Page 18 of Cursed

“Get a grip,” I whispered.

The words were fragile, and I hated myself for how weak I sounded—how fearful.

Another roll of thunder reverberated through the air and shook the windows.

The shadows in the room twisted toward me— I stared at the shapes that moved across the walls.

They were just shadows.

I must have been imagining it.

But what if it was true?

As if in response to that unbidden thought, the very shadows I stared at twisted and changed as they reached toward me.

They were drawn to me; I could feel it.

My blood thrummed with unspent magic—but my power had always been innocent and gentle… that was how the Sages at the academy had always described it. But this was different—I sensed something within me tantalizingly close to something darker—a forbidden allure that made my skin crawl.

“Only shadows,” I murmured, willing the truth to take root and flourish. But what if that wasn’t the case?

In this house, nothing was ever truly what it seemed.

Another bolt of lightning split the sky and illuminated my room in a harsh, electric flash.

My heart stuttered in my chest as I froze, eyes locked onto a shape at the end of my bed.

A dark presence wrapped in shadow.

I didn’t have to guess at what it was.

Lucian’s gift—the gift I had refused.

The Bloodstone Grimoire.

Lucian’s voice echoed in my mind, smooth and insidious, promising power and secrets I knew that I should leave untouched.

I recoiled instinctively, but the sinister aura that radiated from the forbidden book prickled my skin, like an unseen hand grazing my arm.

Even from a distance, the grimoire seemed to whisper my name, and its voice was a seductive hiss that twisted through the air with a malevolence I could almost taste.

“Touch me,” it seemed to beckon, and the words curled around my thoughts like smoke, invasive and suffocating.

I shook my head violently in an attempt to dislodge the creeping compulsion that tightened around my heart and tugged at my hands.

The allure was undeniable; a darkness I had never known clawed at the edges of my consciousness and spoke promises of power cloaked in shadow.

A chill swept through the room, colder than the rain-slicked wind outside, and for a moment, I felt the weight of something ancient and cruel pressing down on me. My breath hissed through my teeth as I pushed myself sideways across the bed, away from the book, and tumbled to the floor.

I clung to the edge of the mattress and pulled myself to my knees, and desperation clawed at my throat as I fought against the urge to approach the book.

The whispers intensified, as if sensing my fear—full of temptation, urging me to succumb.

Lucian wanted me to take it.

The thought made bile rise in my throat.

I could almost hear his laughter, cold and mocking, echoing off the walls of my mind.

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