Page 1 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

Darkness swirled around me, thick enough that I wondered if I could push it aside with my bare hands.

Ridiculous.

The estate remained perpetually shrouded in mist, with storms appearing to churn incessantly above the mansion. The air always felt damp… and it clung to my skin in ways that I couldn’t avoid.

There was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing I could do to change anything.

Helpless.

Alone.

Always alone.

The garden loomed before me, a patchwork of shadows that flexed and moved as the clouds rolled over the moon. Silvery light clung to the edges of the clouds, but its faint light barely pierced the oppressive darkness—but I could see the path.

Barely.

I dashed forward, and rain spattered against my cheek. I wiped it away and glanced up at the clouds as the rain fell harder and faster. It soaked through my clothes, pasting the expensive material to my limbs and slowing my stride as the chill bit at my skin. Each step threatened to send me skidding into the mud, and branches clawed at my arms, as if the garden itself sought to hold me back.

“Just a little further,” I hissed through gritted teeth. Breathless and choking on frustrated tears, I stumbled through the tangled underbrush. The scent of damp earth mingled with something more sinister—a hint of decay that always lingered here… like an unwelcome guest. I was almost there.

Escape.

Freedom.

The wall that enclosed the garden loomed above me—I knew I would be able to climb it, the vines were old and sturdy.

They could hold my weight. I was sure of it.

My fingers brushed against the wet foliage and I bit back a cry of pain as the sharp-edged leaves tore at my palms.

The vines that had seemed so sturdy and an easy climb now seemed daunting. As I stared at them, I realized how strangely they twisted upward, dark and serpentine.

I took a deep breath, willing my limbs to obey, and set my hands onto the thick branches.

Climb. You have to do it.

Otherwise— Otherwise what?

There was only one possibility that awaited me.

Lucian would make me his bride—and it wouldn’t matter how much I resisted or tried to escape. I had no doubt that I would end up as dead as my mother.

No one was going to save me.

I couldn’t let that happen.

My sobs choked my throat, and tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away as I pushed myself upward.

Hand over hand, agonizingly slow.

But I was making progress.

The vines were rough under my palms, and every movement was an agony, but freedom was so close…

Suddenly, the vine under my left hand shuddered.

I paused and stared at it in disbelief.

You’re imagining things.

I pressed my lips together and shifted my grip.

It moved again—a slight tremor.

A low moan escaped me as I tried to change my grip, but the vine shuddered again—and then flexed and came alive under my hands—writhing and twisting with a mind of its own.

Panic surged within me as dark green tendrils burst from the thick foliage and curled around my wrists in a merciless grip. I gasped as I struggled to free myself, but the vines constricted tighter and bit into my flesh.

“Let me go!” My cry was choked by fear and lost in the rain that battered the paving stones below.

My vision blurred and then refocused, but everything around me seemed twisted like the very vines that ensnared me.

I fought against them, thrashing desperately, but they held me firm, and as I struggled, I was only dragged deeper into their suffocating embrace.

Pain shot through my arms, and I felt the creeping dread of being consumed by the darkness that surrounded me.

“Help!” I screamed, though I knew no one was coming.

The only answer was the rustling of leaves and the rumble of thunder overhead.

“Help! Please!” I screamed. My voice cracked with desperation as the tendrils wound around my waist and curled across my breasts. Shadows shifted in the moonlight, and suddenly, three figures emerged from the darkness—my stepbrothers. The dim light obscured their faces, but would know them anywhere.

“Valen!” I cried out. His chin tilted up, but otherwise he didn’t react. “Bastian! Titus— Please! You have to help me!” The words clawed at my throat as I tried to reach for them.

But they stood there, unmoving—watching me.

In a flash of lightning, I could see Bastian’s smirk, and the cruel curve of his lips mocked my plight. It felt like ice seeping into my veins. My fingernails dug into the vines, frantically pulling, but they only coiled tighter, squeezing until pain shot through my limbs and I cried out again as my bones creaked under the pressure.

“Why won’t you do anything?” I gasped, panic surging anew. A low chuckle echoed from Bastian’s lips, and his pale eyes—so like his father’s—glinted like shards of glass.

“Maybe we just want to see how far you’ll go, sister,” he taunted, and I shuddered at the malice in his tone.

“Stop it!” I shouted. “Please! I’m begging you! I can’t breathe!”

Their shadows loomed closer, an avalanche of darkness closing in. The vines writhed around my legs, pulling them apart. The angle of Titus’ face seemed etched in stone as he watched me struggle.

I was losing myself, slipping away, and all I could hear was their laughter—a haunting melody that twisted in the air like a noose tightening around my throat.

“Help me! DON’T JUST STAND THERE!”

“What do you think, brothers? Should we help her?” Valen’s voice was gentle and teasing.

“I don’t know. I’m enjoying this,” Titus replied. “Green is definitely her color—”

Bastian laughed, and I bit down hard on my lip and tasted blood as one of the vines snaked under the edge of my skirt and teased at the edge of my panties before sliding inside to rub against my pussy.

“Noo—”

The more I struggled and gasped, the more the trio below me seemed to relish my torment. Just as my vision blurred in a haze of green and black, there was a deafening crack of thunder and the world shattered like fragile glass.

I jolted awake and gasped for breath as my heart pounded furiously against my ribcage.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to me like dew on a wintry morning and soaked into my skin.

My mind spun wildly, disoriented, struggling to untangle the threads of reality from the darkness of my dreams.

The air was thick and oppressive, almost suffocating, as I blinked against the harshness of the rain as it lashed against the windowpane. Thunder rolled, and the vibration rippled through my body.

Another storm.

Always another storm.

My hands trembled as I reached up to wipe the sweat from my brow. I could still feel the phantom grip of the vines around my wrists, and I touched the skin gently, worried that I would feel the roughness of the bark under my fingers again.

In my dream— It was only a dream.

But I had been trapped—suffocated by the very essence of Withermarsh itself.

“Just a dream,” I whispered harshly. I pressed my palms against my heated cheeks, but even as I breathed, the lingering fear clutched tightly at my spine.

The silk sheets clung to my skin, and I kicked them away, hating the touch of them.

I pushed myself off the bed and stood on unsteady legs.

My heart still raced from the lingering terror of the nightmare—the memory of my stepbrothers’ faces as they’d watched my torment.

Was it possible for them to invade my dreams as well?

They had been powerful enough to break through the sigils and protections I had put on my bedroom—but my magic was no match for theirs. I was still safe in my new chambers…

Safe. What a joke.

I was a prisoner.

Drip.

The sound of water dripping from a faucet echoed strangely in the room's silence and goosebumps rippled over my flesh.

Drip.

I bit down hard on my lip to keep from moaning in fear as my gaze turned toward the bathroom.

Drip.

Cold—it swept over me and icy fingers wrapped around my legs and pushed me forward.

“Avril—”

The whisper was everywhere. My mother’s voice.

Oh, gods—

I didn’t want to move, but my body wasn’t obeying my commands. I stumbled toward the bathroom and hesitated at the door.

Drip.

I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to know what was dripping.

Turn it off. Make it stop.

“Avril—”

I closed my eyes tight as the sound of dripping water echoed in my ears. It was painfully loud now.

“Look at meeee—”

I didn’t want to open my eyes, but I couldn’t stop myself. My hand tightened into fists at my sides and my nails dug into my palms. The pain made me gasp as the bathroom came into focus.

Gray light spilled through the room from the skylight above the bathtub. A flash of lightning made me jump.

“There’s nothing there,” I whispered. “Nothing— You’re imagining—”

Drip.

“Avril—”

A moan tore from my lips as I realized the source of the sound.

My mother—

She lay in the bathtub, ethereally beautiful even in death, and her raven black hair spilled down into the water, floating like seaweed caught in a current.

“Mom—” My voice was a choked whisper, and I barely recognized it.

This can’t be real.

This can’t be happening.

She’s dead.

In a marble tomb at Juniper Gardens.

My mother rose out of the water and stood gracefully—silvered water streamed off her naked body and I tried to avert my eyes.

“Look at meee—”

A force I couldn’t resist took hold of the back of my neck and my chin and forcibly turned my head back toward her and I let out a whimper as the invisible grip tightened and held me in place.

Her pale flesh was perfect and unblemished. Impossibly smooth and ageless.

“Mom— I—”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. “ You did this to me,” she hissed.

“No—”

“You—”

She stepped out of the tub and the dripping water splashed against the pale marble tiles.

“No— I didn’t do anything— Please—”

My mother’s dark lips curled into a sneer. “Always begging. Always simpering—”

I was desperate to escape. Desperate to slam the door closed on this horror and hide.

But I couldn’t break free of the grip that held me. “Please—”

She walked toward me, slow and graceful. Her hips moved in a sensuous rhythm and her long black hair clung to her skin in wet tendrils as water continued to run down over her full breasts and over her smooth skin.

But as she drew closer, I noticed dark patches blooming on her unblemished figure.

Rot and decay.

With every step, her gorgeous flesh began to sag and peel away—a chunk fell to the floor with a sickening splat and bile rose in my throat. Her cheeks hollowed and her dark eyes sank as she approached me. Slow steps. She raised an arm and her red painted nails, sharpened to points, fixed on me.

“Why would he want you …” she hissed. Her cheekbone protruded from blackening flesh and her eyes were cruel and hard. Like stone. “A pale spark—”

The bitterness in her words cut through me like shards of glass.

I struggled against the hold of her magic—but was it hers, or something else? It couldn’t be— she was dead. Dead, dead, dead!

“Mom— I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I protested weakly. “You— I found your body— Who did this to you?”

She stood in front of me, decaying before my eyes, and dragged her nails down the side of my face. I tried to flinch away, but I couldn’t move.

“You did,” she said, and a smile curved over her full lips even as her teeth were exposed by her rotting cheeks. “You won’t get away with it—”

Anger came off her in waves, a dark sea that threatened to pull me under. Her once vibrant eyes were clouded over with a gray film, but their focus was intense. I winced as her sharp nails dug into my skin, and blood welled up and dripped down my cheek in warm trails and dripped off my chin to stain the neckline of my silken nightgown.

“Plea-please…” My voice came out as a choked whisper. “I didn’t... I wouldn’t...”

She shrugged, her skin peeling back grotesquely from the movement. “Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you do anything to get what you wanted? You stole my magic. You stole everything from me— You wanted what I had—”

Her words pierced me deeper than any blade. But it wasn’t true— I wouldn’t do… that.

The guilt and sadness that had nestled itself in my heart since the day we had arrived at Withermarsh flared up and filled my chest with a suffocating hopelessness. She was gone—really gone—and now all that remained was this twisted figure before me— filled with rage and hurt and twisted black magic.

She pushed her face close to mine and another gobbet of flesh fell to the floor with a splat .

I closed my eyes tight and screamed.

All at once, the phantom grip on my neck loosened and then released.

I fell to the cold marble tiles in a heap and sobbed as my body convulsed.

My stomach twisted and lurched—I retched, but nothing came up, and I pushed myself into a sitting position and drew my knees up to my chest.

The bathroom reeked of decay and sour magic, but there was no sign anything had transpired there at all. The pale gray light from the skylight revealed the bathtub was empty. There was no water on the floor—the same sage green colored walls, polished marble floors, and my silken robe hung on a hook.

I touched my cheek with a shaking hand.

No cuts marred my skin.

No bloodstains on my nightgown.

I stayed huddled there on the bathroom floor as my heart hammered painfully in my chest for what must have been an eternity. The silence was heavy and ominous, yet all I could do was reassure myself that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired here.

However, I couldn’t escape the terror that remained fresh in my mind—a vivid nightmare that still clung to my senses like a bitter taste on my tongue. My decaying mother’s image had seared itself into my retinas, and her venomous accusations echoed in my ears.

I shivered and wrapped my arms tighter around my knees.

“Get up,” I muttered. “You can’t stay here forever. Get up, get up, get up.”

Slowly, painfully, I unwound my arms and pushed myself to stand. My legs felt weak, and the room spun for a moment before finally settling. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and half-expected my mother’s ghoulish visage to appear behind me—I held my breath, but nothing appeared. I took a deep breath and grimaced as I saw how pale and haggard I appeared—shadowed eyes haunted by images that weren’t real yet felt painfully so.

My dreams were terrible enough.

But this—it hadn’t been a dream.

I clung to the edge of the counter with one hand as I turned on the tap. Cold water splashed into the sink and I leaned forward to splash it over my face. It was a feeble attempt to wash away the intensity of what I’d seen and all the fear and disgust that lingered in ridges along my skin.

I scrubbed at my face with a towel and then tossed it onto the counter.

With a deep breath, I collected myself and walked back into my bedroom.

Outside, lightning flashed, and the dark clouds muffled the rolling thunder, creating an almost calming effect.

But how could it be calming?

Between my nightmares and the waking horror that my life had become—how was I ever going to feel safe or calm ever again?

Lucian owned me—he had made that clear.

And escape?

What chance was there that I would ever leave this place?

Titus, Valen, and Bastian… I’d been a fool to trust them.

Stupid.

I should have known better.

I should have—

Shame coursed through me—but so did lust… in equal measure.

They had awakened something in me I had never imagined would be possible.

Stop it.

I rubbed my palms against my hips and grimaced as thoughts about my stepbrothers tumbled through my mind.

But none of it mattered.

They betrayed me. Used me.

And for what?

Just to prove that they could? Just to prove that I would debase myself for their enjoyment?

My stomach lurched, and a wave of nausea washed over me and made my knees buckle.

I needed air.

My bare feet sank into the plush carpet as I staggered to the window, and tugged at the heavy drapes with shaking fingers.

I gritted my teeth, tightened my grip and pulled. With a swift motion, I pulled the heavy damask aside. Pale moonlight spilled into the room and I crawled up onto the window seat to peer up at the dark clouds that swirled over the estate. The storm seemed to have eased, but only a little, and rain still pattered against the window panes.

Withermarsh’s sprawling gardens stretched out below, shrouded in an eerie beauty. The twisted vines and dark flowers seemed to beckon to me, echoing my nightmares, and I could almost hear the whispers of the garden calling to me.

And then I saw him.

Lucian stood at the edge of the garden, his figure a commanding silhouette in the moonlight.

Even from this distance, I could see the air around him shimmering as though it crackled with energy, and it made my skin prickle as I unlocked the window latch and pushed it open.

It wouldn’t open wide—the fresh sigils that had been cast over my room after I’d been caught prevented it from opening as wide as I would have liked, but it was enough.

I closed my eyes briefly as a frigid breeze blew across my cheeks and teased at my hair, but a low rumble of thunder brought my attention back to the garden.

Lucian’s pale hair flowed like moonlight and his long fingers danced through the air, weaving intricate patterns in red smoke that curled sinuously through the air and generated their own small storm with vibrant blood-red sparks.

Each flick of his wrist sent tendrils of magic spiraling into the air, and they swirled around him like hungry shadows eager for direction. My breath hitched as I watched, entranced and terrified, as I felt the weight of his power even from afar.

My heart sank as I realized the extent of his dominion—the way the flowers tilted their heads toward him, how the branches seemed to stretch further, yearning for his touch. This was no mere display of magic; it was a demonstration of ownership, a declaration of his reign over Withermarsh and everyone within its grasp. It was a reminder of the marriage he demanded, and the chains he sought to fasten around my soul.

With every flourish of his fingers, he summoned energy that crackled with a sinister allure as he laid a protective barrier around the estate. The red glow of his magic glimmered against the clouds and shone in the rain-wet leaves.

As he continued his dance among the shadows, I drew back from the window. But as I moved, the walls of my sanctuary closed in and suffocated me with the weight of inevitability.

I could see it now.

There was no escape; Withermarsh had claimed me, and Lucian’s shadow seemed to stretch across all of it.