Page 148 of Cursed

Through the veil of my disbelieving eyes, I watched him stride forward, clapping his long, pale hands slowly. The torches set into the walls illuminated his cruelly handsome face.

“Bravo, Avril,” Lucian praised. He halted before me, his pale eyes all but glowing with an unholy delight. “I had high hopes for you—but you have surpassed them all.”

Disgust roiled within my gut, and rose in my throat, but I swallowed hard against it. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction— But maybe I did.

I staggered just a little.

And Lucian reached out to steady me.

“There now,” he soothed. “You’ve had quite the ordeal—”

“I— I don’t feel well,” I choked out.

“Titus, Bastian—” Lucian barked. “Take her back to Withermarsh.”

The Romano brothers, who moments before had watched from the sidelines with an unsettling silence, came alive at Lucian’s command. Titus, his icy eyes flickering with a cruelty that mirrored his father’s, crossed the room in three long strides, coming to stand alongside Lucian. I could feel the heat of his gaze, but I couldn’t look at him.

Without another word from Lucian, Titus reached for my arm. His grasp was harsh and impersonal; he was carrying out an order. I recoiled instinctively and stumbled back into Valen. His hand brushed against my waist as he steadied me, a fleeting touch that sent shivers prickling up my spine.

Lucian’s hand was cold on my skin, but his touch was a reverent caress that made my skin crawl. His gaze flickered up to his sons, and he looked at each of them in turn.

“Be gentle with my bride,” Lucian warned. “She is more valuable—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Bastian’s pale eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Lucian dragged his fingers from me and then turned away from us and followed the Black Council deeper into the catacombs.

“What about the body?” Bastian called after him.

Lucian raised a dismissive hand. “It will be dealt with,” he said without looking back. “Do your duty—guard her well.”

I drew in a shaky breath, desperate to ground myself, but the air felt thick and unyielding and pressed against my chest like a vice.

I was only vaguely aware of the hands that held me.

Then came the tremor. It started in my legs, a subtle quaking that quickly escalated into a full-blown earthquake of weakness. The room spun, and the stark colors bled together in a chaotic dance. I stumbled forward, my hands reaching out for something—anything—to steady myself. But the stones beneath my feet were slick with remnants of the ritual—with blood—and my newly stolen strength began to dissipate like smoke in the wind.

The whispers in my mind clawed at my consciousness and overtook my thoughts with alarming speed.

“Help...” The plea slipped from my lips, a fragile whisper swallowed by the growing shadows surrounding me.

My knees buckled, and I fell as the world crashed down around me.

I was too tired to fight.

Too miserable.

Lost.

“Avril—”

Voices…but they were a thousand miles away.

I was cold, then hot, then cold again, and my body shivered uncontrollably.

“Avril—”

The sensation of being lifted, and then cradled against a broad chest.

---