Verik and Dathan, standing nearby, their eyes locked on us.

I can see the hunger in their expressions, the desire.

They want her too, want to be where I am, want to feel what I’m feeling.

But they also hate this, hate that we’re being forced to do this, that we’re being manipulated like puppets on a string.

The grimoire’s presence is a heavy weight in my mind, its voice a constant whisper, urging me on, demanding more. It wants her broken. It wants me to break her.

I thrust deeper, harder, hating every second of this violation even as my body responds to hers. The grimoire’s whispers grow louder, more insistent.

Break her. Make her yours completely.

My movements become more violent, driven by the book’s relentless commands. Lysithea cries out, her back arching as another wave of the brand’s fire courses through her. The only relief I can give her is this. My cold touch, my body inside hers, numbs the agony the grimoire inflicts.

She’s sobbing, her tears hitting the stone floor, as the book demands complete surrender from her. From all of us.

I want to stop. I want to pull away, to tell the grimoire to go fuck itself. But the moment I hesitate, the brand flares white-hot against her back, and she screams. The sound tears through me like a blade.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps as I falter. “Come inside me. Flood me, Evren. Let me feel you pouring your soul into me.”

Fucking hell . Her words are everything I needed to hear without knowing it.

Her words shatter what’s left of my control.

The raw need in her voice, the way she begs for my release, breaks through every wall I’ve built around this violation.

I drive into her one final time, my body convulsing as I come deep inside her, my essence flooding her just as she demanded.

I close my eyes again, just to feel this pleasure, and the omen penetrates my mind as if I’ve been struck over the head with it.

The book is on the floor. A trap door flips open as Dathan stands over it. A dark, shadowy hand creeps out, grasping fingers of shadow, stretching toward him.

“Lysithea,” I groan, her name ripped from my voice box like scraping ice from a window.

My eyes fly open as a loud thud echoes around the room. I pull out of her and look over to the back of the room. The grimoire is on the floor next to a trap door that flies open as Dathan moves towards it.

“No!” I rasp as Lysithea turns.

Dathan looks over at me and pauses. “You saw this?”

I nod, zipping myself up, needing to build the walls up again. I pull Lysithea’s dress down over her hips, giving her a false sense of modesty.

“What else did you see?”

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on the hole as a shadow hand reaches out and beckons us.

“Well, that’s not creepy,” Verik says. “Do we go or not?”

“Not,” Lysithea pants.

“Evren saw it when he came inside you,” Dathan argues. “There has to be a reason.”

The grimoire flips open, and I lurch towards it, staring at the pages as writing appears.

Verik peers over my shoulder. “It’s a spell.”

“What for?” Lysithea asks, now fully covered up and acting like nothing happened.

I should do the same, even though it kills me inside.

I want to hold her, stroke her hair, care for her in the aftermath of what can only be described as forced sex.

We weren’t ready for it. It has changed everything and nothing.

Verik crouches down. “It’s a fire spell,” he says with a frown. “One that even I can’t perform.”

“Or can you with the guidance?” Dathan asks quietly.

Verik looks up at him and nods slowly. “It’s to create a volcanic eruption.”

“What the hell would you need that for?” Lysithea asks, crawling over, presumably because her legs won’t carry her.

I feel the same. My world has crashed down around me, and my body feels like it’s trapped under the crushing weight.

She glances at me and gives me a shy half smile that takes the last ounce of strength I have.

“Do we really want to find out?” Dathan asks.

“This has to be part of the trial,” Verik murmurs. “It’s giving us ammo.”

“So the trial is down there?” Lysithea gulps.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s too soon, too easy.”

“Then what?”

“A trap.”

The sight hits me again, this time bringing more of the omen it is trying to show me.

I see Lysithea screaming, her voice tearing through stone and bone. Not the controlled scream of a Nox Siren wielding power, but raw agony. The shadow hand isn’t beckoning; it’s reaching for her specifically. When it touches her, the corruption spreads like wildfire through her veins.

I blink, shaking my head to clear the vision. The omen fades, leaving me staring at the trap door where that spectral hand still waves us forward with deceptive invitation.

I shake my head frantically, scrabbling for Dathan. I grip his hand and yank him back. Verik stumbles back as well, clearly getting the urgency.

The grimoire’s pages flutter, agitated. New words bleed across the parchment.

Don’t let her die.

The trap door slams shut with a thunderous boom that shakes dust from the stone. But I know it’s temporary. Whatever waits below isn’t giving up that easily.

Lysithea pulls herself to her feet, still unsteady. I want to help her, but the walls I’ve rebuilt feel essential right now. What we just did—what the grimoire forced us to do—sits between us like a chasm I don’t know how to cross.

“Don’t let her die,” she says, reading the page. “It’s trying to save me from whatever opened up.”

“Or it’s being a complete dick again,” Dathan mutters.

I shake my head at Dathan. The book is trying to save her, but only for itself. Without her, it cannot be completed. I flick my fingers and construct a raven. “Opposition.”

Lysithea looks at me with those violet eyes. “Opposition? To what? Us? The book?”

“The Tenebris Vinculum. There is an opposition that doesn’t want it completed,” the raven says on my behalf.

The trap door beneath our feet vibrates, something pounding against it from below. Whatever’s down there isn’t giving up easily.

“So there’s something else playing this game,” Verik says, his architect’s mind already catching up. “Another player with different objectives.”

The ghosts rise up from the floor, from the walls, their hollow faces filled with anguish, whispering words that chill me. I place my hand on the raven’s head. “The dead say this academy sits on contested ground. Powers older than DarkHallow, older than Blackgrove.”

“Contested,” Lysithea hisses, her face turning grim. “That bitch.”

I give her a questioning stare, but Verik’s words draw our attention.

“Good versus evil? Is that it?”

I nod.

“I thought this realm was inherently evil,” he mutters.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. He isn’t from here; he has no idea the forces that pull this realm into different directions. Opposing directions.

The pounding from below grows more insistent. Dust rains from the stone ceiling as whatever’s trapped beneath us throws itself against the barrier with increasing desperation.

“Why isn’t it breaking through?” Dathan murmurs.

The grimoire slides over the trapdoor, and it disappears.

“Our resident evil god book is stopping it.”

“Should we be stopping it?” Lysithea croaks. “Shouldn’t we see what it wants?”

“It wants to kill you,” my raven snaps at her.

She blinks and steps back, wrapping her arms around herself, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.

The memory of her skin against mine, the sound of her surrender, burns through my carefully rebuilt walls like acid.

“So what? We just continue to fight for a book that also might end up killing us?”

“We have no choice. The book controls us,” Dathan says quietly. “It controls your pain.”

Dathan’s words hang in the air, cold and absolute. He’s right. It controls her pain, and through her, it controls all of us. The memory of her scream, the way her body convulsed under my touch, is a brand seared into my mind, as permanent as the one on her back.

I look at Lysithea. She’s staring at the spot on the floor where the trap door was, her expression a fragile mask of composure. She is a scream from the void, a creature made of sound and power. But right now, she just looks like a girl who has been broken. A girl I broke.

The grimoire’s pages flip back to the volcanic eruption spell Verik identified. It doesn’t need to write anything else. The message is clear: Learn this. You will need it for whatever the fuck is down there.

“It’s arming us,” Verik says, his voice a low growl. He picks up the book, his mind already dissecting the magical formula. “Whatever is down there, whatever is opposing this thing, the book expects a war.”

The word hangs in the air. War. A concept I understand better than most. It’s a series of endings, one after another, until only one side is left.

My gaze shifts to Lysithea. She’s still wrapped in a fortress of her own arms, staring at the floor.

The memory of being inside her is a shard of ice in my gut.

Not pleasure. A violation. A command we both obeyed under duress.

The cold that is my constant companion feels different now.

It’s no longer just a part of me; it’s the weapon the grimoire used against her.

Dathan moves first, his restlessness a physical force that shatters the stillness. “We can’t stay here.”

He’s right. This room is tainted.

Verik closes the book with a snap that echoes in the bone-lined chamber. “Let’s go. We have work to do.” He doesn’t look at me, but I feel his rage.

I turn for the door, not looking back. They will follow. We are bound, not just by a brand, but by this shared desecration. A new, ugly knot in the ties that bind us. We descend the spiral staircase. The silence is heavier than before, filled with the unspoken horror of what just happened.