Page 3 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

I sat on the window seat, concealed by the heavy damask curtains, and stared out at the gardens that stretched out around the mansion. The gray light created strange shapes and shadows in the thick mist that covered the estate like a shroud.

I struggled to remember the last time I’d seen the sun or basked in its warmth—

This place seemed determined to consume me.

Every day came with a fresh assault on my senses and my sanity.

Titus and his brothers stalked the halls, and I was only protected by the sigils that had been cast over my doors. Their voices were a low murmur as they spoke in the hallway. They could have been shouting, or beating on the door… but the protective spells muffled their voices. Muffled everything.

Those same spells that kept them from spying on me through my mirrors— But I still wasn’t sure if they were able to keep Bastian from haunting my dreams with his dark magic.

I didn’t trust them.

How could I, after what they had done?

Memories of what had happened were seared into my mind.

So many regrets.

I bit down hard on my cheek to keep my sobs at bay. There was nothing I could do about any of it now.

I’d burned all the photos Bastian had taken that night.

The humiliating photos that had sealed my fate and turned me into a prisoner…

I shook my head and rubbed my hand over my cheeks to wipe away my tears.

No.

Titus was right.

It was my fault.

I should never have given in. But worst of all— I should never have trusted them.

Foolish little bird.

Lucian had allowed me some small freedoms inside the house… I could visit the library, but the threat of seeing Titus again had kept me in my room. Seeing him had only reminded me of the hold he still had on me. One that I thought I had been able to shake loose from my system… But my body was stupid, and as much as he disgusted me— I craved his touch and the ecstasy that had rushed through me when the Romano brothers had bent me to their dark will.

All of them.

“Stupid,” I muttered.

A knock at my door echoed in the room, and I let out a yelp and clutched at the drapes. I hadn’t asked for anything— Who—

I pulled the drapes aside just a little so that I could see the door.

“What—” I called out. My voice shook, and I swallowed hard to clear my throat before I called out again. “Who is it?”

The knob turned, and the door opened. I shrank back, but then relaxed as I saw the face of the servant who usually brought my meals.

I wish I knew their names— Anyone’s name… But they never answered my questions or stayed to talk.

“Miss Velez,” the woman said. Her voice, as usual, was cold and detached and her eyes didn’t meet mine as she entered the room. “Master Lucian has summoned you to his study.”

My heart stuttered at the mention of his name. I fought the urge to snap back at her, I knew better.

“I— I have?”

She inclined her head. “Someone will come and fetch you in an hour’s time. Be ready.”

My grip on the heavy drape tightened. “Ready— for what?”

She didn’t reply. She simply turned on her heel and walked out of the room without a backward glance. The door closed behind her with a decisive click .

“Thanks,” I muttered to the silent room.

An hour.

I wanted to defy him. I wanted to refuse—

But I knew that if I did, I’d be dragged to his study in whatever I was wearing.

I looked down at my filmy nightgown and shuddered. Lucian had seen enough of my body already— I had no intention of encouraging him or hastening his appetite for our marriage.

Every day I worried he would announce our wedding date and make it all real.

An icy chill swept through me.

Maybe that was why he had summoned me.

A low moan escaped my lips, and I pushed myself off the window seat.

I paced the carpet with frantic steps.

It couldn’t be.

It was too soon.

My mother had only been dead for a month…

No—

Had it been that long?

How much time had passed since her death?

How long had she been in that tomb…

An image of Julia’s rotting face, her teeth bared in anger, forced its way into my consciousness and I recoiled in horror.

No. No. No.

I staggered toward the fireplace and grabbed onto the mantle to steady myself as my heart pounded strangely in my chest.

Deep breaths. You’re fine.

No.

I wasn’t fine.

Nothing was fine.

Nothing would ever be again.

But I had to pretend.

I didn’t have a choice.

How else was I supposed to survive here?

Hunt— or become prey.

That was what Titus had said.

A threat and a promise at the same time.

But I couldn’t— I couldn’t be like them.

My stomach churned, and I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten a full meal without throwing up.

I couldn’t.

I took one breath, then another, and forced myself to stand up straighter.

They’d be coming to fetch me soon. I had to get ready.

Lucian didn’t like it when his commands were ignored… I’d learned the hard way that Lucian didn’t let disobedience slide. And I had already pushed him far enough.

* * *

Showered, dressed as modestly as possible—which was a lofty feat. Daringly cut, sheer, or shimmering clothes filled my closets; they were made of luxurious, sensual fabrics I would never have chosen for myself.

My mother had relished this opulence. But I hated every single piece of clothing that I was forced to choose from.

The deep aubergine dress I’d finally settled on covered my chest, but its low back prevented me from wearing a bra, and a high side slit revealed far more than I liked.

This was what Lucian wanted.

To see me on display.

But he didn’t want to see me cower. He expected me to behave as my mother had—eagerly preening for his gaze alone.

My heels clicked on the stone floors as I followed the silent servant who had come to fetch me.

I didn’t dare ask questions.

And I didn’t really want to find out the reason I’d been summoned.

And I dreaded what lay behind that heavy wooden door.

My heart thudded against my ribs as the dark, polished surface gleamed ominously under the flickering lantern light.

I could almost hear it whispering to me, taunting me with memories of betrayal and humiliation.

The last time I had crossed that threshold, my stepbrothers had reveled in my disgrace while Lucian watched, an amused spectator to my torment.

A shiver crept down my spine, but I forced myself to breathe deeply as the servant knocked on the door.

It swung open under her hand and I bit down on my cheek to keep myself steady. There was blood on my tongue and my hands clenched into fists at my sides. The sleeves of the gown were long enough to hide my hands, and I was grateful for that small mercy. I didn’t want him to see my fear. I was certain that he could smell it.

Titus seemed to think he could.

Why would Lucian be any different?

I hesitated, but only for a moment.

What awaited me in that room?

Would this be another act of cruelty, another display of power meant to remind me of my place beneath his boot? With a final, shaky breath, I forced my legs into motion and walked past the silent servant and into Lucian’s study.

The moment I stepped into the room, the air seemed to shift around me.

The oppressive scent of the room enveloped me—sweet and acrid, like burnt sugar mixed with decay.

It curled into my lungs and dragged me deeper into the suffocating atmosphere.

Dim candle light flickered against the walls and dancing shadows twisted and writhed like tormented souls across the tall bookshelves that lined the walls; their movements seemed to mock me, as though they wished to remind me of how easily I could become one of them.

Across the room, a crystalline orb floated above Lucian’s desk, its surface pulsated with a malevolent red glow. It hovered there, a heartbeat of dark energy that sent chills racing through me. I felt its pull—an insidious allure that made my fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch it so that I could brush my fingertips across it and feel its warmth against my skin.

But I knew better. I had learned far too many lessons about the cost of curiosity in this wretched place.

“Ah, Avril,” Lucian’s voice sliced through the thick silence, smooth and cold like ice gliding over steel. He stood by the window, silhouetted against the moonlit night beyond, a predator biding his time. The shadows clung to him and twisted around his lean form like tendrils of darkness.

“Come in.”

Was that amusement in his tone?

I remained rooted to the spot as my heart drummed an erratic rhythm against my ribs.

The door creaked shut behind me and a chill swept across my skin.

He turned toward me and leaned back against the window frame, arms crossed over his chest, a picture of casual menace. “Are you ready to apologize for your betrayal?”

The orb that hovered above his desk pulsed slowly, and my gaze darted toward it before I looked back at Lucian.

His invitation hung heavy in the air, taunting me.

Apologize?

The word was strange on my tongue, an unwanted and bitter taste that lingered and threatened to make me gag. I met his pale stare, searching for any hint of mercy or reprieve.

Silence stretched between us.

I wouldn’t apologize.

I’d done nothing wrong.

He was the one who should—

My breath hitched in my throat as I battled against the fear of what he might do to me—

“You remind me of your father,” he mused, as his cold eyes swept over me. He pushed away from the window and walked toward me. The shadows swirled around him like a cloak, and I fought the urge to step back. “Dario Velez… He thought he was very clever. Perhaps even invincible… Arrogant bastard.”

His tone shifted, smooth and laced with malice. “Your father plotted against me, you see.”

The daughter of a traitor.

With every word he spoke, dread pooled in my stomach, a heavy stone sinking deeper.

“I—”

I struggled to find my voice—but did he want me to answer him?

“Ambition has its price, does it not?”

I didn’t move as he crossed the room with slow, measured strides.

Why was he telling me this?

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

His smile was like poisoned honey.

“Your mother,” he paused dramatically, as though he was savoring my growing unease, “was the one who revealed his treachery. She was… loyal. And loyalty is— rewarded.”

A wave of nausea crashed over me and I fought to steady myself, but the revelation felt like ice clawing through my veins.

All of those accusations Bastian and his brothers had thrown in my face… I’d hoped that they were lying.

But Lucian had no reason to lie.

Betrayal ran deep in my blood, and I feared it would drown me.

“Can you imagine the look on your father’s face when he realized the very person he trusted most had outmaneuvered him?” Lucian’s chuckle was dark and rich, and his icy gaze never left mine. “Oh, the irony.”

I struggled for breath and to keep my composure. He was saying this to upset me—nothing more.

“Tell me, Avril,” he said, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over my skin, “how do you feel knowing that your lineage is steeped in such delightful betrayal?”

“Stop!” The word slipped from my lips before I could bite it back. I flinched at the way my voice echoed in the room before it was swallowed by shadow.

Lucian’s amusement only deepened, and his lips twisted as he reveled in my turmoil. “What will you do now, dear girl?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Lucian stalked around me, and his fingers hovered just inches away from my shoulder and the bare expanse of my back. I could feel the ripple of his power against my skin and I bit down hard on my tongue to keep from whimpering.

“Julia was an eager pupil,” he continued casually. “She was passionate about power and the darker magics—the secrets that the Sages had kept from her. Oh, how she yearned for my approval! When Dario conspired against me— she couldn’t bear the shame of it.”

Anger rose inside me, hot and fierce.

My mother? How was it possible?

Julia had never spoken of my father. I hadn’t even known his name until that very moment.

“Did you not know?” he asked. His tone was gentle, but edged with venom.

“N— No,” I whispered.

I wanted to shut my eyes tight and run from the room, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to look at him—how could I? But as he walked away from me and back toward his desk, something else drew my focus—an enormous painting that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Its colors were deep and vivid, and the dark gilded frame was heavy and ornate. But it was the figures within that commanded my attention. Dark and shadowy, wraithlike forms writhed in torment, their painted faces twisted in expressions of agony.

“Look closely,” Lucian taunted, sensing my distraction. “Those shades bear witness to the consequences of ambition. Of arrogance . Their cries will echo through the ages— trapped forever in a realm of shadows.”

A chill crept up my spine as I studied the grotesque tableau. Each brushstroke seemed alive with pain and I could almost hear their silent screams and sensed the way their desperation sought to wrap around me like a shroud. The oppressive atmosphere grew heavier and pressed against my chest as I fought the urge to flee.

“Who— who are they?” I choked out.

“Those are the souls of those who have tried to stand against me,” Lucian continued. His tone was light and casual, as though he were speaking of a bright painting of summer flowers. “They should not have been so foolish. What better punishment for betrayals… Do you not agree?”

I tore my gaze from the portrait and forced myself to meet his stony stare once more. This was madness—

My mother had betrayed my father, but what did that make me? Anguish and fury churned inside my chest, yet all I could manage was a whisper: “Why?”

A knowing smile danced on Lucian’s lips. “These souls—” he gestured grandly, “have given everything for power. Each brushstroke records their failures, their folly. And I am the one who has emerged stronger.”

A chill slithered down my spine at the thought of these damned shades trapped within the painting, their anguished cries muted beneath layers of oil and pigment. “You keep them here?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Keep?” He chuckled softly, and the sound echoed through the dim room like the toll of a distant bell. “They serve me, Avril. They whisper secrets of their dark magic, and their power courses through my veins. Perhaps, Avril, you might find such a fate appealing? Or would you wish to begin a collection of your own?”

I shuddered at the thought of such a horrific possibility.

Never. Never. Never.

But before I could respond, Lucian moved with unsettling grace toward the towering bookshelves that lined the walls. The shelves sagged under the weight of ancient tomes with cracked and worn spines—I didn’t want to think of the dreaded knowledge their dry pages contained.

The books I’d read in Withermarsh’s library had unsettled me enough… But these…

These books terrified. me.

Lucian’s smile was smooth as he brushed his fingers along the leather bound spines. “Come, let me gift you something that may ignite your curiosity,” he said as he pulled a heavy, black-bound book from its resting place.

He held the book almost reverently as he approached, his fingertips just brushing the cover. He paused and then held it up for my inspection, and I drew in a breath as a pulse of energy radiated from it, throbbing like a heartbeat. The black material that bound it appeared to be leather, but the texture hinted at something more sinister—something alive.

I swallowed hard and kept my clammy hands at my sides, but it was difficult—almost impossible—to resist the urge to touch it. I rubbed my palms against my hips—a nervous gesture that I had to force myself to stop.

“I— What is it?” I asked.

“This,” he said softly, “is the Bloodstone Grimoire, a relic of the Necromi. You will study its pages to prepare for our union.” He regarded me through half-lidded eyes that glittered with animalistic delight as his words sank in. “Your mother was eager to please me,” he continued. “She was a quick student—and her heart turned to the darkness within these pages so easily.” He paused, and the expression on his strangely handsome face was almost wistful. “How did she phrase it? Ah, yes, ‘To embrace the shadows is to find true strength.’”

“Strength?” I echoed, incredulous. My hands trembled as I reached out, drawn towards the book’s pulsing allure, but fear tempered my desire.

“Strength through darkness,” Lucian said, echoing the words that whispered in my mind. “Is that not what you seek?” He stepped closer and the scent of damp earth and decay swirled around us, choking me and making me gasp for breath. “The world outside these walls is rife with danger, Avril. There are those who would seek to harm you—would you allow them to do so?”

“I—”

“Will you just allow life to happen to you?” he pressed. “Surely not… What if you were able to take control of your own destiny? Unlock your power— The Sages weren’t equipped to prepare you for what lies ahead. But I can.”

I hesitated, but Lucian held the grimoire out to me and then set it onto my outstretched palms.

The moment the grimoire touched my palm, a jolt of energy surged through me, as if the shadows that coiled within its pages were reaching out to engulf my very essence. The air thickened with an oppressive weight, suffocating and thick like fog rolling off a graveyard at midnight. I could almost hear whispers curling around the edges of my mind, coaxing and taunting, promising power—but at what price?

But then, without warning, the image of my mother flooded back—a vision stark and haunting, her lifeless body resting in that cold tub, her crimson nails like the petals of a wilted rose on the surface. Her eyes opened—glaring at me with such hatred that I gasped aloud.

“Avril?” Lucian’s voice sliced through the haze. His words were smooth but carried a sinister edge. “Are you afraid?”

Had he sensed my vision—was her horrifying presence visible to him, too?

I recoiled, and the book slipped from my fingers. I let out a cry and jumped back as it landed on the uneven stone floor with a thud .

“I won’t,” I whispered.

Lucian’s amusement faded in an instant, and the flicker of disappointment sharpened his features into something frightening. A shadow crossed his pale eyes, and for a moment, I saw the monster that lurked beneath the surface of his elegant charm. “Are you rejecting this offer? Choosing weakness over power?” he asked. His voice was low and dangerous, and fear coursed through me and made my knees tremble.

I stumbled back as his ghostly glare burned into me with cold fire and consumed every shred of courage I had left.

Lucian shook his head. “My sweet girl,” he said, “you misunderstand. This is not a choice; this is a necessity.” His tone shifted and darkened like the thunderclouds that hovered over the estate. “Refusing the path laid before you comes with consequences.”

“Consequences?” I scoffed, trying to mask the tremor in my voice. But his shadow loomed larger, and wrapped around me like the tendrils of a nightmare.

His smile was a wicked crescent and my eyes darted to the horror of the painting on the wall above the fireplace and the writhing anguish of the figures trapped there—was my father among them?

“You should consider yourself fortunate to learn from my hand,” he hissed. “There are those who would give everything for such an honor—”

He bent to retrieve the grimoire from where it had fallen and cradled it gently in his long-fingered hands.

“Your mother… she embraced the darkness with open arms.”

And look at where it led her.

“Do you wish to join her? Or will you take up the mantle she abandoned? You have a choice, my dear.”

Did I?

I shuddered at his words and a chill crept down my spine.

There was no warmth in his gaze, only the frigid hunger of a predator waiting to pounce. I swallowed hard and forced myself to meet his eyes. I didn’t know what I was searching for—perhaps any sign of humanity, any hint of mercy.

There was none.

“Choose wisely, Avril,” he warned as his voice dropped to a chilling whisper that echoed through the dimly lit study.

My heart lurched in my chest, and my hands itched to touch the grimoire he held—that malevolent entity waiting to ensnare me. As I stared at it, I felt the pull grow stronger, dragging me toward the abyss.

Lucian’s pale eyes narrowed, and he stepped back. I wondered if he could hear my frantic thoughts—or if he knew how close I was to giving in.

“Enough of this,” he snapped. “Return to your room and waste no more of my time.”

He gestured briefly, an irritated motion, and the heavy wooden door swung open.

His command hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I turned away. The urge to run as fast as I could was overwhelming, but I forced my feet to move forward, one step at a time. Slow and measured.

My heels clicked on the stone and I counted each step as I tried to keep my breaths, and my thoughts, as calm as I could.

I didn’t want Lucian to see how his words had wounded me, even though it felt as though I was bleeding from a thousand cuts.

As I stepped into the hallway, the door slammed shut behind me.

The silence of the corridor enveloped me, yet it felt anything but safe. My fingers brushed the cold stone walls, and I paused long enough to kick off the expensive heels I wore. The flagstones were cold under my bare feet, but I didn’t care. I bent to sweep up my shoes and rushed as quickly as I could—silent as a mouse—down the hallway, past the library, and up the grand staircase.

A voice whispered in my mind, taunting me like an unwelcome ghost. “Do you really think you’ll survive a marriage to Lucian?”

My heart raced as I stumbled up the stairs and gripped the bannister tight to keep myself from falling as my legs buckled. Each thought that spun through my mind brought new torment—the paintings of Lucian’s victims— twisted in eternal agony.

Would I become one of them? A pale shade trapped in his collection of souls?

I pressed my palm against my chest and felt the frantic thud of my heartbeat as panic rose inside me.

I didn’t want to end up like my mother.

Yet the allure of the dark grimoire pulled at me—what if that was my only choice? What if it was the only way I could survive this place? It promised strength and control—two things I had never possessed.

But at what cost?