Page 7 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

I sat cross-legged on the floor of my dimly lit bedroom with the Bloodstone Grimoire sprawled open before me.

The air was thick with its whispers, faint and tantalizing, that crept beneath my skin.

Each flicker of the dying firelight danced across the pages and illuminated the sinister symbols etched in dark ink that looked more like dried blood than anything. My fingers hovered above the worn parchment and trembled slightly as I felt the pulse of forbidden knowledge thrum through my veins and tug at my magic.

The hardwood floor at the edge of the fireplace hearth bore scars from my earlier attempt to incinerate the cursed tome.

Chunks of charred wood and a fine layer of ash were reminders of both my defiance and failure.

Despite my vain attempt to cover it with burning incense and perfume, the bitterness of the acrid smoke that had poured into the room remained.

How was I going to explain that—

A sudden, sharp knock at the door that sliced through my trance like a knife.

Anger and shame flooded my senses— Who would dare disturb me now?

I glanced anxiously between the door and the grimoire. I couldn’t—

How much time had passed?

I closed the grimoire carefully and pushed myself to my feet. I winced at the stiffness in my limbs and clung to the fireplace mantel for a moment to steady myself. As I walked toward the door with cautious steps, I felt as if I was attempting to wade out of a dream—or perhaps a nightmare. Shadows coiled around me, and stretched toward the light of the fire, and for a moment, I hesitated. The whispers intensified, coaxing me to stay, to delve deeper into their seductive pull. But the knock echoed again, insistent and demanding.

I touched the doorknob, and its chill startled me. My fingers tingled with pain from the burns I had sustained, but the cold metal eased it somewhat.

“What?” I called out. “I’m not hungry!”

Whoever was outside knocked again, harder this time, and the door vibrated with the force of their blows.

I pulled the door open and gasped at the warmth that spilled into the room.

“Bastian—” I blurted out.

Framed by the dim light from the corridor, the youngest Romano brother’s unruly blond hair caught the light like an angel’s halo, though I knew better than to be fooled. The disarming smile that stretched across his lips was only a mask that concealed the darkness I knew lurked beneath.

“Avril,” he said. His voice was smooth and warm, and yet it sent a shiver down my spine as his gaze traveled up and down my body. “You look positively enchanting,” he said wryly.

I looked down at my soot stained feet and the blackened patches on my robe.

I was a complete mess.

“Um...” My words faltered and I could feel the heat of my cheeks rising. Why did he have to be so captivating? Why did I want him so badly— even after what they had done to me? I cleared my throat and glared back at him as I pulled the door closed just a little so he couldn’t see into the room. “What do you want?”

“Just wanted to see how my favorite sister is faring—you haven’t been to dinner in some time—” He leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with mischief as they flickered past me. I bit down on my tongue as his pale gaze sharpened, hungry and intense.

“Don’t come any closer!” I blurted, but the command felt feeble and Bastian’s answering smile was wolfish.

With a fluid movement, he laid a hand on my shoulder and pushed me aside, invading my space with an unsettling energy that made my heart race and my instincts scream. How had he walked through the protective spells that had been laid over my room? How—

A sudden thought raced through me— Had I undone them all by opening the grimoire? Had I invited my tormentor into my sanctuary with that reckless act?

Bastian moved with a fluidity that stole my breath. He glided across the worn floorboards, each step deliberate and silent, like a predator stalking its prey. As he sank to his knees beside the Bloodstone Grimoire, I couldn’t help but notice the way he handled himself—there was an elegance in his movements, delicate and dangerous.

His fingers hovered just above the pages, trembling slightly, as though the book itself pulsed with a dark energy that called to him.

“Stop—” I called out, but he wasn’t listening. I pushed the door closed and rushed across the room toward him.

“Such a beautiful monstrosity,” he murmured. His voice was a sultry whisper that curled around my heart like smoke, and his lips curled into a smirk.

My fingers itched to reach out and pull him away, to protect both myself and the grimoire from whatever wickedness he might unleash. Yet, as I watched him, I found myself entranced by the way he brushed his fingertips against the leather cover and traced its spine like a lover’s caress.

“Don’t touch it!” I croaked. It felt futile, but I couldn’t stop myself.

It’s mine.

His pale eyes gleamed with something primal as he looked up at me. His expression was strange—and I couldn’t decide if he was mocking me, or if he was genuinely curious about the grimoire. He leaned closer to it and inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent of forbidden knowledge. “It’s addictive, isn’t it?”

“Why are you really here, Bastian?” I asked, and hated the tremor in my voice. “What do you want?”

“With you?” He feigned innocence, tilting his head as if considering the question seriously. “Oh, Avril, it’s not you I’m after.” He patted the grimoire gently and rubbed his thumb over one of the dark stones in a way that made my core clench.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “This book—you don’t know what it can do.”

“Perhaps I do.” A low chuckle escaped his lips and a jolt of arousal shuddered through me. “And that makes it all the more thrilling.”

I was acutely aware of the space between us, charged with an energy that could ignite into chaos at any second. I could feel my resolve wavering, the boundaries of safety blurring under the weight of his allure.

“Stay away from it,” I implored, feeling small and fragile beneath his unwavering gaze. Yet, deep down, I wondered if I truly wanted him to listen.

“Tell me, Avril,” he murmured, maintaining that wolfish gaze as he looked up at me, “what secrets has this wondrous relic whispered in your ear?”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. It took every ounce of willpower not to back away from the intensity that smoldered in his pale eyes. “Nothing,” I said shortly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sister.” His smile widened, revealing just enough of his teeth to remind me that danger lurked beneath that charming facade. “Surely, you’ve felt the pull of its power.”

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I repeated. “I— I don’t want you here.”

The grimoire’s whispers echoed louder in my mind and weaved through my thoughts like a serpent coiling tighter around my chest.

“Don’t be like that, Avril,” he coaxed. “You’ve felt it, I’m sure of it. I can see it in your eyes. Has it called to you? Even someone with magic as weak as yours would be able to feel its pull.”

The insult stung and my hands tightened into fists at my sides. “You have to leave—”

His laughter was light, but his eyes remained unwavering, probing deeper, seeing everything... He knew the truth. “Tell me, sister, have you tried any of its spells? Have you tasted its chaos yet?”

“Spells?” A grimace twisted my lips. “I— I don’t—” All of my defenses crumbled away and tears stung my lashes. “I just wanted—” My voice trailed off, a confession heavy on my tongue. But how could I admit to the allure that tugged at my very soul? How could I let him see the curiosity that lingered despite my fear?

“I know what you wanted.” Bastian leaned back slightly, and I wished I could decipher the expression on his unsettlingly handsome face. “Such noble intentions… But you must know, this kind of knowledge comes at a price.” He paused and his pale eyes seemed to grow colder. “The question is... are you willing to pay it?”

“A price— what price?” Heat rose to my cheeks as my indignation flared—but it was only to hide the fear that reared up beside it.

“Have you opened it?” he asked, ignoring my question. His long-fingered hand stroked over the book’s cover, and I remembered the way that same hand had stroked over my naked flesh.

I didn’t answer him, but I didn’t need to.

“I see… You know, Avril. Regret is just another form of longing… You long for what you cannot have, don’t you?” He tapped his fingers gently against the leather spine. “This book— it holds the key to your true potential, to powers beyond your wildest dreams.”

“Or madness,” I shot back, my voice firmer now. “I’ve read the stories about this book—about how its power consumed those who sought it.”

“Ah, the tales of caution.” He waved a dismissive hand and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “They’re all lies… Meant to scare off pious little Sages who didn’t know how to handle power. I’m not surprised the Academy peddled that story.” His tone was bitter, and I wondered what he had been like at school— “But aren’t you curious, Avril?” he asked. “What if you could wield that madness and turn it into something beautiful?”

“Beautiful?” I scoffed, though a part of me fluttered at the thought. “There’s nothing beautiful about what’s inside that book.”

He leaned back on his heels, regarding me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. “Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not afraid of the whispers, are you?”

“I— I don’t know,” I admitted.

He tilted his head and a feline curiosity glimmered in his pale eyes. “They’re merely echoes of those who came before you—users of its dark gifts.”

“Gifts?” I echoed.

“Isn’t madness just another form of enlightenment?” Bastian’s lip curled and the casual nature of his tone made me flinch. “There are some who have been driven to… extremes in the pursuit of the knowledge in those pages. I would consider it an invitation to explore your limits... To taste the forbidden fruit.”

Forbidden.

Forbidden magic—and what else?

A chill wrapped around my heart at his words. I glanced back at the book, the leather cover seeming to pulse with an unholy life of its own.

“Do you think you can open it?” he continued, his expression shifting, suddenly serious and intense. “Can you bend the grimoire to your will?”

I’d already opened it… but by accident.

Could I do it again?

“You don’t think I can,” I blurted out.

He shrugged and rose to his feet. He approached me slowly and I fought to stay still as he drew near. He wanted me to cower and back away—I could see it in his eyes.

“A pale spark like you shouldn’t even be able to get close to that grimoire,” he hissed. “What makes you think you can control it—” And then something in his tone changed, and his eyes narrowed as he glared at me. “How did you get it? Did you steal it from my father’s library?”

Suddenly afraid, I took a step back. “I... I— Lucian gave it to me—”

Bastian froze, and his lip twitched. “Did he?”

Silence fell between us, broken only by the patter of rain against the window, and an icy wind brushed over my bare legs.

The fire had burned out hours ago.

How long had I been captivated by the grimoire?

Bastian turned to walk away. “You should be careful, Avril. My father isn’t known to give gifts… especially ones like this.”

He spared me one last chilling glance over his shoulder before he strode across the room and wrenched the door open.

I sank onto the floor, barely able to keep my trembling knees from buckling beneath me.

A pale spark like you—

What if he was right? What if I couldn’t do it?

What if the magic of the grimoire possessed me and stole away my sanity—

He was wrong.

He had to be.

Lucian wouldn’t have given me the grimoire if he thought I would fail—

“Bastian—” I croaked out. “Wait—”