Page 4 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

I jolted awake as the sound of thunder crashed through my mind like a fist against glass.

The darkness clung to me, thick and oppressive, punctuated only by the occasional flash of lightning that slashed through the air, revealing fleeting glimpses of the room’s twisted shadows. I gasped for breath and tried desperately to shake off the nightmare I’d only barely escaped.

Each pulse of light cast a stark silhouette against the walls, and twisted familiar shapes into grotesque caricatures.

I blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the remnants of sleep, but unease had settled in my gut like an unwelcome guest.

Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

I sat up and rubbed my hands over my face.

What a pathetic thought.

Something was wrong— Something had been wrong since the day I’d stepped foot in this place.

I took a deep breath and winced at the metallic tang of the storm on my tongue. The heavy scent of rain seeped through the cracks in the windows—the storm should have been a comfort. I used to love the rain. And storms used to be comforting.

Now they were just… there.

Outside, the wind howled like a vengeful spirit and rattled the window panes as if it sought to invade my sanctuary.

“Get a grip,” I whispered.

The words were fragile, and I hated myself for how weak I sounded—how fearful.

Another roll of thunder reverberated through the air and shook the windows.

The shadows in the room twisted toward me— I stared at the shapes that moved across the walls.

They were just shadows.

I must have been imagining it.

But what if it was true?

As if in response to that unbidden thought, the very shadows I stared at twisted and changed as they reached toward me.

They were drawn to me; I could feel it.

My blood thrummed with unspent magic—but my power had always been innocent and gentle… that was how the Sages at the academy had always described it. But this was different—I sensed something within me tantalizingly close to something darker—a forbidden allure that made my skin crawl.

“Only shadows,” I murmured, willing the truth to take root and flourish. But what if that wasn’t the case?

In this house, nothing was ever truly what it seemed.

Another bolt of lightning split the sky and illuminated my room in a harsh, electric flash.

My heart stuttered in my chest as I froze, eyes locked onto a shape at the end of my bed.

A dark presence wrapped in shadow.

I didn’t have to guess at what it was.

Lucian’s gift— the gift I had refused.

The Bloodstone Grimoire.

Lucian’s voice echoed in my mind, smooth and insidious, promising power and secrets I knew that I should leave untouched.

I recoiled instinctively, but the sinister aura that radiated from the forbidden book prickled my skin, like an unseen hand grazing my arm.

Even from a distance, the grimoire seemed to whisper my name, and its voice was a seductive hiss that twisted through the air with a malevolence I could almost taste.

“Touch me,” it seemed to beckon, and the words curled around my thoughts like smoke, invasive and suffocating.

I shook my head violently in an attempt to dislodge the creeping compulsion that tightened around my heart and tugged at my hands.

The allure was undeniable; a darkness I had never known clawed at the edges of my consciousness and spoke promises of power cloaked in shadow.

A chill swept through the room, colder than the rain-slicked wind outside, and for a moment, I felt the weight of something ancient and cruel pressing down on me. My breath hissed through my teeth as I pushed myself sideways across the bed, away from the book, and tumbled to the floor.

I clung to the edge of the mattress and pulled myself to my knees, and desperation clawed at my throat as I fought against the urge to approach the book.

The whispers intensified, as if sensing my fear—full of temptation, urging me to succumb.

Lucian wanted me to take it .

The thought made bile rise in my throat.

I could almost hear his laughter, cold and mocking, echoing off the walls of my mind.

I peered over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cold under my knees. Solid and sure. I wasn’t dreaming.

The grimoire sat on the end of the bed, waiting. Its leather cover seemed to glow in the darkness, as though it fed off the shadows in the room.

“It’s just a book… just a book… You’re being stupid.” I muttered, but the words sounded hollow.

With each passing second, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

I closed my eyes, willing the visions of darkness to dissipate, but they lingered like an uninvited guest, refusing to leave.

But how— Why was the book here? Who had brought it? Why hadn’t I woken—

I glared at the book, and vainly hoped that it would disappear.

The only answer was the quiet rustle of the grimoire’s whispers— it taunted me. My instincts screamed at me to flee—to escape this room, this house, this cursed legacy—but fear anchored me, and the knowledge that I was somehow tied to it all paralyzed me.

The storm outside raged on, and its fury echoed in my chest as I forced myself to take a breath—just one.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, momentarily banishing the gloom.

Maybe I had imagined it—

But when the light faded, the Bloodstone Grimoire remained, an ominous specter at the foot of my bed.

It beckoned with a sinister allure, and its surface glistened like wet stone.

Unnatural.

I pushed myself to my feet and rubbed my clammy palms against my thighs. I had to get rid of it.

I forced myself to walk—one step at a time.

But each step I took seemed heavier than the last, and as I edged closer, my instincts screamed at me to retreat.

What was it about that book that clawed at my mind like a feral beast? I couldn’t let it win. Not now, not ever.

I paused at the end of the bed.

With a deep breath, I reached out, my trembling hands poised over the grimoire.

The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and wrapped around me like chains.

I could almost feel the pull of dark magic threading through my veins.

It would be so easy to surrender— So easy to let the darkness wash over me and drown all my fears.

But I wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t touch it.

I turned toward the fire that burned low in the grate. The poker, wrought iron and strong—a weapon if I needed it—would have to do. I grabbed it and clenched it in both hands to keep as much distance between me and the book as possible.

With a grunt, I swung the fire poker down and the metal crashed against the grimoire’s cover with a resounding thud .

The book tumbled off the edge of the bed and I skittered back as it landed on the floor with a dull thump that echoed in the silence.

Defeated. If only for a moment.

“Take that!” I hissed.

The grimoire lay there, still and treacherous, its whispers muted but not silenced. It had lost its perch, but I could feel the malevolence radiating from it as it thrummed with power and promises of darker things.

I stumbled back, a single step that felt like a leap into an abyss. My breath came in shallow gasps, each inhale laced with the sharpness of the storm that clung to the air.

The grimoire lay on the floor, but its presence was heavy and suffocating as if it were a living thing, breathing secrets that clawed at my sanity.

I shoved at it with the poker, but it didn’t move—as though it had been bolted to the floor.

No matter how much I rubbed my eyes or wished that it would vanish, the book was just… there.

The flickering red of the firelight played over its dark cover and the stones embedded in it seemed to glow like baleful eyes.

Watching me.

My heart beat so strangely in my chest that I could barely breathe.

I couldn’t just leave it there.

The shadows around me seemed to stretch and contract, and they wrapped around the edges of my vision as I placed the poker back beside the fire, but kept my eyes on the grimoire.

I gnawed on my lip as I tried to think of what I should do—

What if I just picked it up and threw it out of the room?

Would it just appear at the end of the bed again?

Fuck.

With a desperate cry, I rushed to the chaise in the room's corner and snatched the blanket off it. I ran back to the bed and stood, trembling, for a moment before I threw the blanket down over the grimoire. The blanket completely covered the grimoire, and I took a shaking breath as the malevolence radiating from the cursed book was suddenly muffled.

But for how long?

The knitted blanket quieted the whispers, but I could still feel them clawing at the edges of my mind, insistent and cruel. I had only succeeded in masking the horror; the threat remained, lurking beneath the layers of fabric, waiting for a moment of weakness.

“Stay there,” I commanded, though the words sounded weak even as they left my lips.

I crawled back onto the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin to cocoon myself in their warmth as if they could protect me from the encroaching darkness. My skin prickled with unease, and exhaustion tugged at my limbs, urging me to surrender to sleep.

But how could I sleep?

I pressed my head into the pillow and took a deep breath as I closed my eyes tightly.

The shadows twisted and writhed in my mind, grotesque shapes that danced just beyond the edge of reason. They flickered like candle flames, their forms stretching and contorting into nightmarish visages that grinned with malicious glee. I could sense them closing in, taunting me with each rise and fall of my chest.

“Embrace the darkness,” a voice whispered from the depths of my subconscious. It was Titus’ voice—smooth and dark. Laced with honeyed malice. “Give in. You know you want to.”

Their faces loomed in my mind.

Valen’s smooth smile. Bastian’s ghostly pale eyes—too much like his father’s.

“Get away!” I gasped, tossing and turning, sheets twisting around my limbs like creeping vines, constricting, tightening.

My breath came in quick bursts, each inhalation filled with the metallic tang of panic and rain-soaked earth.

The storm outside raged against my windows—crashes of thunder that drowned out my thoughts and left only the whispers of the grimoire that echoed in the dark corners of my mind.

“Do you really think you can escape?” it hissed, its voice dripping with contempt, as shadows morphed into strange faces—but faces that I knew.

My mother—beautiful and horrifying in her decay— and my father—it must have been him. His eyes were hollow— Sunken and strange. His fingertips were black and stained with blood and dark magic— The cuts on his arms. The blood that soaked his shirt.

No. Never.

These apparitions clawed at my heart, reminding me of the bloodline I could never outrun.

“Stop it! Stop!” I cried, the words bursting forth from my lips unbidden, raw and desperate. I thrashed against the confines of my bed, but the more I struggled, the tighter the sheets became, and they wrapped around me like silk from a spider’s web.

“Let go, darling,” Lucian’s voice crooned, his words were drenched in seduction and each one curled around my senses like smoke. “Just let it take you. This was meant for you. My bride—”

With a gut-wrenching gasp, I jolted awake, my body slick with perspiration. I gasped for breath. Ragged and shallow, the sound echoed in the still room. The storm roared outside, shaking the very walls of Withermarsh, but the darkness had broken and dawn’s pale light stained the sky even though the storm clouds remained.

I blinked against the dim light filtering through the rain-streaked window. The cold air brushed against my skin and grounded me yet again in the reality that seemed far too close to the nightmare I had just escaped.

I sat up and the luxurious coverlet and expensive sheets pooled around my waist.

The shadows in the corners of my room seemed to stretch and curl toward the shrouded lump on the floor at the foot of my bed.

The Bloodstone Grimoire, waiting for me like a predator only barely hidden in the underbrush.

What had Lucian intended by leaving it here?

The question made my stomach churn, a twisted knot that tightened with every heartbeat.

“ Just look at me ,” it seemed to whisper through the thick wool blanket. The words echoed in my thoughts. “ Look— ”

I didn’t want to touch it; I wanted to forget the book existed.

But how could I when it loomed there, taunting me—

I gripped the blankets tightly as dawn’s pale light seeped through the curtains.

I knew I couldn’t hide forever.

The storm outside was easing, and the heavy pelting rain had transformed into a gentle tap against the windows.

But I knew it wouldn’t be like this for long.

What was I supposed to do now?

The grimoire— I had to do something .

But what? —I wasn’t strong enough.

Lucian wanted me to give in—he wanted me to use it

My entire being recoiled at the thought. But I couldn’t help but feel the gnawing sensation— a morbid curiosity that churned in the pit of my stomach.

Tearing my gaze away from the blanketed lump at the foot of my bed, I looked out toward the window.

The dawn’s light was still weak and grey as it filtered through the bruised-looking clouds that hung low in the sky. The wind howled mournfully and I imagined how the trees bent as it whipped through their skeletal branches.

I hugged my knees to my chest and stifled a shiver as a chill seeped into the marrow of my bones.

The nightmares had seemed so real, so vivid, and they clung to me like tendrils of misty smoke.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside my room, and I stiffened instinctively. Sweat prickled at the small of my back, but I didn’t move. I listened as the footsteps grew louder, then softer again—drifting away. It was impossible to tell who it was or what their intentions were—friend or foe all sounded alike when they moved past, unseen and muffled by the protective spells that lay over the doors of my room.

I was a prisoner here.

And Lucian wouldn’t be satisfied until I submitted to the darkness, or it consumed me.