EPILOGUE #2
“In a private alcove,” he counters, his eyes darkening with desire. “But you’re right, little butterfly.” He pulls back, though his hand remains where it is. “We should save this for the Hunt. Seventy-two hours of just us. I want you ready for it, not sore before we begin.”
Despite his words, his fingers continue their slow torture, making me bite my lip to stay quiet.
“I’ve been planning this Hunt for months,” he says. “This time, you know exactly what you’re getting into.”
“This time I’m choosing it,” I manage. “Choosing you.”
His expression shifts—the hunter’s mask slipping to reveal the man beneath. “You’ve had a year to run, yet here you are.”
“Here I am,” I agree, cupping his face. “Because I love you, Landon.”
The words hang between us, and I watch his eyes—those calculating, intense eyes that once terrified me—soften with an emotion I never thought I’d see there.
“And I love you.” He says it simply, directly—Landon’s way. “More than I thought possible.”
This confession, more than any grand gesture, shows how far we’ve come. The man who once drugged me now freely gives me his heart.
One year ago, I was prey, running through corridors of darkness, hunted by a man who saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself. Now I stand here not as captive, but as chosen equal—my scars worn like armor, his name carved into my flesh a testament to a journey I never could have imagined.
They say trauma shapes us like water shapes stone—grinding, wearing, until we’re unrecognizable from our former selves.
But with Landon, I wasn’t eroded. I was revealed.
Layer by layer, he peeled back my carefully constructed walls until all that remained was my truest self—dark, broken, and yet whole with him.
I once feared the darkness inside me. Now I dance within it, hand in hand with a man who cherishes my shadows as much as my light.
There is no fairy tale ending here. No prince who saved me, no monster who was tamed. Instead, there is truth—raw and unfiltered. Two broken people who found in each other’s jagged edges the perfect places to hold on.
Most would call what we have twisted. Perhaps it is. But in this twisted space I’ve found acceptance without condition, strength without compromise, and love without illusion.
I trace my fingers over his initials beneath my collarbone. What began as a mark of ownership has transformed into a reminder that sometimes we must be broken open to discover what lies beneath. That sometimes the darkest paths lead to the most profound light.
I am not the woman I was a year ago.
I am so much more.
And I choose this—all of it—with eyes wide open.
Thank you for reading Cursed! The third installment of the Blackwood Brothers Series. I hope you enjoyed it.