The Curse Of Veneto Novels & Stories

“Because when that bond of yours reaches its peak—when you truly become one—that’s when the curse will strike. Not through you. Through her.” I lunged before I even registered the growl tearing from my throat, shoving him hard into the stone wall. Dust fell. He didn’t fight back. Just smiled. “It’s already inside you, boy,” he whispered. I backed off, fists clenched, pulse hammering. “You came here for answers,” he said, voice suddenly grave. “So here’s one: the curse doesn’t want to kill the bond. It wants to use it. You and Elena? You’re the vessel. The end… or the rebirth.”

The world outside looked like a cottage core dream. Selena turned around and grimaced. The shrine—her cursed assignment—was still gloomier than a tax office, with thunderclouds coiling ominously above it like it had committed several felonies. And the worst part? The storm was exclusive. It hovered only above the shrine, like nature itself had obvious favoritism.

Then I smile to myself, lean back, drop my phone on the table, and look straight at her. “You know, I read something fascinating today.” No one answers. Rico’s chewing. Dorothy freezes. “There was this tribe in Southeast Venice… forgot the exact name. They believed illness came from curses. Not germs, not stress, not diet—no. Curses. From disobedience, or unholy sex, or spiritual imbalance.” Still no one talks. I keep going, intentionally dragging my words out. “And women… oh, especially women. If a woman had consistent bleeding or trouble conceiving, they’d call her cursed. You know what they’d do? Bathe her in goat blood and cast her out for two seasons.”

“Yes. But the heart isn’t just a symbol, Elena. It’s a choice. Matteo believed only love could break the curse of pride — the curse your ancestors created.” She frowned. “Love doesn’t end wars.” “Perhaps not,” Silas said. “But it ends the need for them.” Before she could reply, a soft vibration buzzed in her pocket. She pulled out her phone — an unknown number again. Lucia looked alarmed. “Don’t,” she whispered. But Elena’s thumb hesitated over the screen. One message appeared: “Leave Venice. They found him.” Her heart stopped. “Alessandro.” Silas leaned forward. “Who sent that?”

“They all say that.” “I’m not them.” “No,” he agreed, something unreadable in his expression. “You’re not.” Silence stretched between them. Then Dorian moved to his desk, pulling out a thick leather-bound book. “This is the Veyrath chronicle. Every heir for the last five centuries has recorded their experiences with the curse.” He opened it, revealing pages filled with cramped handwriting, dates, names. Names of dead women.

His fingers still. His eyes sharpen. “Vaelora,” he repeats, softer now. Testing it. Something shifts in his expression. Not lust. Not amusement. Recognition. The elevator hums as it climbs. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, like he’s fighting something inside himself. “You shouldn’t lie about a pretty name such as yours,” he says quietly. My heart stutters. “I—what?” The air changes. The teasing warmth drains from his features, replaced by something darker. Intense. Focused.

Too— Weak. Alpha Derek of Edgeland leans forward, voice cutting. “Maybe if you focused more on finding the source of the curse rather than believing in some prophecy, you’d be able to heal your bloodlines.” The air turns volatile instantly. Gavin’s chair scrapes. “She will come,” he insists, voice shaking with restrained fury. “I don’t think you realize how much I’ve done to try to figure out what the problem is.” Alpha energy begins to press outward, thick and dangerous.

These men feared me, respected me but fear did not erase curiosity. When the doors finally slid shut behind the last executive, i allowed myself to breathe, the glass walls reflecting only my own image back at me. Perfect suit. Controlled expression. A man untouchable by the world, but could be destroyed by a curse. The pain surged again, stronger this time. I staggered toward the window, my palm slamming against the glass as the city sprawled beneath me but none of it mattered. Because the curse had returned. “You’re late Nath,” Mara’s voice said from behind me.

But what the curse actually was and what it actually did was considerably more specific than the rumors suggested. When the witch doctor explained it to me properly, in her home at the edge of the settlement, I understood immediately why he was relevant to what I needed. The curse on his wolf was ancient. It had been placed on his bloodline five generations back by an elder council that had decided his ancestor's power was too dangerous to exist unchecked. What it did was simple and terrible: it fed on the power of whatever it came into proximity with and it could not be removed and it could not be redirected and the only thing in the known world that carried enough power to actually destroy