Page 41 of Cursed

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.

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