Page 6 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

I stumbled back from the window, and my breath caught like thorns in my throat as I searched for a shred of comfort.

The gardens outside should have offered solace, but seeing Valen had ruined any possibility… and now the grimoire.

A sound broke through my horrified silence—a soft rustling that sent chills skittering down my spine.

As I stared in disbelief, the metal latch that held the Bloodstone Grimoire closed clicked open. The cover creaked as it opened, and the pages fluttered with an unnatural grace, as if they were alive—flipped by an unseen hand.

“What—” I breathed, my voice trembled as I took a hesitant step forward.

Time felt distorted, stretching and contracting like a living thing.

My pulse quickened, and each beat of my heart echoed the whisper of my name that seemed to rise from the very fabric of the book.

It was an invitation—a treacherous one—a beckoning that sent waves of fear crashing over my senses.

The pages turned, deliberate and slow, revealing cryptic symbols that pulsed with energy—dark incantations that filled the corners of my mind like tendrils of smoke. I could almost feel them reaching for me. My fingers twitched, yearning to touch the forbidden knowledge, yet a primal instinct screamed at me to stay away.

“I don’t want this—” I whispered, and each word tasted bitter on my tongue.

The air thickened around me, charged with a weight that pressed upon my chest.

The grimoire had no answers, only deeper questions layered beneath its ancient script.

“ Just look… What harm ever came from reading a book— “ The pages whispered back, though I knew they carried no voices of their own.

Each flicker of movement felt like a taunt.

“Stop!” I shouted, frustration bubbling over as I flung my hands up to cover my ears to keep out the dark whispers that fluttered with the pages. But the words fell flat, swallowed by the heavy curtains and luxurious fabrics. Somehow, my legs moved, and I stepped closer, caught between terror and curiosity.

“ Avril ,” the symbols seemed to hiss. Each curve and line twisted like serpents poised to strike, “ Come closer .”

I shook my head, fighting against the pull, yet my body betrayed me as I moved closer still.

The light from the window dimmed— I felt like a moth drawn to a flickering flame, knowing full well the danger yet unable to resist.

“Do you really believe you can escape this? Escape me?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy and mocking. I wanted to scream, to lash out against the malevolence that seeped from the grimoire, but all I could manage was a shaky breath as I stood in front of it—at the edge of an abyss.

I fell to my knees in front of the window seat and reached out with a trembling hand. The cold emanating from the grimoire seeped into my skin and curled around my fingers like a lover’s embrace.

“Your choice, pretty dove,” the Grimoire whispered. Its pages fluttered violently as my hand hovered over it.

“Stop it,” I murmured, but the words barely escaped my lips. My body seemed eager to surrender; I wanted to scurry away, yet a twisted part of me craved the secrets hidden within those pages—maybe it held secrets that could shatter the chains Lucian had wrapped around my life.

I ripped my gaze from the grimoire and forced myself to focus on the shadows that danced against the walls. Their shapes morphed into grotesque figures that curled and twisted, mocking my fear.

The shadows controlled this place.

Lucian.

Titus.

Thoughts of my stepbrothers slithered into my mind, their laughter sharp and taunting, always playing their games—what had Valen called them— Yes… their designs . Each glance they exchanged, each secret smile shared over my head, felt like daggers aimed straight for my gut. Lucian’s control loomed like the dark clouds that wreathed the estate, suffocating and relentless, always hovering just out of reach yet impossibly close.

“Pathetic,” the shadows seemed to whisper.

Did they know what I had seen?

What I had felt?

Had they seen the way Valen’s eyes had burned into mine, and ignited a fire in my belly that both terrified and exhilarated me?

And if the shadows knew—did that mean Lucian knew? Did they obey his commands, too?

“Stop this!” I snapped, breaking the spell woven by the shadows—if only for a moment. But the grimoire’s whispers grew louder and wrapped around my mind like ivy strangling a tree. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the words slithered through my defenses.

“Avril, your fate is bound to ours,” the grimoire seemed to murmur, low and menacing. “You cannot escape.”

The whispers clawed at my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut and snatched my hands back from the book and pressed them against my ears to drown them out. I bit down on my lip until I tasted iron. But the sound persisted and wrapped tightly around me to squeeze the breath from my lungs.

With deliberate slowness, the grimoire’s fluttering pages finally stilled— but the silence felt more oppressive than the noise.

I dared to open my eyes and my heart raced as I gasped for breath.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I couldn’t bear to wipe them away.

No escape.

Submit or succumb.

Hunt or be hunted.

Before I could process the depths of my despair, the grimoire slammed shut with a deafening crack that echoed off the walls. I flinched and my throat tightened as the sound of a lock clicking into place filled the air—sharp and final. The strange glow I’d seen in the stones embedded in the grimoire’s cover had dimmed, and the book seemed lifeless once more.

Even the whispers were quiet.

But the shadows in the corners deepened and their fingers stretched toward me, beckoning me closer. I pushed myself off my knees and stumbled back. But an invisible force seemed to pull me forward, urging me to touch the grimoire—to claim it.

To claim the power captured in its pages.

I shuddered and clenched my fists at my sides. My nails dug into my palms and I gasped at the pain, but didn’t relax my grip.

Maybe the pain—

No.

Nothing could chase away the sinister seduction of the dark artifact that lay before me.

“Give in,” the shadows urged. “Join us.”

The cloying scent of ancient parchment and dried blood filled my nostrils, and I gagged as the heavy, metallic taste of fear clogged my throat. Distorted images danced across my mind—images of power, of torment and pleasure, of control and submission.

Tempting glimpses of a future so tantalizingly within reach.

“No,” I breathed out on a shaky exhale, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the grimoire.

A burning log in the fireplace snapped loudly and the sudden shock of the noise made me jump. I glared at the fire and then flinched again as another loud pop echoed in the room. A shower of sparks landed on the hardwood floor, flickered, and then faded to black.

An insane and desperate thought pushed into my mind.

What if— What if I just—

What if I just threw it into the fire?

I swallowed hard, my mind racing through the consequences.

What if I tossed it in and nothing happened? What if— what if it exploded and burned the whole house down?

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Without a second thought, I lunged forward and grabbed the book.

Its strange weight made me stagger as I held it against my chest. Why did my legs feel so weak?

The book’s whispers grew louder, and I gritted my teeth as dark laughter echoed in my mind.

I had to do it.

I staggered toward the fireplace and felt the heat from the flames as it brushed against my skin, beckoning me, but it was the weight of the book that held me captive. Moments stretched into eternity as I wrestled with indecision.

Don’t give in. Don’t!

I let out a gasp and wrenched the book away from my chest.

The moment felt suspended in time as I braced my feet and hurled the grimoire into the roaring flames.

It hit the fire with a resounding thud —a sound that shuddered through my bones.

For a fleeting second, I felt triumph surge within me—perhaps this would end my torment—and I watched the flames rise, crackling and hungry. Then the fire erupted into a frenzy. Sickly greens and purples flared up like a grotesque dance of spirits that had been unleashed from their prison. The flames twisted and writhed in an unnatural rhythm that clawed at my very sanity. Then the flames changed and rippled with a darkness that made my blood run cold.

The hearth crackled and spat, as if protesting the very presence of the book it should have consumed. My throat tightened, and I watched in horror as the flames recoiled, licking the edges of the grimoire but refusing to engulf it.

“No—”

The fire rallied, and the bright flames crept along with leather binding and charred the pages, but the grimoire refused to yield, and its dark magic began to repel the flames. My stomach knotted, and dread unfurled like a black flower in my chest as the grimoire seemed to absorb the destructive power of the flames. Once again, the fire changed. Red, violet, and then black flames filled the hearth, finally becoming a black inferno that belched choking gray smoke into the room.

“No... No!” I coughed, and my voice cracked as the thick tendrils of acrid smoke swept into my lungs. “Why won’t you burn?”

The darkness within the grimoire seemed to laugh back at me, mocking my desperation.

Frustration clawed at me, raw and unyielding. I stumbled backward and fell to my hands and knees as fear morphed into rage as urgency coursed through my veins. I needed to rid myself of its influence—I had to reclaim my life.

Desperate, my gaze darted around the room until it landed on the poker that leaned against the hearth.

Get it out, make it stop!

I lunged for the poker and my fingers wrapped around its handle as stinging tears streamed down my cheeks.

With a desperate cry, I thrust it towards the fire.

This had to work.

I pressed the wrought iron tip into the seething chaos, and winced as the vicious heat licked at my skin, scorched my face, and threatened to consume me whole.

“Come on!” I gritted my teeth and sweat beaded on my forehead. The poker scraped against the grimoire’s spine and I let out a small cry of victory.

Almost.

With one swift motion, I hooked the edge of the book and pulled it toward me.

Agony lanced through my palm as the inferno retaliated. Blisters erupted on my fingertips, fiery pain that mixed with the adrenaline that coursed through me. I cried out, but the sound was lost in the crackling of the flames, but I didn’t stop—I couldn’t stop.

With every ounce of strength I had, I twisted the poker and gritted my teeth against the agony that radiated from my fingertips. I felt the metal hook onto the edge of the grimoire, and with a primal scream, I yanked it back and dragged the grimoire from the fire. As it slid onto the floor in a shower of black sparks, I collapsed backward and the poker spun out of my grasp. I cradled my injured fingers against my chest and gasped for air as the choking smoke that had filled the room began to dissipate.

The searing heat faded to a dull throb as I stared at the cursed object that now rested inches away from me. As I gazed upon the grimoire, the thud of my racing heart eclipsed the pain in my hands. Although stained with soot and smoke, it remained undeniably unharmed.

I pushed myself to my knees and knelt there, breathless and trembling, surrounded by the remnants of my reckless act. Ashes clung to my bathrobe and darkened the pale fabric with streaks of black.

The Bloodstone Grimoire lay in front of the fire, surrounded by chunks of charcoal and a dusting of dark gray ash.

Its black leather cover shone ominously in the weakly flickering light of the fireplace, and the stones embedded in the dark leather seemed to mock me with their dull gleam.

I half-heartedly tried to brush away some of the ash on my robe, but it only made the mess worse. My fingers throbbed as I moved, and each tiny motion sent waves of agony coursing through my burnt skin.

What was I supposed to do now?

I couldn’t destroy it— not like this.

Tears choked my breath, and I struggled to take a full breath as my body convulsed with anguish.

It was too much— and I was too weak—

What was I supposed to do now?

“Look—” the grimoire’s whispers returned, louder now. Taunting me.

I’d tried to destroy it, but I wasn’t strong enough.

“You can learn to be strong—”

My tears were salty on my lips and I brushed the backs of my hands against my cheeks as I fought to control my emotions.

No choices left.

Hunt or be hunted.

Fine.

Tentatively, I reached out for the book. As I laid my finger against the dark leather, I marveled at how cool and smooth it was under my injured fingertips. Soothing.

With gritted teeth, I tightened my grip on the edges of the book and pulled it toward me. The grimoire left a trail in the ash and charcoal as I dragged it across the floor and I winced at the agonizing scrape of the metal clasp against the hardwood floor.

I looked down at the book and shifted on my knees.

The sharp metal glinted menacingly, and I hesitated. What would happen if I dared to open it? What would I learn? But, more importantly, what price would I pay? My heart lurched in my chest, and I could almost feel the grimoire’s anticipation—an electric tension that thrummed beneath my fingertips.

“Do it,” the whispers urged, mingling with the smoke that still curled through the air. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as every instinct screamed at me to turn away. Yet, I felt tethered, bound by a force I couldn’t name— A desperate longing to take back the control that had been stolen from me.

My decision.

My fingers quivered as they sought the clasp of the grimoire, and I let out a breath as my fingertips touched the cold metal.

“Just open,” I muttered. But as soon as I applied pressure, the sharp edge bit into my fingertip.

“Ah!” A hiss escaped me as I jerked back, instinctively cradling the injured digit. Blood welled up—a crimson bead suspended in time before it slipped free and dripped onto the grimoire’s dark surface.

One drop. Then two.

“Shit.”

I pushed the cut finger into my mouth and winced at the metallic taste of blood on my tongue as I tried to dab at the spilled blood with the belt of my robe, but to my horror, the book shuddered, and its leather cover pulsed like a living thing.

The drops of blood melted into the surface of the book, absorbed with a ravenous thirst.

As I let out a choked gasp, the clasp clicked open, and the sound echoed through the stillness like the opening of a crypt.

As the cover fell back, a rush of air surged forth, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something far more sinister.

What have I done…