Page 151 of Cursed

“Fine,” I murmured, and I allowed Bastian to draw the robe away from my body. Valen extended a hand to help me into the tub, and I set my fingers on his palm and stepped into the water. I lowered myself slowly into the tub and let the heat of the water envelop me.

Bastian and Valen watched me—and I couldn’t escape the weight of their eyes—one brimming with playful danger, the other with haunting intensity.

The steam curled around me like a living thing and cloaked the room in cloying warmth as Valen and Bastian leaned closer.

Water glistened on my skin, and an unexpected thrill coursed through me.

My heart raced as something coiled low in my belly.

But something else lurked in the steam—shapes. Shapes that moved and undulated.

My mother—

An image flashed into my mind—the marble tiles streaked with my blood. Smeared with frantic sigils. Blood and salt and bone dust—

An enraged scream pierced my thoughts, and I closed my eyes tightly to blot it out.

“Avril—”

His voice was gentle, and I dared to open my eyes as Valen sank to his knees beside the tub.

“Look at you,” Valen murmured. “You were so strong. They expected you to fail—” His fingers, long and deft, skimmed over my shoulders and sent ripples of sensation cascading across my skin. It was as if he were awakening something dormant within me, a fire that flickered beneath layers of doubt and confusion.

“But you didn’t— You showed them… shocked them all,” Bastian took up a position on the other side of the tub, sinking lazily to the floor. His tone was teasing, but earnest.Disarming.He leaned against the side of the tub and reached out to gently cup my chin and forced me to meet his pale gaze. Bastian’s eyes were so much like his father’s—but they weren’t dead.

Lucian’s stare was all-consuming… terrifying.

But Bastian’s eyes called to something deeper inside me.

“You aren’t as fragile as Lucian thinks,” Bastian murmured.

Their praise felt foreign, both addictive and terrifying, and it twisted my understanding of what strength truly meant.

Valen’s hands moved lower, brushing against my collarbone, and I gasped, startled by how the simple touch sent electricity spiraling through my body. It was wrong—so wrong—but nothing had ever felt so achingly right.

“Let us help you,” Valen urged, his voice low and soothing. “Just trust us.”

Trust.

Each stroke of Bastian’s fingers along my arms soothed the raw edges that had been left behind by what had happened—by what I’d done.

Valen shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the floor. He dipped his hand into the water and brought his fingers to my cheek. I flinched and turned away, but Valen’s warm chuckle stopped me.

“What?” I whispered.

“You have blood on your face,” he murmured. “When you wiped your mouth—”

The memory struck me.

I’d wiped my mouth with my wounded hand without even thinking—

“Oh—”

“Hold still,” he breathed, and I closed my eyes and allowed him to wash the dried blood away.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” Bastian continued. He leaned in closer as he ran his fingers through the water and let it cascade over my shoulders in silken waves. “You deserve to feel this.”

Did I?

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