Page 128 of Cursed

They might not have set an intention for our spellwork.

But I had.

I bit back a gasp as new symbols began to emerge, written in our blood—secret spells that had been hidden in the fibres of the parchment.

They bloomed across the pages, filling first one, and then another, before the page flipped and more words, horrifying diagrams, and sigils appeared. They blotted out the original symbols and changed them into something twisted—dark.

“What the fuck?” Valen whispered.

The pages rustled with satisfaction and the whispers of the grimoire clawed at my mind. Bastian winced—he could hear them, too.

Titus’ eyes narrowed, his dark gaze fixed on the grimoire as it continued its malevolent display. “What have you done?” he demanded.

“I— I didn’t do anything,” I choked out. Beads of sweat trickled down my spine and I shifted slightly in my seat. I wanted to run away, but I was trapped here—

“You did,” Bastian growled, his usually playful speech replaced with a chilling seriousness. He turned towards me, his piercing pale eyes ablaze. “This is… this is what she wants.”

“And what does she want?” Valen asked. His gaze flickered to me and I kept my eyes on the grimoire.

“Power,” Bastian answered, and I was stunned to hear a hint of longing creeping into his voice. “Lucian’s power.”

As he spoke, I sensed a sinister change in the air—something heavier, something far more threatening than simple power, was uncoiling itself from those blood-spattered pages.

Dominance.

Control.

“I—”

Three pairs of eyes turned to me.

Their gazes felt invasive, as if they were trying to delve into the darkest corners of my mind, to search for secrets illuminated by the grimoire. Secrets I didn’t want them to see.

The silence was unbearable, intensifying the pulse in my wounded wrist. The blood had stilled its steady stream down my arm but left a cold stickiness in its wake. It seemed to seep further into the pages with every passing moment, fueling the grimoire’s unspeakable thirst.

“Stop,” I whispered, my eyes still locked onto the parade of symbols snaking and writhing on the grimoire’s surface. My voice came out as nothing more than a strained thread of sound, but it was enough to break the silence.

Titus’ lined brow furrowed and his chiseled jaw clenched as he regarded me with suspicion. “Whatdid you ask for?” His voice had changed; it was deeper and rougher edged.

“I— I don’t know… I didn’t ask for this,” I murmured, a familiar sense of fear creeping into my tone. The grimoire was voracious; its appetite for chaos and power was matched only by Lucian’s own dark lust. Bastian’s teeth gritted together as he leaned forward, his fingers knotted tightly in front of him.

“Whatdidyou ask for?” Bastian snarled.

The grimoire’s whispers pushed at my mind and scratched my courage to ribbons.

“Freedom—” I whispered.

Titus straightened, and Valen and Bastian stepped back from the table.

“Please—” I begged. I held out my hand and recoiled at the blood that stained my skin. “Please,” I tried again, “I need your help— You have to help me. You promised—”

Bastian’s icy eyes swept over me as I stood. The chair skittered back over the uneven stone floor and fell with athudthat made me jump.

“He’ll kill you,” Bastian said, and a wicked smile curved over his lips.

Valen’s eyes were wide, but he said nothing.

“Get out,” Titus growled. “Take that cursed book and get out of my sight.”

---