Page 6 of Cursed

But how could it be calming?

Between my nightmares and the waking horror that my life had become—how was I ever going to feel safe or calm ever again?

Lucian owned me—he had made that clear.

And escape?

What chance was there that I would ever leave this place?

Titus, Valen, and Bastian… I’d been a fool to trust them.

Stupid.

I should have known better.

I should have—

Shame coursed through me—but so did lust… in equal measure.

They had awakened something in me I had never imagined would be possible.

Stop it.

I rubbed my palms against my hips and grimaced as thoughts about my stepbrothers tumbled through my mind.

But none of it mattered.

They betrayed me. Used me.

And for what?

Just to prove that they could? Just to prove that I would debase myself for their enjoyment?

My stomach lurched, and a wave of nausea washed over me and made my knees buckle.

I needed air.

My bare feet sank into the plush carpet as I staggered to the window, and tugged at the heavy drapes with shaking fingers.

I gritted my teeth, tightened my grip and pulled. With a swift motion, I pulled the heavy damask aside. Pale moonlight spilled into the room and I crawled up onto the window seat to peer up at the dark clouds that swirled over the estate. The storm seemed to have eased, but only a little, and rain still pattered against the window panes.

Withermarsh’s sprawling gardens stretched out below, shrouded in an eerie beauty. The twisted vines and dark flowers seemed to beckon to me, echoing my nightmares, and I could almost hear the whispers of the garden calling to me.

And then I saw him.

Lucian stood at the edge of the garden, his figure a commanding silhouette in the moonlight.

Even from this distance, I could see the air around him shimmering as though it crackled with energy, and it made my skin prickle as I unlocked the window latch and pushed it open.

It wouldn’t open wide—the fresh sigils that had been cast over my room after I’d been caught prevented it from opening as wide as I would have liked, but it was enough.

I closed my eyes briefly as a frigid breeze blew across my cheeks and teased at my hair, but a low rumble of thunder brought my attention back to the garden.

Lucian’s pale hair flowed like moonlight and his long fingers danced through the air, weaving intricate patterns in red smoke that curled sinuously through the air and generated their own small storm with vibrant blood-red sparks.

Each flick of his wrist sent tendrils of magic spiraling into the air, and they swirled around him like hungry shadows eager for direction. My breath hitched as I watched, entranced and terrified, as I felt the weight of his power even from afar.

My heart sank as I realized the extent of his dominion—the way the flowers tilted their heads toward him, how the branches seemed to stretch further, yearning for his touch. This was no mere display of magic; it was a demonstration of ownership, a declaration of his reign over Withermarsh and everyone within its grasp. It was a reminder of the marriage he demanded, and the chains he sought to fasten around my soul.

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