Chapter 4 The Curse’s Bite
The Curse's Bite
Grim
The sky is a dark bruise over the forest when I wing toward the castle, unable to stay away.
Clouds clump together in silvery-purple bands overhead, the moonlight slicing everything into inky silver and black.
From above, the palace is little more than a mausoleum, each window like a glowing, soulless eye.
All except for the topmost tower, anyway.
There, the glass is so old and thin it resembles a gaping, toothless mouth.
That’s her cell. I know it better than my own skin.
The wind cuts like a blade as I arrow toward that dark slant. My body aches for the familiar comfort of this form—feathers slick and cold, muscle lean and cruel—but I need hands tonight. I need eyes and my tongue and all the human weaknesses the curse tries to tell me to despise.
So I land on the stone ledge, my talons curling around the edge, and let the change begin.
It hurts every time. The curse is in love with pain, and it’s not gentle.
My bones rearrange themselves first—spine swelling, ribs stretching, the sickening clatter of my sternum splitting open so I can expand. Flesh follows, dripping down my new skeleton like wax. The worst part is the moment when the feathers retract, peeling away. It’s like being skinned alive.
When it’s done, I’m crouching naked on the sill, my breathing ragged, as the last black quill drifts from my hair to the floor below. My hands are shaking, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the girl on the bed.
Raisa.
She’s asleep for now, hiding from misery in dreams. Her face is turned away from the window, soft in the way that only total exhaustion allows. The blanket is too thin for a palace, but thick enough that the rise and fall of her chest beneath it is an exquisite mystery.
She murmurs in her sleep, rolling slightly, and I nearly lose the threads of myself. My fingers dig into the stone to keep from reaching out, but the urge is there, hungry and primal.
The room is even smaller than I remembered, not a chamber for a princess, but a cell for a pretty, broken pet.
The walls are cold and pitted with age, every surface except her bed completely bare. There’s a table pushed against the far wall, the plate of bread and cheese they brought her for dinner still untouched. Beads of condensation shimmer on the pitcher of water beside it.
The ancient oak door, banded with black iron, is bolted from the outside and coated with magic to keep her caged.
I slide down from the window, my feet silent on the stones. The floor is so cold it sears my bare skin. I let the pain ground me, let it keep me from losing myself completely.
I circle the bed, slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake her, not wanting to break this perfect moment.
I could watch her forever.
Her hair is spread over the pillow, a tangle of darkness that gleams in the moonlight. There’s a smear of dried salt at the edge of one eye. She’s been crying again.
My stomach twists, something ugly blooming in my chest at the evidence of her grief. I’d kill for her, everyone in this miserable kingdom, if it would make her smile.
One day soon, maybe I’ll get that chance.
I stop at the head of the bed, so close I see the flutter of her eyelashes as she dreams. I reach out, my fingers trembling just above her hair.
If I touched her, she’d shiver awake.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I close my eyes and breathe her in. Her scent is a special kind of madness—honeysuckle and rain, but also the sharp, metallic tang of fear and the bitter ripeness of despair.
It’s perfect.
My cock stirs, hardening against my thigh, and I hate myself for it. But not enough to stop.
She whimpers, shifting again, and the blanket slips to reveal the slope of her shoulder, the skin so pale it’s almost blue. I imagine what it would feel like to sink my teeth into that flesh, to taste her, to mark her as mine.
A bead of sweat rolls down my spine at the thought.
I kneel beside the bed and watch her sleep. Every movement is a story…the way her fingers curl around the edge of the sheet, the way her knee twitches when she’s about to fall deeper into the dream. The way she murmurs my name like it’s a secret.
Grim.
That’s what I am, and what I’ll always be.
I rest my chin on the mattress, inches from her hand, and let myself pretend that she’s already mine. Already ours.
It’s enough.
I could stay like this forever, a monster at the foot of an angel’s bed, but I know I can’t. The king will visit again soon, bringing his threats and lies. She’ll need to be strong to survive another day.
So I stand, bones creaking, and walk to the table.
I take the bread and eat it slowly, even though it tastes like sawdust. The cheese is better, so I finish it in three bites. I drink water straight from the pitcher, leaving my mouth smeared with her taste.
I want to mark everything in this room as mine, especially her.
When I finish, I walk to the door and rest my palm against the iron band. It hums with the king’s foul magic, but I’m not afraid. If I wanted to, I could break it down and take her, carry her out of here like a prize.
But I want her to come to me. Like Shade, I need her to choose us. It’s the only way we’ll ever be free.
She’s closer now than she’s ever been.
I go back to the bed and kneel again, waiting to hear her voice again. I already know it’ll be my name on her lips, mine and those of my brothers. She’s said them over and over again every night since she came to use outside the gates.
I hope she still says them the same way when she learns the truth.
But for now, this is enough.
I close my eyes and listen to her breathing, memorizing every sound, every scent, every hope.
I’m not a good man, but I’m hers. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hers. And now, I finally know what it is to have felt her hands on me. We all do.
Heat boils inside me—low and brutal—at the reminder.
I slide my hand down to my cock and squeeze. It’s already hard and leaking, desperate. I work it in rough, slow pulls, just the way I like. The sound is obscene in the quiet, but Raisa doesn’t wake.
I watch her lips part, see the delicate thread of saliva on her tongue, the pink tip of it wetting her mouth as she breathes.
My hips jerk.
I imagine her waking up, finding me here, seeing what I am, what I’ve become for her. I imagine the way her breath would hitch—not from fear, but from the same need that’s got me burning alive.
She’d want it when I crawled on top of her. She’d want me to ruin her.
I stroke my cock harder, my vision going dark at the edges.
The room fades, replaced by another—the throne room, nineteen years ago, when Gallagher Morganstern called us in to watch him ruin everything.
The memory is a blade, sharp and unkind.
“Come here, boys.” The king sat on his throne, flanked by the queen, who looked at us with the kind of pity that could kill a man’s pride, as if she knew this was the beginning of the end for us and would spare us if she could.
We stood in a line, all seven of us, hands scrubbed, shirts too tight across our chests, Sable barely reaching the king’s knee.
“I’ve got news,” Morganstern said, his voice so soft we leaned forward to catch it. “You’re going to have a new sibling. The queen is pregnant.”
Bran smiled first, then the rest of us. We cheered.
We didn’t know it was the end of everything.
But less than three months later, he called us back.
This time, the queen was absent. The air reeked of incense and something darker, some primal evil we didn’t understand.
“The queen is dead,” the king said. “And so is the babe.”
My heart cracked then, and the guilt was worse than any pain I’d ever known.
“We didn’t mean to,” Sable had sobbed.
The king wasn’t moved by his tears.
He turned on us, beating us bloody. We screamed for mercy, all except Shade, who didn’t make a sound. There was no mercy to be found, not for us. The king knew before he ever called us to him what he planned to do, how he intended to punish us.
“You’ll know nothing but pain for what you’ve stolen,” he’d said. “You’ll never know peace or rest. You’ll never be whole. The world will forever see you for the foul, wicked things you are.”
I felt the first inklings of the curse flowing from his hands before my brothers. It was a heat in my spine, a tearing in my throat. It spread, my bones snapping and rearranging, my skin bubbling and splitting. Feathers punched through the cracks, sprouting from my arms and chest and face.
I screamed, but my voice came out wrong, like a bird’s cry.
All around me, my brothers were changing too. Some tried to fight, to claw the feathers out. It only made it worse.
We tore apart the throne room, blinded by pain and panic. No one tried to help. The king simply watched, not making a sound. Smiling.
When it was over, we were monsters. Cursed by the man who promised to love us as if we were his own. The one who no longer needed us.
I grip my cock so hard I nearly break it, my breath shuddering from my chest. The memory always hurts, but this time it’s different. It’s sharper, hungrier.
I open my eyes and look at Raisa, her arm flung above her head, her nightgown riding up to expose the full swell of her breast. The nipple is a shadow under the fabric, hard and begging to be sucked.
She’s purpose in a world that lost meaning long ago.
My fist moves faster, pre-cum slicking the head.
I picture her waking and rolling toward me, those perfect gray eyes hazy and wide. I picture her smile, how she’d give it just to me, not the king or his council or anyone else. I picture the way she’d say my name.
“Grim,” I whisper, just to hear it. It’s a prayer and a curse all at once.
She stirs, just a little, and my heart hammers.
I should stop. I should leave before the hunger devours me, and I do something we’ll both regret.
But I can’t.
The memories drag me back under.
The first night of the curse, we fled to the farthest reaches of the forest, trying to outrun the magic. Nothing worked. We were trapped, caged in bodies that no longer felt like ours, forced to fight and kill to survive.
He made us into monsters, and eventually, we learned to embrace it. We found beauty in pain and peace in ruin.
I remember the first man I killed in this form, one of his men. I tore his throat out, watched the blood arc and steam on the forest floor. After, I licked my feathers clean and felt nothing but hunger.
She was the only thing that made us feel anything different.
And then, she changed us.
I wish you were human.
One girlish wish, shouted in defiance, whispered magic into the world again, shaking the foundations of the curse. It shook us.
For the first time that day, we knew what it was to be human again, to sink our toes into the earth and lift our faces to the sky. To speak. And to love.
Her light gave back part of what her father’s darkness stole: our humanity. We’ve never forgotten.
I look down at her, my mouth dry. My free hand hovers over her lips, wanting to touch, to press my thumb inside and feel her suck. I let the heat build, sweat stinging my eyes, the need sharp and dangerous.
Her eyelids flutter, and for a second, I think she’ll wake.
She doesn’t.
I groan, low and rough, the sound scraping at my vocal cords.
“I’d kill for you,” I whisper. “Die for you. Tear the world apart for you.”
It’s true. Since the day she whispered humanity back into our hearts, they’ve belonged to her. Our bodies still belong to the curse, caught between the violence her father breathed into us and the humanity she pours into us, but our souls are hers.
My whole body tightens, the pleasure jagged and raw, hurting just enough to make my balls ache. I stroke faster, my hips rising from the stone as I fuck my own fist.
Her blanket slips lower, and I see the soft curve of her stomach, her bare skin begging for my tongue. I want to mark her, paint her with the proof of my need.
My vision goes white.
I slam my palm over my mouth to muffle my cry, biting down until I taste blood. My cock erupts, thick and hot, spilling over my knuckles. My seed splatters the stone, the scent mixing with her perfume in a way that nearly makes me black out.
I collapse, shaking, my head pressed to the mattress.
She sighs in her sleep like she knows what I’ve done.
For a long time, I just lie there, slick and filthy and more alone than I’ve ever been. I listen to her breathing, and imagine a world where I could crawl into bed beside her and let the nightmare end.
But that world doesn’t exist yet.
Not for monsters still chained by a curse.
I pull away, wipe myself on the edge of the blanket, and stare at the mess on the floor. The shame is bitter and bright, but not enough to kill the hunger.
Nothing ever is.
I get to my feet, already feeling my bones itch, the curse impatient for wings and sky. Humanity is fleeting under its pull, stolen moments given to us by her.
But I’m not done.
Not yet.
I lean over her, my mouth close to her ear, and whisper the truth.
“We’re coming for you,” I say. “No matter what it costs.”
We’ll set her free, even if we have to burn the world to ash. Not because she holds the key to breaking the curse entirely. Not to punish the king. But because she belongs to us.
She can lead us to ruin or lead us to heaven, and we’ll follow. We’ll kill and maim and destroy in her name and be grateful for the chance to do it at all.
She shivers, a tear slipping down her cheek as her lips form my name. “Grim…”
I want to lick it away, but I don’t. Instead, I stand and stagger back to the window, my bones creaking as the shift claws through me. My body remembers the pain, the surrender, the price.
I don’t fight it.
Instead, I let it take me, let it unmake me. And then I leap, black wings snapping open, and vanish into the night.
Behind me, a single black feather floats down, landing on her pillow as if to remind her that even here, locked away, she’s never truly alone.
She still has us, her monstrous, cursed flock.
Always.