Page 27 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

Gasoline and grease.

Thorns and vines.

That was what I understood.

Whatever the fuck was going on in my own house— it’s not your house —I didn’t understand that.

I didn’t understand what was happening to Avril.

Or what was happening to me, or my brothers.

My senses were clouded, focused on the machine under my hands and the solid concrete beneath my knees.

The engine glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights—I understood these things. They made sense.

I tightened the last bolt, but my fingers trembled, an unwelcome reminder of the chill that had settled deep within my bones since that encounter with the Craster’s shade. A gnawing weakness lurked beneath my skin, like a parasite feeding off my magic—but why? Why was I feeling like this?

I shook my head and sat back on my heels.

“Valen.”

The voice cut through the haze of my thoughts, sharp and clipped.

Boots echoed on the concrete, and I glanced up to see Titus and Bastian standing at the entrance, their silhouettes framed by the dim light spilling from the courtyard behind them. They looked as imposing as ever, dark shadows against the pale light—but something was wrong. Titus’ jaw was tight and Bastian’s pale eyes darted around the garage as though he were looking for something.

“What?” I replied as I turned back to my bike.

“Council meeting,” Titus snapped. “We’ve been summoned.”

I didn’t look up. “Why?”

I didn’t want to go.

The thought of sitting among the Council while my father controlled them with fear and blackmail— My brothers and I were his executioners. Our presence was a threat. Nothing more. It made me sick.

And then there was Avril.

Ever since we’d refused to help her delve deeper into the Bloodstone Grimoire, I worried that we’d pushed her into a darkness I feared she wouldn’t escape.

My brothers and I hadn’t spoken of anything that had happened—or what we’d seen on those pages.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

If I were Avril, I wouldn’t trust us, either.

“Don’t look so miserable,” Bastian said. “You’re the one who complains that Lucian doesn’t involve us enough in the Council's business.”

“Business?” I sneered. “This isn’t business. This is intimidation.”

Bastian laughed. “Same thing, brother.”

I stood and wiped my hands off on a spare rag I’d tucked into my pocket.

It was easier to lose myself in the bike's mechanics than confront what lay beyond these walls.

“Are you coming or not?” Titus pressed. Impatience simmered beneath his carefully controlled exterior and burned in his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, I forced myself to move. “Do I really have a choice?” I asked ruefully.

“Not really,” Bastian laughed.

I bit back a retort and punched the garage door opener. The metal groaned like a wounded beast as it rose and revealed the courtyard and the fading daylight. Bastian’s bike roared to life, and he revved it menacingly. My motorcycle sat waiting, a dark stallion ready to gallop.

Titus swung his leg over his bike and the vibration of two engines filled the space. Bastian laughed as he tightened his grip and threw the bike into gear. He peeled out of the garage and I swore under my breath as my tools scattered over the concrete floor.

Asshole.

I mounted my bike and the familiar vibrations hummed beneath me and grounded me for just a moment.

But even as I gripped the handlebars, I couldn’t shake the unease that settled like lead in my stomach.

I kicked the bike into gear and the roar of the engine echoed like a war cry, but the sound was hollow—

I could sense the tightness between my brothers and I—the unspoken words that lingered like smoke in the air.

We needed to talk—about Avril—about the grimoire.

About Lucian.

But now wasn’t the time.

As we pulled into Juniper Gardens, I was surprised to see that the graveyard’s parking lot was full of cars—I always wondered how they could explain that away.

Or did anyone actually care?

As we cut the engines, strains of classical music echoed from the funeral home and I noticed floral wreaths propped outside. Bastian and I exchanged a confused glance, and then he chuckled. “They really go all out.”

“Seems like it,” I agreed.

“Shut up,” Titus growled. “They’ve already started. We have to hurry.”

Bastian made a face, but we followed Titus through the wrought iron cemetery gates and down the path to where the lines of crypts stood, dark and foreboding in the light of the setting sun.

The doors of the Romano family crypt were open, and Titus walked up the stairs and disappeared inside without looking back at us.

“I hate this place,” Bastian grunted.

That was a surprise.

“Really?”

Bastian shrugged. “Nothing good ever happens here.”

“Why would it—”

Bastian turned to sneer at me, his pale eyes burning with irritation, and then climbed the marble stairs after Titus.

The door to the underground catacombs where the Black Council met were open, and Titus stood by the hidden lever to make sure that it was closed behind us.

“Get on with it,” he snapped. “Lucian is waiting.”

Bastian shoved at our elder brother and then took the stairs at a quick pace. His blond head vanished below the marble floor, leaving me alone with Titus.

He tilted his chin toward the opening. “Go—”

“Why did Lucian want us to be here?” I asked.

Titus’ eyes narrowed. “Did you have something better to do?”

“No— I just—”

“What?”

I took a breath. Titus was never in the mood to argue, but there was something else wrong— He was more on edge than usual.

“You don’t know why we’re here—do you?”

His jaw tightened.

I was right.

“Do you think he knows—”

Titus grabbed my jacket and pulled me close. “Keep your mouth shut,” he hissed. “Not here.”

Shit.

“Okay— Ease up.”

Titus released his grip and pushed me away. “Get down there.”

I did as he commanded, and I didn’t look back as I descended the stairs. Bastian stood at the bottom and glared at me as I stepped onto the uneven stone floor.

“Where the fuck were you?”

“Nowhere,” I replied.

Titus followed me, and the stone door that covered the entrance to the catacombs scraped closed. The sound echoed painfully in the narrow hallway, but I didn’t dare flinch.

Titus pushed past us. “Move—”

The air in the catacombs was thick. Shadows flickered along the walls, cast by torches that sputtered against the uneven stones. The scent of ancient earth and decay filled my nostrils and mixed with the metallic tang of fear—but not mine.

We hurried toward the chamber where the Council met. The soft murmur of their voices reached us like ghostly whispers, and a chill prickled up my spine as the hallway widened and led us into the chamber.

Cloaked in black, the Council members huddled together in small knots of conversation. They wore pinched, anxious expressions, and their furtive whispers sounded loud to me. Their eyes darted toward us as we entered the chamber and their hushed tones dissolved into uneasy silence.

Did they know why we had been called here?

Dread coiled in my stomach like a thorned vine as we took our places at the back of the room.

No. They had no idea why they were in these catacombs, either.

But seeing us had definitely set them on edge.

As if summoned by their whispered fears, Lucian entered the chamber with a flourish, and the heavy wooden door creaked ominously behind him. His suit—expertly tailored, as always, was darker than usual, shot through with silver thread that caught the rough, flickering light of the torches.

Lucian’s pale skin seemed to glow, and he had tied his moonlight-colored hair back from his high forehead. Those ghostly eyes, sharp and calculating, swept across the attendees.

“My friends,” he breathed.

Eyes turned toward him, but the soft murmur of conversation continued.

“Silence!” His voice echoed in the chamber and the edge of it sent chills racing down my spine. I felt the room shrink with his presence, as if the very stones wished to hide from his wrath.

Lucian raised his hands, and the torches set into the walls blazed brighter. “You seem confused by the summons that brought you here— and there are many who did not heed the warning contained in those invitations.”

His gaze pierced through the crowded figures and I saw more than one shrink away from it. “You stand here today not as allies,” he continued, “but as subjects. As penitents .” He paused and the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

What the fuck was he doing?

“Members of the Black Council— As was demanded by those in ages past, when the power of our order was wielded in secret, I demand proof of your loyalty to the Necromi!”

His words hung in the air like a dark mist, and I could see the Council members squirm beneath his gaze. Their faces paled as they looked at one another and exchanged nervous glances. How easily they allowed fear to dictate their allegiance.

“Let us not forget the fate of those who have forsaken our order,” Lucian continued, his tone chillingly calm. “Elder Craster— You know well that he dared to betray our cause… and he met his end in this very chamber.” He gestured sharply toward the stones at the feet of one of the Council members. The man let out a thin cry and leapt back. Dark remnants of Craster’s blood still clung to the crevices in the stones where his body had lain. “His blood will stain these stones for eternity,” he said coldly. “A reminder that treachery is punished without mercy. And without hesitation.”

When I was younger, Lucian had told me stories about the sorcerers who had betrayed him during his rise to power. There were those that he had betrayed as well—but those stories weren’t told nearly as often.

How easily Lucian twisted those stories to maintain control, using past transgressions to instill dread in the hearts of his followers.

“Do you wish to join him?” Lucian’s voice sliced through my thoughts, cold and sharp, as he scanned the crowd for dissent. He thrived on their fear and fed off their uncertainty like a parasite. “Let me hear your oaths,” he urged. “Let me see your tokens of loyalty. Prove you are worthy to stand on this shadowy Council and see the Necromi rise in Messana to where they belong!”

The silence was thick, suffocating with the weight of their fear, and Lucian only seemed to grow stronger and taller at the front of the room as the Council members stepped forward one by one. Their faces, pale and drawn, flickered with expressions of both devotion and dread—sometimes both. They feared him, loved him, and hated him—all at the same time.

I leaned against the cold stone wall, my jaw clenched tight, and watched my father receive their offerings like a dark god. Each sacrifice—some had nothing to give but their blood oath—silvered blades drawn across arms and hands—or a family heirloom offered from trembling hands— Lucian accepted them all with magnanimous grace.

“Has he done this before?” I hissed to Bastian.

My brother kept his eyes on the front of the room. “How would I know?” he whispered back.

“Ah, a worthy token,” Lucian called out. With chilling satisfaction, Lucian accepted an old dagger from a quivering nobleman. In the dim light, the blade glinted wickedly; its edge was stained dark from ancient spells wrought in its presence. “You understand the price of power, don’t you?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered crowd, a blend of eager whispers and nervous laughter. They were exhilarated by this ritual—strengthened by it. No one would dare to defy him, not here, not now.

“Next!” he barked and waved the man away dismissively, his ghostly eyes scanning the assembly. I could feel the tension swell, like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon. My brothers shifted beside me. Titus rubbed a hand through his dark hair, and Bastian stared at the floor, unwilling to meet my gaze.

Was that all of them?

Dark blood stained the stones at my father’s feet and magic thrummed in the air.

“My sons—”

I straightened as Lucian’s voice echoed in the chamber and every member of the Council turned to look at us.

“My sons,” Lucian repeated. I didn’t like the smile on his face—or the shimmer in his pale eyes. “Come forth.” Lucian beckoned to us.

Dangerous.

Careful.

Titus hesitated and confusion knitted his brow, while Bastian shot me a questioning look.

“Let’s not keep him waiting,” I muttered, feigning nonchalance even as dread coiled around my spine. One by one, we stepped forward, and the echo of our boots reverberated off the stone walls.

We stood before him in a line, as we always did. I expected him to call upon Titus and Bastian first—his legitimate sons.

But his ghostly eyes fell on me.

“Valen,” Lucian said, his voice smooth yet sharp as a knife. “What do you offer?”

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to recoil. I glanced sideways at Titus, who seemed caught between protest and submission, but I couldn’t falter now. I lifted my arm and the cuff of my jacket fell back to reveal a thin silver chain wrapped around my wrist. A small, worn pendant dangled from it—the bright blue stone gleamed in the torchlight, and Lucian’s eyes narrowed. He recognized it. My mother’s last gift before she was taken. I gripped it tight, and without hesitation, I tore it from the chain. It felt heavy in my palm. I held it out, my fingers trembling slightly, meeting my father’s gaze head-on.

Lucian extended his hand with purposefully menacing slowness.

“My loyalty to you, Father,” I replied. “Loyalty to the Necromi.” I forced the words past my lips with as much strength as I could muster as I dropped the pendant into his upturned hand. He studied me for an agonizing moment before his lips twisted into a mockery of a smile and his fingers closed over it.

“Good boy,” he said.

He tossed the token onto the altar with the other offerings as if it were nothing, and something inside me cracked. His eyes slid away from me. “Now, Titus.”

My elder brother’s broad shoulders straightened. He pulled the knife from the sheath at the small of his back and held it out. The knife that had ended Elder Craster’s miserable excuse for a life. A weapon that had ended many lives in Lucian’s service. “I pledge my loyalty, Father,” he intoned. “To you. To the Necromi. To our cause.”

Lucian took the knife and examined it carefully before he closed his eyes, and the pale red smoke of his magic wound around the silvered blade. “By your deeds, you have served the Necromi well,” he said.

The smoke dissipated, and the knife set down with the others as he straightened once more.

Lucian’s focus turned to Bastian. “And you— my youngest son. What have you to offer, Bastian?”

Without hesitation, Bastian pulled a thick silver ring from his finger and held it out to our father. “For the Necromi…”

I wondered what corpse he’d taken that trinket off.

“Excellent.” Lucian nodded as he took the ring, and I couldn’t mistake the satisfaction that gleamed in his eyes as he dismissed us.

I could feel his eyes on us as we walked to the back of the room and resumed our places.

“I could not have asked for more devoted sons. Or a more devoted following,” Lucian said as he deposited Bastian’s offering among the others. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bastian’s jaw clench, but he said nothing.

Our gifts had been discarded, just like the others.

Lucian only cared about our submission.

That was all he had ever cared about.

Just then, the same door Lucian had entered from creaked open, drawing all attention. After a moment’s hush, Avril walked into the chamber.

She moved slowly; her gaze cast downward, each step hesitant, as though the stone floor might open up and swallow her whole. The atmosphere shifted palpably as whispers cascaded through the room, hushed tones that wrapped around us.

“—so beautiful—”

“Lucian’s new bride—”

“Another wedding will happen soon— Surely—”

Ghouls.

But I couldn’t deny that she was beautiful. Her auburn hair had been swept away from her face and secured with pins that were inset with dark gems that glittered in the torchlight like spider’s eyes. Her dark gray gown was tantalizingly sheer, and the neckline was cut daringly low. Her shoulders and cheeks were pale, but the dark lipstick she wore accentuated the softness of her lips and her eyes glowed with a strange light.

The darkness of the grimoire—it had to be.

Velvet gloves encased her delicate hands and covered her arms to hide the scars from her blood-letting.

Smart girl.

Bastian’s breath hissed through his teeth as his eyes roamed over her.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Even Titus shifted on his feet.

We all wanted her.

“Ah, my lovely Avril,” Lucian crooned in a voice that was poisonously sweet. “Come closer.”

A surge of protectiveness clawed at my insides. My heart raced as I observed her delicate form. Every subtle movement revealed her unease, but she was forcing herself to stay upright and keep her shoulders back—chin high. I glimpsed Titus shifting restlessly, concern etched into his features, while Bastian’s expression was filled with protectiveness and maybe even dread.

“What a beauty,” a Council member murmured, his tone dripping with admiration. “Such grace will surely strengthen our legacy. Imagine if she and Lucian—”

“She is destined for greatness,” another interjected. “I can feel it—”

“Despite her bloodline—”

“Perhaps because of it…”

What?

“Silence!” Lucian’s voice cut through the murmurs like a whip, silencing them instantly.

I watched, tense and anxious, as Avril drew nearer, her movements slow and deliberate. My instincts flared, yearning to reach out, to draw her close and shield her from this sinister gathering.

She stood in front of Lucian and faced the room. My father laid his hands upon her bare shoulders, slowly and deliberately. I noticed the subtle tightening of Avril’s hands as Lucian’s long fingers caressed her smooth skin. She wanted to flee, but she was trapped here—just like we all were.

The whispers surged through the room like a tide, rising and falling as the shadows clung to the stone walls of the catacombs.

A strangled cry echoed in the room, and I turned with the rest of the crowd to watch a young woman being dragged into the center of the gathering by two of Lucian’s guards. They wore black cloaks and hoods that hid their faces.

The young woman’s hands were bound with a coarse rope that shimmered with magic. Panic flared in her wide eyes, and her gaze darted from face to face, seeking a rescuer.

The Council members shifted uneasily and I could see morbid intrigue in their eyes as they stared at the young woman. She wore a grass-stained cotton nightgown, and her bare feet were crusted with dark mud. Her hay-colored hair was tangled and snarled with fragments of dead leaves, as though she’d been dragged through the woods on her way to this place.

A hasp of horror cut through the whispers—a noblewoman among the guests stood frozen at the edge of the gathered penitents. My eyes narrowed as I noticed a similarity in their features—the girl’s mother. The young woman spotted her at the same time and reached out for her, but her black-cloaked escorts held her back.

Despair washed over the woman’s features, and tears cascaded down her cheeks, but she pressed her hands to her face to smother her sobs. It was a suffocating moment, thick enough to choke on, and my stomach churned.

Whatever this was—it was not just dark magic—it was a brutal display of power.

I could sense that Lucian was savoring the moment, and his pale, ghostly eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure as he surveyed the scene before him.

“Gather round,” Lucian commanded, his voice steady. “Tonight, we welcome our guest.” He gestured toward the trembling woman, his smile sharp enough to cut. “A sacrifice, chosen by fate, and soon to be honored by our rituals.” The young woman let out a cry as she was dragged forward.

“Tonight we pay homage to the Necromi, and ensure that our power remains unchallenged!”

Avril stood rigid in front of him, her body tense and her hand clenched at her sides. Dread filled her hazel eyes, and her jaw was tight.

Lucian leaned over Avril to speak into her ear, but we could all hear his words. “This is your time, Avril— A gift… for you, from your devoted servant.” His tone was filled with a strange calmness and Avril’s eyes closed briefly as the words echoed in the room.

What was he expecting her to do?

She was too weak—her pale magic couldn’t protect her from the oppressive weight of Lucian’s influence. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, desperate to shield her from whatever my father had planned.

“Do you recognize her?” he asked.

And in that moment, I saw Avril’s brave facade shatter—her shoulders quaked slightly, and a flicker of fear ignited in her expressive eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered.

The room fell still, the atmosphere electric with expectation. The unknown girl trembled at the center of the gathering, vulnerability etched into every line of her terrified face, while Avril stood on the precipice of her own doom.

Lucian straightened, and his fingers tightened on Avril’s shoulders. She winced, but then stilled as his voice filled the room.

“Tonight,” Lucian said, “your loyalty shall be put to the test, and our legacy will be strengthened by it. But this… atonement.” His fingers flexed on Avril’s shoulders and satisfaction danced in his pale eyes. “Tonight, we shall guide our newest acolyte through her initiation.”

No.

“Tonight, my bride will embrace her destiny and take her place among you as one of the Necromi.”

Murmurs of approval and hunger rippled through the crowd. The young woman let out a low moan as the black-cloaked guards pushed her to her knees. Her mother choked back a barely restrained sob.

Who was she? What was happening?

“He can’t be serious,” Bastian hissed. “She’s not— she’s not ready—”

“She won’t survive it,” I hissed back.

“Shut up, both of you,” Titus growled.

“I can’t just stand here,” I choked out.

Titus’ glare was hard and unyielding. “You have to.”

Anger bubbled just beneath the surface. My fists clenched involuntarily and the tendons in my forearms strained as I fought against the tide of emotions that threatened to tear me apart. Loyalty to Lucian battled against the fierce protectiveness I felt for Avril.

She didn’t belong here.

“Valen, keep it together,” Titus hissed.

I could tell that he didn’t like this either—but how were we powerless? How could we stand by and watch this happen?

My initiation had left me with months of nightmares—and I had been ready… Avril wasn’t ready.

As I watched, Avril’s gaze flickered, searching the room—not for approval or acceptance, but for mercy. For a savior.

Each tremor of her delicate hands sent jolts of fury racing through me.

What would happen to us—what would I lose—if I broke ranks and ran to the front of the room and pulled her away from Lucian?

Her gaze settled on me, then Bastian, and then Titus.

Silently pleading for help.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Bastian whispered at the same time.

“Fuck,” Titus growled.

They remembered their initiations, too.

We couldn’t allow this to happen—not to her.