Page 30 of Cursed

Hunt or be hunted.

Fine.

Tentatively, I reached out for the book. As I laid my finger against the dark leather, I marveled at how cool and smooth it was under my injured fingertips.Soothing.

With gritted teeth, I tightened my grip on the edges of the book and pulled it toward me. The grimoire left a trail in the ash and charcoal as I dragged it across the floor and I winced at the agonizing scrape of the metal clasp against the hardwood floor.

I looked down at the book and shifted on my knees.

The sharp metal glinted menacingly, and I hesitated. What would happen if I dared to open it? What would I learn? But, more importantly,what price would I pay?My heart lurched in my chest, and I could almost feel the grimoire’s anticipation—an electric tension that thrummed beneath my fingertips.

“Do it,”the whispers urged, mingling with the smoke that still curled through the air. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as every instinct screamed at me to turn away. Yet, I felt tethered, bound by a force I couldn’t name— A desperate longing to take back the control that had been stolen from me.

My decision.

My fingers quivered as they sought the clasp of the grimoire, and I let out a breath as my fingertips touched the cold metal.

“Just open,” I muttered. But as soon as I applied pressure, the sharp edge bit into my fingertip.

“Ah!” A hiss escaped me as I jerked back, instinctively cradling the injured digit. Blood welled up—a crimson bead suspended in time before it slipped free and dripped onto the grimoire’s dark surface.

One drop. Then two.

“Shit.”

I pushed the cut finger into my mouth and winced at the metallic taste of blood on my tongue as I tried to dab at the spilled blood with the belt of my robe, but to my horror, the book shuddered, and its leather cover pulsed like a living thing.

The drops of blood melted into the surface of the book, absorbed with a ravenous thirst.

As I let out a choked gasp, the clasp clicked open, and the sound echoed through the stillness like the opening of a crypt.

As the cover fell back, a rush of air surged forth, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something far more sinister.

What have I done…

I satcross-legged on the floor of my dimly lit bedroom with the Bloodstone Grimoire sprawled open before me.

The air was thick with its whispers, faint and tantalizing, that crept beneath my skin.

Each flicker of the dying firelight danced across the pages and illuminated the sinister symbols etched in dark ink that looked more like dried blood than anything. My fingers hovered above the worn parchment and trembled slightly as I felt the pulse of forbidden knowledge thrum through my veins and tug at my magic.

The hardwood floor at the edge of the fireplace hearth bore scars from my earlier attempt to incinerate the cursed tome.

Chunks of charred wood and a fine layer of ash were reminders of both my defiance and failure.

Despite my vain attempt to cover it with burning incense and perfume, the bitterness of the acrid smoke that had poured into the room remained.

How was I going to explain that—

A sudden, sharp knock at the door that sliced through my trance like a knife.

Anger and shame flooded my senses— Who would dare disturb me now?

I glanced anxiously between the door and the grimoire.I couldn’t—

How much time had passed?

I closed the grimoire carefully and pushed myself to my feet. I winced at the stiffness in my limbs and clung to the fireplace mantel for a moment to steady myself. As I walked toward the door with cautious steps, I felt as if I was attempting to wade out of a dream—or perhaps a nightmare. Shadows coiled around me, and stretched toward the light of the fire, and for a moment, I hesitated. The whispers intensified, coaxing me to stay, to delve deeper into their seductive pull. But the knock echoed again, insistent and demanding.

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