Page 53 of Cursed
I don’t answer him. I don’t understand it myself.
We make it through the exit doors just before the final blare—the signal marking the end of the Hunt’s first phase. The harsh sound echoes through the chamber, designed to disorient and reset the participants’ mental state.
In the monitoring room, I find Sadie on the screens. The sound jolts her awake, her body tensing as consciousness returns. She bolts upright, eyes wide and searching. Her hands reach out to the space where I had been, fingers grasping at nothing.
A tightness seizes my chest as I watch her realize I’m gone. Her expression shifts from confusion to anger, eyes narrowing as she scans the empty platform. She pulls her knees to her chest, huddling into herself like a wounded animal.
“Look at that,” Vane says. “She’s actually looking for you.”
I don’t turn around. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Fascinating,” he continues. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your toys miss you before.”
“She’s not a toy,” I say, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice.
My eyes narrow as I scan the monitors. Xavier is still in the orgy room with Mira, stretched out beside her on one of the platforms. His hand traces lazy patterns across her skin while she stares up at the ceiling.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. “The protocol?—”
“Doesn’t apply to X,” Vane finishes, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “You know that.”
I do know that. The rules Xavier created don’t seem to constrain him. Still, it’s jarring to see him so openly flout them, especially after Vane practically dragged me away from Sadie.
I shift my attention to the other screens, searching for Knox and his prey. Nothing.
“Where’s Knox?” I ask. “And the artist?”
Vane shrugs. “Haven’t seen them in a while.”
That’s odd. Knox is usually the most visible during these events, turning everything into a spectacle. His absence is conspicuous.
“Time for the baths,” Xavier’s voice comes through the intercom, though he clearly hasn’t bothered to follow his own directive.
We file out of the monitoring room and down the corridor to the bathing chambers. Each prey has a private section—six identical spaces with sunken marble tubs filled with steaming, herb-infused water.
I check the time. The women should be here by now. My fingers drum against the marble edge as minutes tick by. Where is she? Did she try to leave? The thought sends an uncomfortable jolt through me.
The door finally opens, and Sadie steps in. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her torso, eyes downcast. The marks I left on her neck and shoulders stand out vividly against her pale skin. She doesn’t look at me; she just hovers near the entrance, as if uncertain whether to approach or flee.
“Come here, little butterfly,” I say, the endearment slipping out naturally.
She stiffens, eyes flashing with hurt beneath the anger.
“What’s going on?” Sadie demands, not moving closer. “What twisted plan do you have now?”
Her voice carries an edge I haven’t heard before. Not fear or submission, but genuine anger. It shouldn’t be arousing, but I find myself hardening.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, though I already know.
“What’s wrong?” she repeats, incredulous. “I fell asleep on your lap and suddenly you were gone.” Her cheeks flush. “One minute you’re holding me, and the next I’m alone with strangers watching me. Was that part of your sick game?”
I approach her. She takes a step back, but I’m faster, catching her wrist and pulling her against me.
“I had to follow the rules,” I murmur. “Even I have constraints in this place.”
Her body is rigid against mine, but she doesn’t pull away. I feel her breath quicken, her pulse racing beneath my fingers where they encircle her wrist.
“You didn’t like waking up without me,” I observe. “You missed me.”
