Page 25

“Wake up.”

The grimoire’s hiss wasn’t gentle, but it was hard to drag myself out of the heavy slumber that weighed down my limbs.

Every inch of my body ached in the most delicious way.

A smile crept over my face as I rolled over.

I would be going to the altar to marry the father of the three men I’d just fucked, and my body would still be stiff and sore from the exertion of it.

I reached out for my stepbrothers, for the comforting heat of their hard bodies. But the bed was empty.

“They’re leaving—”

I sat up abruptly, all exhaustion gone.

They were almost at the door. Dressed. Carrying their boots so they didn’t wake me.

“Sneaking,” the grimoire hissed.

“Where are you going?” I demanded in a voice that sounded shaky even to my own ears.

“Don’t panic,” Bastian said. “We just have to make sure Lucian sees us before—”

His voice trailed away.

He couldn’t even say it.

Couldn’t say, before you marry our father .

He didn’t have to.

I couldn’t bear to look at the dark lace gown in the window or the way the moonlight sparkled off the black glass beads and gems sewn into the delicate material.

I didn’t have to.

“Oh—”

“Be careful,” Titus said. It was both an order and a plea.

“Be strong,” Valen added, though I had the sense the words were as much for him as they were for me.

“Be ours,” Bastian finished.

As if I had a choice in any of it.

I nodded, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

They left the room one by one, but they didn’t look back. Not even Valen.

The door closes with a soft click, and I’m alone with the echoes of their voices and the feel of their touch still warm on my skin.

I gathered the sheets around me as I sat in the middle of the bed.

I’d never been more certain of what I had to do, and yet never more aware of the cost.

I had to do this.

Alone.

I was almost convinced of it.

The grimoire’s voice rose in my thoughts. “You’re right to doubt them.”

“Shut up,” I growled.

But its eerie malevolence was almost comforting.

They had left me before, and they were just leaving me again.

They hadn’t even kissed me goodbye.

I wrapped myself tighter in the sheets and let my eyes travel over the dress form, the gown, the gifts scattered on the floor.

I buried my head in my hands and let out a ragged sigh.

This wasn’t what I wanted, and the price was so fucking high.

“Let me help you—” the grimoire said. “The Council… they didn’t prepare you well enough.”

“I know the spell,” I muttered.

“It won’t work,” the grimoire replied. “He’s too strong. You know that. They don’t— He’ll expect treachery. He wants it. But you can still surprise him.”

Panic streaked through me.

“How?”

“Let me show you—” The grimoire’s presence in my mind had always been a coiled serpent, hiding just beyond the shadow of my thoughts. Its voice had always been obscured from me. A chorus of whispers.

But something was different.

It was different.

I slid from the bed and winced as my feet touched the cold hardwood. My skin was itchy with sweat and crusted fluids, and my hair was a tangled mess, but I didn’t care. I retrieved my robe from the floor where Titus had tossed it and pulled it around my shoulders as I walked across the room to the vanity where the grimoire lay.

“I thought I’d put you away—” I murmured.

I distinctly remembered sliding it under my bed before the seamstress came to do the dress fitting.

But here it was… waiting for me.

I sank down into the chair and pulled the blackened silver dagger from the spine with a practiced motion.

I barely noticed the sting of the blade as it sliced into my palm. A routine. Nothing more.

This used to frighten me.

Now it was an irritating ritual—a waste of time when all I wanted was to run my fingers over the ancient pages of the cursed book.

“ Patience ,” the grimoire purred as dark drops of blood fell onto the lock.

Irritation rippled through me. “I don’t have time.”

I pressed the blade deeper into my palm as the clasp fell open with a sensual sigh. The cover flipped back and the pages turned, hungry for my sacrifice.

My blood dripped onto the pages and pooled briefly before it soaked into the parchment.

The spells revealed themselves slowly—familiar formations and symbols—but that wasn’t what I wanted.

“This isn’t what I want,” I said. “Show me.”

“More,” the grimoire whispered.

The chorus of voices had coalesced into one.

Stronger.

Smoother.

Familiar.

I bit down hard on my lip and cut quickly. Slashing at the side of my hand and my wrist. Blood dripped down my hand and wound over my pale skin in dark rivers before it fell onto the page.

The grimoire drank deeply.

Greedily.

“Do you see?” the presence in my mind murmured. “This is what was hidden from you—”

My hand shook as the dagger fell from my fingers and dropped onto the floor. I barely noticed the spatter of blood that struck my bare leg.

I traced my bloody hand over the symbols that blossomed on the pages.

“What is it—”

“This is how you will take Lucian by surprise—” the voice in my mind murmured. “My precious girl—”

“What—”

“Can you not see?” The emotionless whisper that was always kept just out of reach sounded different. Grew stronger.

It was intimate.

Too familiar.

Too close.

The blood trail I’d left on the Grimoire’s page was already disappearing into the parchment, and the symbols that only moments ago had made no sense to me were clear as day.

A binding.

But not the basic spell I’d learned during my time with the Sages. Or the one I’d laid on my stepbrothers.

Something deeper.

Something dangerous.

It was a level of magic that I’d never dared to imagine myself capable of.

“It is the only way,” the grimoire said. “Lucian is too strong. Without this— you will fail.”

“I know,” I hissed.

The grimoire tingled with delight at my defiance, and the presence in my mind swelled.

“That’s my girl—”

“Stop—” I started, but I was already on my feet.

I pushed my bloody hand through my hair before I realized what I was doing. I stared at my scarlet-stained fingers in fascination as the wounds closed over. My breath came in ragged gasps.

“What are you asking me to do?” I choked out.

“Let me in,” the voice said. “Let me guide you—”

“No,” I whispered.

But even as I said it, I knew that if I didn’t agree I would be dead before the moon rose over the estate on my wedding night.

I licked my lips nervously as I stared at the arcane symbols on the grimoire’s pages.

Symbols I had never seen before.

A different binding.

A spirit binding.

“The Black Thread,” the grimoire urged. “My power will flow into you—will guide your steps. And your hand.”

“But—”

“A willing possession,” the grimoire continued. “To bind spirit to flesh by will alone is to weave a thread of shadow between heartbeats... The vessel must open willingly. The spirit must answer. Both must desire. If either falters, the thread unravels… and with it, the soul.”

A shudder of terror rippled through me and my knees turned to water and I swayed on my feet.

There was silence in my mind.

Then a dark laughter—soft and cloying.

“You didn’t learn about that at the Academy, did you?” The grimoire’s voice was gently teasing now.

My voice stuck in my throat and my stomach was tight. “How— I can’t just… I can’t—”

“It’s the only way.”

“No… I can do this.”

“You cannot.”

No more teasing. The voice was a powerful echo in my mind.

Or had it echoed through the room?

I looked around frantically and stumbled toward the shadows in the corners.

“Come out—”

But my hands hit the wall. The curtains.

I was alone.

“You’re never alone, child.”

“I can’t do this,” I whispered.

“You have to.”

Desperation clawed at me. “Why don’t I have a choice?”

My voice sounded strange, and I clutched at my robe and recoiled as I noticed that the delicate fabric was stained with my blood.

My magic had healed the cuts on my hand and wrist, but blood crusted between my fingers and made me aware of every tiny movement and stretch of my skin over my bones.

“This is the last time,” the voice in my mind said. “After this— No one will question you ever again. You’ll be free.”

Freedom.

That was all I’d ever wanted.

I’d already given up so much.

What was a little more?

Another sacrifice.

“Another sacrifice to gain everything you’ve ever wanted,” the grimoire said.

Gentle. Soothing. Seductive.

Words bubbled up before I could stop myself. “What do you think I want?”

“Love,” it replied. “Power. Choices. Freedom— All of it will be yours. But if you don’t escape this place—”

I swallowed hard. “What happens?”

“I can show you—”

A shadow near the wall stretched and moved, the curtain at the edge of my bed billowed, taking shape, tall and lithe— Pale hair like moonlight spilled down.

Lucian.

“No,” I cried. “No, I don’t want to see—”

I staggered back, and my foot slipped in a puddle—water—no—it was slick and warm.

I looked down, and a scream tore from my throat.

Bastian, pale eyes staring at nothing, lay on his back on the hardwood floor.

Beside him was Valen, half-sprawled over his brother’s body, his head turned at an unnatural angle—

And Titus, covered in blood and blackened burns—

The grimoire’s presence in my mind was heavy. “You might not want to see what happens to you—but you need to see what will happen to them if they try to intervene—”

I fell to my knees beside them. My tormentors. My lovers.

Tears stung my eyes, and I didn’t bother to blink them away as I reached for them. “No— You don’t know what’s going to happen—”

My fingers closed on nothing and the vision faded like mist.

“Stop this.” My voice shook. But not with despair.

Anger.

Rage.

Power burned in my palms and raged through my veins.

“Finally,” the grimoire murmured. “What will you do? Will you let this life happen to you? Or will you take control?”

My hands closed into fists. “I’ll do it.”

“Come back to me—”

I rose from the floor slowly. Painfully aware of every inch of my skin and the rage that churned in my chest.

I walked back to the vanity and sank down into the chair.

The grimoire’s pages turned as though blown by a vicious wind, but there was no breeze in the room.

Without thinking, I slammed my hand down on the pages to stop them.

The blackened silver dagger lay on the scarred wood of the vanity and my hand trembled as I picked it up.

The blade shone in the dim light.

“You know what to do,” the grimoire’s voice was warm and comforting.

“I don’t know the words.”

“You don’t have to. It is the will that calls the spell forth. Be willing. Be open.”

Be careful.

Be strong.

Be ours.

I was protecting them.

Protecting myself.

I had to do it.

I didn’t have a choice.

“But the choices you’ll have when this is over—”

I brought the blade to the side of my hand, but then paused.

“Who are you?” I murmured.

“Don’t you know?”

Why was the voice so familiar now?

But I couldn’t place it…couldn’t find the memory that belonged to it.

“You’re running out of time—”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek and focused on the kiss of the blade against my skin.

“To bind spirit to flesh by will alone is to weave a thread of shadow between heartbeats.”

The grimoire’s whisper wrapped around me and the dagger moved of its own accord.

I tried to hold it steady, but something pushed against my hand—a cold pressure I couldn’t fight against.

“The vessel must open willingly. The spirit must answer.”

A whimper escaped my lips as dark blood welled up around the blade and dripped down onto the page.

“Both must desire.”

Scarlet stains on the pale page.

“If either falters, the thread unravels… What do you desire, child?”

What did I desire?

Power. Love. Freedom.

All of them.

Everything.

My stepbrothers’ faces flashed in my mind.

“Focus.”

The grimoire’s whisper was sharp, and the knife pressed harder against my flesh and the blood flowed onto the pages.

My eyes were locked on the blade and I bit back a gasp as I fought to pull the dagger away from my hand and failed.

“What do you desire?” it asked again. More urgently this time.

“Freedom,” I choked out.

That strange pressure folded around my hand and my breath hissed between my teeth as the blade cut deep and my blood dripped down over the blackened silver and onto the grimoire’s ravenous pages.

“And will you ask me to help you achieve that desire?”

“Yes.”

“The will gives you the words—”

A breath shuddered between my lips as I stared down at the symbols that bloomed on the grimoire’s pages. The words came to me effortlessly and my focus sharpened. Not just to my stepbrothers, but to what my life would look like once Lucian was dead… that was what I wanted.

“I call on you to help me—I will open myself to your presence…” I paused briefly, “but only if you will give me what I desire. Swear it.”

“I swear it.” I could almost sense the curve of a smile in the grimoire’s voice.

A ripple of power traveled from my fingers to my hand and up my arm.

The cut I’d been forced to make burned with a strange, cold fire and I couldn’t help the cry of pain that slipped out.

“A willing possession. To bind spirit to flesh...”

The words echoed through my thoughts—through the room.

The blade slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor as I gasped.

I was exposed. Vulnerable.

What have I done?

But the grimoire’s presence in my mind was stronger than it had ever been. The unfamiliar voice sounded less strange.

Almost like a part of me I hadn’t known was missing.

The presence swelled inside me and then—

Nothing.

The runes and symbols, the writing I couldn’t read on the pages of the grimoire, faded and then disappeared.

The pages were blank.

The silence in my mind was terrifying.

I was alone.

The voice was gone.

The words were gone.

The only thing that remained was the barely there pulse of the blood bond and the gnawing doubt that I couldn’t do this by myself.

But that was all I needed.

The binding hadn’t worked.

The wound in my hand pulsed faintly as the flesh stitched together with the pale violet glow of my magic. I brought my hand closer to my face—was there something else—a faint yellow glow—graying at the edge where it met the violet color of my power?

No. Impossible.

Panic tightened in my chest.

I’d wasted precious time.

I should have been looking for another spell—or practicing the one that the Council had given me.

But could I trust them?

What would they do with me once I’d done their bidding? After defeating Lucian, would they kill me? Take control of my life just as he wanted to?”

“Fuck!”

I wanted to throw the grimoire to the ground, to scream at it, to tear it apart like it had with me.

But if I did…

If I did, I would be admitting that there was no other way.

If I did, I would be as good as dead.

But I couldn’t fail.

Not now.

Not after everything.

“Where are you?” I whispered.

But the grimoire didn’t answer me.

I bent to pick up the dagger and slashed it across my wrist with a desperate cry.

My blood dripped onto the pages, bright splashes of crimson.

I waited.

This was how it always worked. It would stain the page for a moment—a breath—and then it would sink into the parchment and the spells would appear… etched in my blood.

But nothing happened.

The blood pooled, wet and strange, on the ancient paper.

“Come on—”

I held my breath as the edges began to fade, but then it stopped.

I pushed at the book with the point of the dagger.

Nothing.

What was that supposed to mean?

What had I done?

Had I finally, accidentally, destroyed the grimoire without knowing it?

A frantic laugh burst from my lips.

If this had happened a month ago, I would have been overjoyed.

But now? When I needed the cursed thing?

I flung the dagger down onto the vanity and turned away from it.

I pushed my hands through my hair as I paced the room.

What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

I stopped short as a strange itch traveled over my skin.

The itch rippled over my body and then focused on my upper thigh. The itch became a burn—gentle at first, like the pain from a cat scratch.

Brief but sharp.

I froze in place as the burn intensified and stole my breath.

I ripped back the edge of my robe to look at my thigh and I let out a choked cry as the pain sharpened even more.

Horror filled my chest as a faint red line appeared on the smooth skin of my thigh.

It moved and changed into something primal—its shape spiraled inward like a snare and I screamed as the pain blazed white hot through my body.

And then it was gone.

No pain. Just a throbbing ache.

Gasping for air, I stared down at the mark that was burned into my skin.

Around it, jagged runes circled like teeth, still smoking at the edges where they had been carved into my skin—branded.

The swirling mark pulsed once, twice, then settled, as though a second heartbeat had taken root beneath it.

I winced as I traced my fingers over the edges of the sigils. My fingertips bumped over the raised surface. Scarred. Burned from the inside.

It had worked.

I’d done it.

But what would it cost me?

And did I care?