Page 21 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

Elder Craster’s estate was on the upper crescent of the bay that overlooked Messana’s busy harbor. The road was unpaved and wound through a dense forest of black pine trees. I parked the SUV in the shadows of the towering trees just beyond the warded border of the Sage’s estate.

The estate loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of Messana’s distant lights. Somewhere behind those walls, Elder Craster lay oblivious to the fact that he should have been counting down the final moments of his life.

Lucian said he wanted to speak with the old Sage—but I knew better.

My father didn’t make requests.

He made demands of his followers.

And examples.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and glimpsed Valen and Bastian as they pulled their bikes off the road and pushed them between the trees. The engines silenced, their forms melded into the darkness like wraiths.

I pulled my bag from the back seat and strapped my knife to my belt.

“A knife, Titus?” Bastian’s voice echoed from the trees behind me. “I thought we were beyond such… pedestrian approaches.”

“Keep it quiet,” I murmured, my voice low.

“Whatever you say.” Bastian flashed a disarming smile, though the glint in his pale eyes held a strange hunger—he was too eager for this assignment. He’d been restrained for too long. I wondered if he would blame Avril for his recklessness. Though I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, it was clear that she’d done something to us.

I’d never been captivated by anyone the way I was with her.

The way we all were.

Bastian tossed his unruly blond hair out of his eyes and his nose wrinkled. “Whoever laid that perimeter ward didn’t do it right—” he muttered. “Goddamned Sages don’t know what they’re doing.”

Valen stood beside me and cast a sidelong glance toward the estate. “Let’s just keep our heads on straight. Craster’s wards might not be tricky, but getting him out of there will be.”

“No mistakes.”

“None,” Valen agreed. Bastian shrugged. He flexed his fingers and his knuckles cracked ominously.

With a nod, we pulled our masks up over our faces—black fabric swallowed our features and helped us blend into the night. I felt a familiar rush of adrenaline, cold and electric, course through my veins.

I gestured toward the shimmer of the ward and Bastian walked toward it with bold steps.

He lifted his hands, and the ward shivered as he bent his power toward it. In no more than a moment, the shimmer drifted, and then flickered and fell. It collapsed to the pine-needle strewn ground and vanished into a thin mist that dissipated under our boots as we strode forward into the forest.

“Pathetic,” Bastian muttered.

He was right. I’d barely registered the remnants of the ward as we stepped over its ashes.

Even in the face of their own hypocrisy and failure, the Sages were arrogant.

This is why they will fail.

I led the way through the trees, every nerve ending alert, every instinct honed sharp. The manicured gardens of the estate sprawled before us. The gardens of a wealthy man who had enjoyed power and prestige every moment of his life—and he was about to lose everything.

“Remember,” I whispered, scanning the shadows for movement, “we stick to the plan. In and out.”

“Like shadows in the dark,” Bastian quipped, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Keep your mouth shut and your blade ready,” I growled. We didn’t have time for games—not tonight. “No magic on the grounds.”

Bastian grumbled something I couldn’t hear, but I heard his grunt of surprise as Valen drove his elbow into Bastian’s ribs.

If we were anywhere else, their muttered argument would have been amusing.

“Shut your fucking mouths,” I said through gritted teeth. “Move.”

As we approached the edge of the estate, the opulence of the surroundings felt grotesque—a vile display of the wealth that accompanied Elder Craster’s position on the Sages Council. They were supposed to serve Messana, but these men spent their time enriching themselves while seeking power from the darker forces my father commanded.

Weak. Arrogant. Cowardly.

Hidden lanterns, artfully arranged, illuminated the glistening marble pathways and cast colored light over the carefully cultivated lawns and hedges in the gardens. The slight pressure of protective magic lingered in the air, but Bastian was right—it was weak.

“Two guards by the entrance,” Valen whispered, body tense. He gestured subtly toward the mansion’s main entrance. Footsteps echoed ominously in the stillness as the guards approached. But they weren’t watching the garden—they were talking—laughing.

“Leave them to me,” I said as I pulled my knife from its sheath at the small of my back.

No magic needed for this. Just pure, raw efficiency.

Bastian snorted. “Why do you get all the fun?”

“Shut up,” I muttered, and positioned myself among the shadows, muscles coiled and ready to strike. The thrill of the hunt ignited something primal within me.

The guards were oblivious, distracted by their conversation—betting on an upcoming horse race—one that I already knew had been fixed… He was going to lose a fortune. Death would be a kindness. As they passed by my hiding place, I struck without hesitation, and the blade found flesh with a sickening squelch in the first man’s throat.

He fell like a stone, dead before he hit the ground. Frozen in place, the second man couldn’t react in time, and I thrust my knife into his chest, between his ribs. He gasped, and surprise twisted his features as I guided him to the ground.

“Clean kill,” Bastian remarked, his voice dripping with amusement as he and Valen approached.

“You talk too much,” I said.

“Someone has to,” Bastian retorted.

We advanced further through the garden and the house loomed ahead. As we approached the edge of the garden, I signaled for us to halt. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, heightening my awareness. Shadows danced along the walls and concealed our presence as I observed the guards stationed near the main entrance.

“Two more patrols,” Valen indicated with a subtle gesture, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. His eyes narrowed, reflecting the flickering lanterns.

“Leave that to me,” Bastian replied. Although his mask hid his smile, I could hear it in his voice. “Just keep an eye out for any surprises.”

“There are too many for you,” I said.

Bastian’s pale eyes narrowed. “Fine.”

“On three,” I murmured.

“Always on three,” he replied in a tone that hinted at the infuriating smirk hidden beneath his mask. The corner of my mouth twitched, a flash of irritation, but the moment passed as I counted down in my mind.

“One… Two…”

At three, we surged forward like twin blades slicing through the darkness, moving with lethal precision toward our unsuspecting prey. Each step was calculated, every breath measured. The guards, oblivious to their impending doom, were engaged in a game of cards, and their laughter echoed in the chilly night—until it wasn’t.

Bastian struck first. His blade whispered through the air as it found its mark at the throat of the nearest guard. The man’s eyes widened in shock, his hands instinctively rising to stifle the gurgling sounds escaping his lips. It was a futile effort; death came swift and silent. I was already advancing on the second guard, who turned just in time to see his companion drop to the ground, blood painting the cobblestones a deep crimson.

My dagger kissed the skin beneath his ribs, a cruel intimacy that sent a shiver of pleasure coursing through me. I twisted the blade and relished the flicker of fear in his eyes as his life poured over my hands in a hot rush.

Two more were taken in quick succession, and they barely made a sound as they crumpled to the ground.

Valen joined us and doused the lanterns to allow the darkness to envelop us once more. Bastian lingered over the bodies and wiped his blade clean with a flourish on the back of the guard beneath his knee. His pale eyes sparkled with delight as he sheathed the blade.

“I’m so glad Lucian gave us something to do with our time,” he said. “It’s been too long since we’ve gone out on the town.”

“Get up,” I snarled. “We’re not even halfway there.”

The door loomed ahead, ornate and ominous. Wrought iron, curved like vines, studded the heavy wooden door’s dark surface.

I paused at a glowing sigil embedded in the stone wall beside the door—a magical ward designed to repel intruders. With practiced ease, I reached out, and my fingers brushed over the cool stone surface. The ward pulsed beneath my touch, a heartbeat of power—but it was weak. My lips curled into a smirk; it wouldn’t take much.

I focused my will as I summoned a flicker of dark magic. It surged through me and burned through my fingertips as I severed the connection with a single thought. As the ward disintegrated, a soft hiss echoed in the silence.

I glanced around to ensure no one else lurked nearby before pushing the door open.

It creaked delicately, a mournful sound that echoed through the lavish foyer beyond.

The opulence of the interior struck me—the intricately carved mahogany furniture, gilt-framed paintings, and decadent decor seemed to mock us.

The air grew thick as we slipped deeper into the estate, and shadows curled around us and seemed to guide our steps.

Valen moved ahead as he navigated the twisting hallways. He’d studied the map closely, and I trusted him to know the way.

We rounded a corner, and Valen raised a hand, halting our advance.

Ahead, a heavy door loomed, carved with intricate designs that seemed to writhe under the dim light, symbols of power—but not of protection.

Elder Craster’s chambers.

The house was quiet. No guards in the house. Servants all in bed.

I stepped forward and placed my hand against the cool wood. The power of the sigils fluttered under my palm, but the darkness in my veins was no match for it. The Sages didn’t understand the power they were ignoring…

Pale green smoke wreathed my wrist and flowed down the door and into the lock. I closed my eyes and followed the path of those nefarious tendrils as they wound through the tumblers and snaked through into the room beyond. The lock emitted a soft click as it submitted to my magic, and the door swung open. I expected the hinges to groan and give us away, but it moved silently until the uneven flagstones stopped it.

Inside, the opulence struck me like a physical blow—rich fabrics draped the grand four-poster bed, and the ornate furniture gleamed dully in the low light from a single amber lamp. Shadows danced across the room and swirled around the figure nestled beneath the richly embroidered coverlet.

“Let’s make this quick,” Valen hissed.

The heavy drapes muffled any sounds from outside and wrapped the room in an oppressive silence that felt almost sacred. I moved closer to the bed and loomed over the Elder.

“Time to wake up,” I growled. With a swift motion, I gripped his shoulder and shook him hard. The jolt of movement pulled him from the depths of sleep. His eyes snapped open, wide and glassy, and I relished the sight of the terror that bloomed within them like a dark flower unfurling its petals.

“What— What’s happening?” His voice was a rasp.

“A reckoning,” I said, leaning in close enough to catch the scent of fear on his breath, mingled with the stale remnants of the wine he had drunk before sleep. The old man’s confusion morphed into dread, and recognition came upon him like a slow sunrise.

Before he could utter another word, Bastian slipped from behind me, a devilish grin plastered across his face. “Oh, come now, Elder. You should have known this was coming.” His voice was honey-sweet, but every word dripped with poison.

“Please, I—” He faltered, but I sensed he was stalling.

Bastian rolled his eyes and pushed past me to take hold of the old man’s shoulder. “Save the sob story for someone who cares, Elder. Because I assure you, we do not.”

Valen lingered by the door, and I watched him carefully as Bastian hauled the old man out of his bed.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement in the hallway—a pale figure lurking just beyond the threshold. Before she could retreat into the dark, Valen shot forward and reached into the hallway, and the choked gasp that accompanied his movement. Valen pulled a pale-faced woman into the room. Her eyes were wide as she realized what was happening.

“Ah, the lady of the house,” I drawled. “Your husband has been quite uncooperative tonight.”

“Please—” she whispered, “we’ve done nothing—” But I silenced her with a single glare. Her fear was obvious, but neither of them reached for their magic.

“Keep quiet,” Valen growled. “We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen, would we?”

Her lips trembled, and a fragile nod was all he received in response.

Elder Craster cowered under Bastian’s hand. He was nothing more than a frail old man now—he’d done this to himself, and he knew there was no escape.

I dropped my bag onto the floor and bent to retrieve a length of rope.

“Bind him,” I ordered. The Elder let out a whimper as Bastian snatched it out of my hand.

He yanked Craster’s hands together, and bound them with brutal efficiency. The old man’s protests were choked, but he knew better than to cry out.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Bastian chuckled as he pulled the last knot tight. The motion elicited another whimper from Craster that sent a thrill of satisfaction through me.

“Put the lady in the wardrobe,” I snapped.

Valen grinned as he roughly escorted Craster’s wife toward a towering wooden wardrobe and opened the door. “If you please,” he said.

The woman sobbed and struggled weakly as Valen pushed her into the wardrobe, but he didn’t falter. He shoved her inside, closed the door, and turned the key in the lock. He drew out the key and threw it under the enormous bed.

The air was thick as we dragged Elder Craster down the opulent corridors of his estate, and his frail body trembled like a leaf in the wind. His protests bubbled up, but Bastian silenced him with a swift motion, and pushed a ragged scrap of fabric into the old man’s mouth to act as a gag. His muffled pleas continued, but we weren’t listening.

There was nothing he could offer us that could alter our purpose.

We emerged from the lavish confines of the estate into the garden, where moonlight spilled across the meticulously manicured hedges. Elder Craster let out a moan of horror as we stepped over the guards whose lifeless forms lay strewn over the stone pathway. Their blood stained the stones and soaked into the dirt, but I didn’t spare them a second glance.

Bastian laughed darkly as the old man stumbled, grabbed hold of his upper arm to keep him moving.

As we reached the edge of the garden, the waiting SUV loomed like a dark sentinel between the trees. Bastian shoved Craster forward as I opened the back door.

“Get him in there.”

“Gladly,” Bastian grunted. Craster stumbled awkwardly and his frail form collided with the leather upholstery as Bastian forced the old man into the back seat. A pitiful sight. If only the people of Messana could see their hallowed leaders humbled in such a way.

He’d betrayed all of them—and for what?

Bastian reached in to test the knots on the rope that bound the old man’s hands, and then he nodded to me.

“Don’t worry, Elder. We’ll take good care of you.” Bastian chuckled as he stepped back from the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

I opened the driver’s side door and in one fluid motion; I slid behind the wheel and started the engine. The vehicle’s growl echoed through the stillness of the night.

“Let’s go,” Valen barked.

My brothers ran through the forest to retrieve their bikes, and as the engines roared to life, I pressed my foot down on the accelerator and guided the SUV through the trees toward the road.

The Elder wriggled in the back seat, but I ignored him.

This would all be over soon.