Page 55 of Cursed

“I chose you because your mind fascinated me,” I admit, wrapping the towel around her before reaching for another to dry myself. “The damage... that was a convenient weakness to exploit.”

A flicker of hurt enters her eyes, and I find myself adding, “But there’s more to it than that.”

“What more?” she presses.

I feel a familiar wall rising inside me, the protective barrier I maintain between myself and others. The momentary vulnerability closes off as quickly as it appeared.

“We should get dressed,” I say, my voice turning cold again. “The feast won’t wait.”

I turn away from the question in her eyes, uncomfortable with how easily she almost breached my defenses.

23

SADIE

After the bath, Landon dresses me in a black dress that barely qualifies as clothing. The silky fabric clings to every curve, the neckline plunging dangerously low while the hem barely covers the essentials. I feel naked despite beingtechnicallyclothed.

“Perfect,” Landon states.

My cheeks burn. The dress displays all the marks Landon has left on my skin like a twisted exhibition. Fingerprints on my thighs. Bite marks across my collarbone. Evidence of his possession.

He takes my hand, his grip firm as he leads me through a corridor. The walls shift from the maze’s industrial concrete to polished marble, the lighting changing from harsh fluorescents to warm amber tones cast by ornate sconces.

“Remember,” he whispers against my ear, “you don’t leave my side. Not for a moment.”

I nod, unable to form words. The intimacy of our bath has left me disoriented.

We enter through massive double doors into what must be the feast room. One huge, long glass table stretches across the cavernous space. Silver candelabras hold black candles whoseflames cast dancing shadows across the walls. Crystal glasses glitter like stars against the dim lighting.

Some of the hunters are already seated at the glass table, their prizes standing obediently beside them. I recognize Vane Blackwood, his mask pushed up as he drinks deeply from a crystal goblet. The woman beside him—Lia stares straight ahead, her expression still excited despite the welts on her wrists.

Landon pulls out a chair and sits with casual elegance. I remain standing beside him, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. My heart pounds against my ribs.

Is this some final ritual to conclude the Hunt?

The thought makes my stomach clench.

“Eyes down, little butterfly,” Landon murmurs when I dare a glance at the other women.

I comply, watching his hand instead as it comes to rest possessively on my thigh. His fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, just below the hem of this dress.

The room fills with more hunters and their bounty. Conversations buzz around us in hushed tones. I catch fragments—boasts about conquests, comparisons of techniques, laughter at particularlyspiritedresistance.

My legs tremble slightly with fatigue and anxiety. Standing here displayed like a trophy while they discuss us as if we’re not present makes me feel less than human. Yet a darker current coils within me—shame tangled with pride at being claimed by Landon, at bearing his marks in plain sight.

I hear approaching footsteps and tense, afraid of what comes next.

Glancing up, I see the three masked men enter the feast room, parading Cora Pike between them. Her hair is disheveled, and makeup is smeared across her flushed face. Despite this—or perhaps because of it—she looks strangely regal. The mayor’sdaughter, brought low yet somehow elevated. The three men position her between their chairs.

My breath catches when a man wearing a blue mask walks in. Beside him is Bianca who I met during the preparations for the Hunt. Her eyes dart nervously around the room before settling on the floor. Unlike Cora’s obvious marks of possession, Bianca’s skin bears subtler evidence of Knox’s attention—just a few dark bruises blooming in carefully chosen places.

The room falls silent as Xavier Blackwood enters with Mira. His red mask creates a startling contrast against his dark suit. Mira’s face is unreadable as she walks beside him, her steps measured and graceful.

Xavier takes his seat at the head of the table, then pulls Mira onto his lap in one fluid motion. Her sharp intake of breath echoes through the room as he positions her—there’s no mistaking what he’s doing. Mira’s eyes widen, her lips parting in a silent gasp as Xavier settles her fully onto him.

Around the table, the other hunters follow his lead. The three men arrange Cora between them, one sliding her onto his cock while the others play with her. Knox yanks Bianca onto his lap.

Landon’s hands suddenly grip my waist. “Your turn, little butterfly.”