Cursed Writing Novels & Stories

The cursed wolf rested in love. The light rested in love. Love was the quiet. And it settled. In the hush. In the fleeting. In the boundless. Always. The manor rested in love. The garden rested in love. The light rested in love. The love was the quiet. And it settled. For the fleeting. For the boundless. For the interval. The story was not pursued. It rested. Every evening. In every softening. In every presence. The cursed wolf rested in love.

“Feel every inch claiming this cursed pussy. This womb is going to take my seed tonight. I’m going to breed you deep — pump load after load until your belly is full and the curse has no choice but to bind to new life.” The breeding words sent me spiraling. My orgasm hit like a storm — violent and all-consuming. I screamed his name, walls spasming wildly around his thick cock as pleasure ripped through every nerve. The curse amplified it, making the orgasm last longer, wave after wave until I was shaking uncontrollably in the ropes. Cassian didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, groaning as my pussy milked him. “That’s it — cum on my cock like a good cursed girl. Squeeze every drop from me.”

“From a man who thinks protection and possession taste the same. From his employer who writes ledgers with people’s lives.” Maeve’s gaze skimmed my face, not lingering on the hurt. She didn’t need to. She pressed two fingers to my forehead—cool, humming. “You’ve been tagged. Not with a spell. With bureaucracy. Nasty, that. The kind of curse men legislate.” “It can be cut?” Sammi asked. “Blunted,” Maeve said. “Turned sideways. Never erased while the writer’s alive.” “Then we cut the writer,” I muttered.

A freak accident that left me completely alone in the world. But now, I couldn’t help but wonder. Were they werewolves too? Had they known this would happen to me? Alaric said the curse didn’t activate unless you killed someone. If they were werewolves, had they never triggered the curse? Or was it something else entirely? I glanced at the window, where the light of the setting sun was fading, giving way to the night. The full moon was coming. I could feel it—a strange hum at the back of my mind, growing stronger with each passing moment.

They examine the parchment together, the clues a vivid, living presence that fills the space with life and the bright, thrilling promise of risk and danger. Gabriel points to the faded script, the sharp, vivid presence of it a bright, uncontained energy that fills the space with life and the thrill of the unknown. "Your grandmother's blood created this curse," he says, his voice a fierce, bright presence that fills the space with life and the vivid, thrilling energy of the unknown.

“There has to be something in here.” The words blurred together, useless and meaningless. My frustration boiled over. I hurled the book to the ground, grabbed another, and tore through it. “Nothing!” I yelled, throwing it against the wall. The spine snapped with a sharp crack. “All these centuries, and not one of you worthless bastards thought to write down how to break this damn curse!” I swept my arm across the table, sending stacks of books tumbling to the floor. My breathing was ragged, my wolf clawing inside me, demanding release.

Only members of the High Bloodline had access to, only those who had lost something precious they loved in war were permitted to read the Codexes of What-Should-Not-Be, the forbidden texts that detailed curses and magics too dangerous for common knowledge. I qualified on both counts, and the wards recognized my right to enter. The further I read, pushing deeper into the most forbidden sections, the more disturbing patterns began to repeat across different texts from different eras and different cultures: One phrase kept surfacing across different texts in different languages, translated dozens of ways but always meaning essentially the same thing: "Wounds without cause are the loudest calls

She felt it was her responsibility, but she also knew she couldn't fight them alone, but she needed help from others, she thought. She used her curse which was "cursed speech". She was able to make something happen with just a word. If she was to say die to anyone they would die instantly, but that depends on how strong the soul of the person was. She used her cursed speech to curse three swords, that can be used to kill anyone that was cursed, with a stab in the chest. She wanted to do more but she couldn't, the cursed energy was too heavy for her mortal body to behold. The three she did take a toll on her body and she lost her voice. She wasn't able to speak or talk again since that day.

Years ago, a witch cast a prophecy over me. She said I was the cursed wolf, an abomination who would bring the pack to ruin. My parents believed it completely. Locked me in the cellar that same night and left me to starve. My older sister, Sia, fought like hell to keep me alive. When the pack came for me, she stood in front of every single one of them, crying as she tried to shield me. "She's not an abomination. She's never hurt anyone." Because of those words, when the Alpha fell for her but still feared me, that so-called abomination, I volunteered for exile. Walked away from the pack forever. Before I left, I gave Sia a charm. Told her, if anyone ever laid a hand on her, just speak into i

If there was an answer anywhere… It would be here. I searched through the oldest section first, carefully running my fingers across cracked leather bindings faded by time. One book after another came off the shelf. None of them mentioned curses. I kept looking. Finally… One worn spine caught my attention. Across the faded cover, a single word had been pressed into the leather. Curses. I carefully pulled the heavy book free. Dust drifted into the air as I carried it to a nearby table and sat down. Taking a steady breath, I opened the first page. “Well…” I whispered to myself. “Here we go.”