Page 9 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

As much as I hated to admit it—Bastian was right.

Lucian hadn’t gifted me the grimoire for any other purpose but to test me.

If I refused…

I didn’t want to think about what would happen to me if I did.

The grimoire sat on the vanity in front of me, and its whispers were loud in my ears.

I stared at the pages and tried desperately to make sense of the swirling glyphs and markings—but as I strained to decipher them; they began to fade from the page.

“No—”

I rubbed at the ancient pages with my fingertips, and begged the symbols to return, but the pages seemed to absorb them and the markings faded away and left the original writings instead. And they made even less sense—

I didn’t want Bastian’s help.

I didn’t want to beg him again… I bit down hard on my cheek and tasted blood as the memory of how he had used his magic on me flooded through my body. I squeezed my thighs together and tried to focus on anything but the ache that thrummed through me.

I shouldn’t have given in to what he’d asked—but I wanted to know more about the grimoire. And that had been his price.

What would he demand if I begged for his help again?

But what was I supposed to do now?

The intricate symbols and drawings had faded away… as though they’d never existed. But I hadn’t imagined them. They had been right there—hidden within the fibres of the parchment.

The dagger Bastian had drawn from the grimoire’s spine lay on the vanity at my left hand.

I had avoided looking at it for as long as possible, but I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Not if I wanted to unlock the secrets contained deep within the ancient pages.

I picked up the dagger and examined it carefully.

Its blade is slender and wickedly sharp, etched with runes that seem to shimmer faintly, the blackened silver hilt pulsed against my palm, and I marveled at the way it seemed to mimic my heartbeat. How many hands had wielded this blade? How much blood had soaked into these pages?

Bastian had been familiar with it—too familiar—

Had all three of Lucian’s sons unlocked the secrets of this ancient tome?

The blade gleamed as I tightened my grip on the hilt and held it against the side of my hand over the open pages of the grimoire. I sucked in a quick breath as a flare of pain rippled up my arm.

A moment of courage.

The grimoire’s whispers buzzed in my ears like angry hornets as I gritted my teeth as I pressed the edge of the dagger against my flesh. It bit into my hand and I let out a strangled gasp at the shock of the cold metal and the hot swell of my blood as it spilled over the blade.

Dark droplets fell onto the paper with wet splats that made me flinch, and the grimoire’s whispers stilled—but only for a moment. Before my eyes, new glyphs and symbols bloomed across the pages.

The pain twisted up my arm and caused my vision to swim.

Despite this, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the spectacle that unfolded in front of me.

The once indecipherable pages were now filled with dark symbols and intricate lines, all interweaved within each other in a chaotic yet beautiful artwork. The whispers surged louder and pressed against my eardrums in an echoing drumbeat that matched the throbbing pain in my hand.

Each drop of blood that fell from the cut on my hand seemed to pull the whispers from the pages, releasing them into the air as swirling threads of energy. Fear thrummed through me and rippled over my skin, but underneath it was an undeniable surge of power and knowledge.

The symbols that had adorned these pages only a moment ago had been indecipherable—written in a language that I could never hope to understand.

But these—I could read these symbols. I could understand the dark poetry.

Was it like this for anyone who possessed the grimoire?

I set the dagger down and pressed the side of my hand against the pages of the book. The smear of blood it left behind stayed on the page for only a moment before it was absorbed. I turned the page and marveled at the spells, incantations, and alchemical recipes that were revealed.

Detailed, disturbing illustrations of human and creature anatomy that highlighted bones, muscles, and vital points—but for what purpose?

My breath caught at the diagrams—detailed patterns for creating… abominations.

Cold sank into my bones as my eyes traced over the writhing images.

I would never use these spells.

Never.

“Never say never,” the whispers hissed.

Captivated by the grimoire, I turned page after page and traced my fingertips over countless incantations and glyphs.

I only noticed the passage of time when darkness suddenly enveloped the room as night fell over the estate.

Shit.

I pushed back from the vanity and gripped the edge as my legs shook and threatened to tumble me to the floor.

I needed to eat. I needed— something.

Dried blood crusted my stiff fingers, hand, and wrist. I stumbled to the edge of the room and pulled the cord that would summon a servant. But the moment I did, I regretted it. They would report back to Lucian. Whatever they saw—

In a panic, I rushed around the room and pushed my discarded clothes into the closet and out of sight.

A rug covered the burned and scarred area in front of the fire.

The fire—it had gone cold hours ago.

I scrambled to throw logs and kindling on to the wrought iron grate and hunted in vain for a match and fire starter.

With a desperate groan, I abandoned my search and rushed to the vanity. I had to cover the grimoire—

I had to keep what I’d discovered a secret.

I slammed the grimoire shut and looked around desperately for somewhere to hide it. The servant would be here at any moment… I pushed the dark grimoire under my pillow and let out a disgusted breath as the dried blood on my hand flaked onto the pale coverlet.

I brushed it away with furious swipes of my hands and rushed back to the vanity. I replaced all the perfume bottles and other items I’d swept into the wastebasket on the polished surface of the vanity and froze in place as I realized I’d forgotten to tuck the dagger back into the spine of the grimoire.

Its sharp blade gleamed, and I swore under my breath as I swept it off the vanity and gripped it tight.

“What am I supposed to do with you—”

A knock at the door startled me and I almost dropped it, but I whirled around as the door opened and held the blade flat against my forearm to hide it from view.

My heart thundered in my chest as one of the Romano household servants stepped inside. To my horror, her gaze immediately fell on the rug I’d pulled in front of the fire and the mess I’d left during my futile attempt to re-light it.

“The— The fire went out,” I said lamely.

The woman walked into the room and the door swung shut behind her. She dropped to her knees beside the fire and pulled a firestarter and a long match from a copper box beside the wrought iron pokers. I felt like an idiot—of course they had been right there.

While the woman worked, I tugged at my sleeve and covered the cut on my hand and kept the dagger hidden and pressed tight against my forearm.

She rearranged the fire and lit it deftly. In less than a minute, it had blazed to life and the flames crackled over the tinder she’d laid.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“It’s cold in here,” the woman said as she stood and brushed her hands over her apron. “You should have rung for me sooner.”

“I— I was… I took a nap,” I stammered.

“Is there something you need?” the woman asked. She didn’t seem concerned about my appearance, or anything else.

Good.

“I— I just wanted something to eat,” I said. “Nothing fancy… and some… some wine.”

Her smile was brief. “Of course, Miss Velez,” she replied. “I would gladly bring this for you— however—”

My mouth was dry. “However?”

“Master Lucian would like you to join him for supper this evening,” she said smoothly.

“I— I can’t—”

“This is not a request,” she said in a tone that carried an edge like the dagger under my pillow.

Did he know that I’d opened the grimoire? Or that Bastian had helped me?

I swallowed hard. “Oh—”

“Someone will come and fetch you when supper is ready,” she said.

The woman didn’t wait for me to argue or bargain with her—it would have been useless to do so. She simply turned and left the room without a backward glance.

I breathed the smallest sigh of relief as the door closed and the latch clicked into place.

Could she sense the difference in the protection spells that were laid on my door? They hadn’t seemed to be any hindrance to the servants—only Titus and his brothers.

Oddly specific. Why had I never questioned it before?

What else were they keeping out?

I rushed over to the bed and pushed the dagger under my pillow with the grimoire.

My fingers brushed over the grimoire’s leather cover—a brief caress.

All I wanted was to dive back into my study of those arcane pages with the hope that they might begin to make some sense… But the knowledge that this very book had caused so much misery and pain haunted me.

My own father had sought to unlock its secrets… and it had driven him mad.

Did Lucian expect the same from me?

Being summoned into Lucian’s presence sent tendrils of dread curling through my stomach.

How was I supposed to keep this mask in place?

He had to know how much I loathed him.

How much I feared him.

I drew a deep breath, turned away from the ominously hidden grimoire, and walked across the room toward my closet. Choosing an outfit was my least favorite part of these strange standoffs. With a grimace, I selected a long velvet dress, midnight blue. The rich fabric clung to my figure, and I cringed at the low-cut neckline—it was intimidating but necessary. It would surely distract Lucian’s hungry gaze and keep him from looking too deeply into my eyes.

I dug through the drawers and found a pair of long leather gloves that had been embroidered with an intricate pattern of snakeskin that wound from my little finger around my wrist to the elbow. It would hide the cut on my hand, and that was all that mattered.

Seated at my vanity, I took extra care with my makeup and applied dark shadow and a winged liner that accentuated the shape of my eyes. This was what Lucian expected me to do. The gold painted heels, extravagant and expensive gowns—all of it.

Befitting your position in this household.

I let out a snort at that thought.

What position?

I was a prisoner.

I pulled a brush through my tangled hair and braided it swiftly before I wound it into a knot on top of my head and pinned it in place. My reflection was elegant and severe—accidentally so.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and I spun around in my chair.

My heart pounded in my chest as though trying to break free from its rib cage prison.

Grasping at any semblance of normality, I applied soft strokes of blush onto high points of my cheeks to counteract the paleness of my skin. As I set the brush down, I carefully avoided looking at the flecks of dried blood on the edge of the vanity that screamed for attention.

A second knock made me jump out of my chair. I took one last terrified look at myself in the mirror and tugged at my gloves.

I walked toward the door with as much courage as I could scrape together. The last time Lucian had summoned me, it had been to give me the grimoire— would this be the moment he chose to announce our wedding date? Or would it just be another test—

As I stepped out of my sanctuary and into the dimly lit corridor, each footfall echoed ominously as I followed the silent servant down the staircase and through the winding halls to the dining room. The air was thick with the scent of the storms that had shaken the estate over the last weeks, and it struck me again that I didn’t know how much time had passed since the grimoire had appeared in my room.

Even though I had left the grimoire behind—its whispers followed me.

Shadows danced along the walls, and every flicker of lamplight seemed to mock my discomfort.

Upon entering the dining room, the atmosphere enveloped me in its suffocating embrace.

The long table stretched out in front of me, adorned with ornate silverware that glinted ominously under the dull glow of flickering candles. The opulence of the setting felt grotesque—exquisite china and polished crystal, yet all of it was tainted by the darkness in the house. Heavy drapes framed the windows, blocking any hint of light from the outside world, sealing us within this tomb of luxury.

Lucian sat at the head of the table, but he rose as I entered the room. His pale skin caught the light in an unsettling manner and gave his appearance a strangely ethereal quality—but it didn’t mask the hunger in his eyes as they raked over me.

“Ah, Avril,” he said as he approached me. His voice was smooth and chilling as he bowed slightly at the waist. The way he pronounced my name sent shivers rippling through me, and I could feel the pull of his magic—subtle, but unavoidably possessive. “You look lovely tonight.”

I forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Thank you,” I managed, as he extended his hand to me. I hesitated, but only for a moment, before I laid my gloved fingers in his hand.

As he led me to the table, the whispers in my mind grew louder.

“Avril?”

Shit.

Had he asked me a question?

“Fine, thank you,” I choked out.

Lucian’s chuckle was dark. “Not the response I expected—”

My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I— I’m sorry—”

“This is no time to be distracted,” he admonished as a nearby servant pulled my chair away from the table. “But I will forgive you in this instance—”

I sank down into the chair and Lucian bent to press his lips against my knuckles.

His pale eyes held mine captive and his kiss sent an icy shiver up my arm. The cut on the side of my hand throbbed as he squeezed my fingers and then released his grip and walked back to his place at the head of the table.

Another servant poured the wine, and as the scent of the food reached my nostrils, I finally realized just how hungry I was.

I had to force myself to eat slowly, while my stomach screamed for me to push every morsel into my mouth as quickly as possible.

But Lucian was watching me—too closely.

With every clink of cutlery against porcelain, the weight of the darkness in the room pressed down on me and I had to pretend that I was enjoying myself.

“Avril,” he began. His voice was rich and soothing, but there was an unmistakable undertone of malice in it. “I must say how delightful it is to share this evening with you. It has been too long.”

Too long?

How could he sit there and pretend that this was a pleasant evening after what he had done to my mother—

The whispers in my mind hissed their approval, and I sat up a little straighter, worried that he could hear them, too.

“Yes, it’s... lovely,” I replied, forcing the words past the constriction in my throat. I didn’t dare let my gaze linger on him too long, instead focusing on the ornate table set before us, laden with dishes that looked exquisite but felt tainted by the darkness surrounding them.

“Tell me,” he leaned forward slightly, the glint in his pale eyes igniting a spark of dread within me, “did you manage to make any progress with the grimoire?”

A chill ran down my spine at the mention of it.

There was a ripple of irritation in my mind, and the wound on the side of my hand throbbed.

“Um, yes,” I stammered. My voice wavered as panic surged through me. How much could I tell him? How much should I tell him? The truth clawed at my insides, desperate to break free. How could I tell him I was terrified of what lay within those cursed pages? “I’ve been... studying the symbols.”

“Studying.”

I shifted in my seat. I couldn’t shake the worry that he was dissecting my words in an attempt to peel away the layers of my deception.

“An interesting choice,” he continued. “What have you discovered?”

“Not much,” I blurted out. My heart pounded so hard against my ribs that I feared he could hear it. I forced myself to maintain eye contact, even as the darkness behind his pale gaze threatened to swallow me whole. “The spells are… complicated. They’re not like anything I’ve ever studied before.”

He let out a snort of laughter. “How could they be?” His smile was sharp, edged with amusement that sent a shiver racing up my spine. I could feel the air shift between us. “The Sages at Messana Academy wouldn’t dare face such magic.”

I picked up my wineglass and held it to my lips to hide my nervousness. I sipped, and then gulped, and swallowed hard as a lump formed in my throat. I tried not to cough as I set the glass down again. I clenched my fists beneath the table, desperately searching for a way to redirect the conversation. “It’s very complex. I—I need more time to fully understand it,” I managed.

The lie was heavy, like a noose around my neck.

“Time.” Lucian’s voice was deceptively calm. “You have all the time you need, my dear... Unless you squander it.”

“Of course,” I said through another forced smile. “I wouldn’t dream of rushing something so important.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair, and I glimpsed satisfaction dancing at the corners of his mouth, and I didn’t need to wonder if he relished the control he wielded over me.

I focused on the lavish plate before me. Each carefully arranged morsel had been expertly prepared, and my stomach knotted. I was hungry—famished—but if I ate too quickly…

Lucian’s gaze narrowed, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He leaned forward, his long fingers steepled under his chin, the flickering candlelight casting ominous shadows across his face. “What do you think of the grimoire, Avril? Do you believe you are equal to the challenge of it? You are unprepared— Messana Academy is not the institution it once was.”

His words were sharp and accusatory, and the weight of his scrutiny made my stomach churn. I could feel my facade beginning to crack as my composure began to slip away. “I— I don’t know. But I— I’m willing to try.” Each word felt more brittle than the last, a desperate attempt to convince both him and myself.

“Are you?” he murmured, his tone deceptively soft. “Because I sense hesitation in your voice. A reluctance to embrace the darkness that calls to you.”

The way he looked at me—so piercing, so knowing—sent goosebumps skittering across my skin. What did he know? What did he suspect? My thoughts spiraled and tumbled down dark alleys of paranoia while the whispers gained strength.

“I want to learn. I will learn,” I replied, though the words were bitter on my tongue.

He regarded me thoughtfully. “We shall see.” He held his wineglass in long, graceful fingers and the dark liquid swirled hypnotically inside. “It shouldn’t be necessary, but I feel I must remind you that our little arrangement is not without its... obligations.”

I swallowed hard as his words coiled around me like a snake. “Obligations?” I echoed, forcing the syllables past my dry throat.

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You see, the Romano name carries weight—dark weight. You’ve only experienced a hint of the power we wield, and it would be... regrettable for you to forget your place in all of this.” Each word fell from his lips like shards of glass that pierced through the thin veneer of control I fought so desperately to maintain.

“Of course, Lucian,” I managed.

That was what he wanted—submission.

Obedience.

“Good,” he said, and satisfaction curled at the corners of his mouth. “This grimoire—it holds secrets far darker than you can imagine. You must tread carefully—” His gaze pierced through me, and I felt as naked and exposed as I had when I’d cowered on the floor of his study.

“Secrets,” I repeated as I tried to keep my expression neutral despite the tremors of fear coursing through my veins.

“Indeed,” he continued in a tone that was almost taunting. “The grimoire is centuries old and has tasted the blood of Sages and Necromi alike… To those who are able to fully comprehend its contents—” He leaned back and took a sip of his wine and then set it down on the table. His pale eyes burned into me. “Power demands loyalty, Avril. Betrayal is met with punishment. You, most of all, should understand that.”

Each syllable dripped with a chilling finality, and I nodded. The whispers in my mind were sharp, and I tried not to wince as pain lanced through my arm.

“Of course,” I murmured, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I understand.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Lucian’s mouth, and for a moment, he looked satisfied.

As he rose from the table, his silhouette loomed over me, a dark outline against the flickering candlelight. The dining room suddenly seemed smaller, more oppressive—an extension of Lucian’s malevolent aura.

“When the time comes, I know you will make a fitting bride,” he said. I stiffened at those words, and at the way unspoken threats lurked beneath his cordial tone. His pale gaze bored into me, seeking to unearth any sign of defiance or treachery.

I couldn’t speak, I could only incline my head.

It was enough for him—for now.

His fingers trailed over the bare skin of my shoulder and I gritted my teeth to keep from flinching away from his touch.

“Sleep well, Avril. We will speak again— very soon.”

As Lucian left the room, I sat alone with the remnants of an uncomfortable feast and the relentless whispers of the grimoire that surged in my mind.

Were they to be my constant companions now?

After a moment of oppressive silence, as though the air itself were too afraid to move in Lucian’s presence, I pushed my chair back from the table. My trembling hands folded my napkin meticulously, a temporary distraction from my racing thoughts.

The grandeur of Withermarsh was even more unsettling in Lucian’s absence, and I left the dining room as quickly as I could and rushed up the grand staircase to the safety of my room.

I had work to do.