Page 30 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

"They are when they coincide exactly with a crisis that threatens everything we've built," Remy countered. "The Florence witch. There are... rumors."

"I wasn't aware my board conducted business based on rumors," I replied, my voice dropping to a dangerous register that normally silenced such impertinence immediately.

Today, it didn't work.

"We've conducted research," Victoria said, sliding a folder across the polished table. "Historical records show a pattern. When Drake blood mingles with Florence magic, transformations follow."

I didn't touch the folder. "Ancient history, twisted for dramatic effect."

"Is it?" Victor pulled up new projections on the holographic display. "These are transformation reports mapped against your visits to Haven's Cross. The correlation is statistically significant to the ninety-ninth percentile."

The data was damning, points of red concentration spiking exactly when I'd spent time with Willow. The night of our accidental summoning. The greenhouse incident. The fall festival. And last night—a massive cluster of new cases reported in the early hours while I'd been in her bed.

For a moment, the conference room faded away as realization crashed through me. The curse. It had to be. Hazel's curse activating because of my connection with Willow, just as it had centuries ago when Viktor bonded with Hazel. History repeating itself in the worst possible way.

"Kane." Victoria's voice pulled me back to the present. Her use of my first name was deliberate, an appeal to our long association. "Whatever is happening between you and the Florence witch is causing this. The board has voted to invoke Article 17 of the charter."

My blood ran cold. Article 17 allowed for temporary removal of leadership during extraordinary circumstances. In all the centuries of Kane Industries' existence, it had never once been invoked.

"That's premature," I said, careful to keep my voice level despite the anger building within me. "We don't have conclusive evidence—"

"The West Coast coven representative is waiting to speak with you," Margaret interrupted from the doorway, her expression apologetic. "They're insisting it's urgent."

Perfect timing. I nodded, grateful for the interruption. "Put them through to my office. I'll take it there."

"Kane," Remy began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

"We will continue this discussion after I've spoken with the West Coast. I suggest you all spend the time reviewing Dr. Chen's latest findings rather than drafting removal papers.

" I stood, straightening my cuffs in a gesture of calm control I didn't feel.

"This company has weathered worse crises.

We will adapt and overcome this one as well. "

I strode from the room before they could respond, feeling their eyes boring into my back like physical pressure. Margaret fell into step beside me, her usual clipboard clutched to her chest.

"How bad is it really?" I asked once we were safely in the elevator.

"Worse than they know," she admitted. "We've had to quarantine the entire research division in Atlanta. Eight more cases reported from Durham while you were in the meeting. And..." she hesitated again.

"Out with it," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"The blood banks are being depleted faster than we can restock them. If the transformations continue at this rate, we'll have a serious blood shortage within days."

The implications hung heavy between us. Blood shortages meant desperate vampires. Desperate vampires meant potential attacks on humans. Attacks meant exposure, hunting, a return to the darkest days of our history.

All because I'd given in to the pull of a mate bond I should have resisted.

In my office, the massive screens along one wall flickered to life, displaying the stern features of Elara Nightshade, High Priestess of the West Coast coven. Her silver hair was pulled back in a severe bun, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face.

"Kane Drake," she greeted me, her voice carrying the faint accent of someone who'd learned English centuries after their birth. "I trust I find you well, despite the... circumstances."

"High Priestess," I inclined my head slightly. "I understand you have concerns about our merger agreement."

"Concerns?" She laughed, the sound entirely devoid of humor.

"Is that what you call it when the Eastern Court's vampires are reverting to blood drinkers exactly as they did during the Great Transition?

When your own executives are being quarantined for bloodlust?

When historical patterns we were assured would never repeat are playing out before our eyes? "

I kept my expression neutral. "We're investigating the causes and implementing containment—"

"We know the cause," she interrupted sharply. "You've bonded with a Florence witch. Just as Viktor Drake once bonded with Hazel Florence. The curse activates again, as it must."

The confirmation of my worst fears sent ice through my veins. "You seem very well informed about my personal matters."

"Did you think we wouldn't research your bloodline before agreeing to merge our territories?

" Her eyes narrowed. "The Drake-Florence curse is well documented in our archives, even if you've tried to erase it from yours.

We knew the risk when we began negotiations, but you assured us there would be no repeat of historical errors. "

"And there won't be," I said firmly. "This situation is temporary and contained."

"Is it?" She leaned closer to the camera. "Because our sources tell us the bond is already formed and consummated. Every moment you spend with her strengthens the curse's hold."

I fought to keep my expression impassive despite the internal turmoil her words created. The bond with Willow, which had felt so right, so necessary just hours ago, now revealed as the trigger for a catastrophe affecting hundreds, potentially thousands.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Break the bond," Elara said simply. "End the connection with the Florence witch before it's too late.

Before we have another Great Transition that decimates both our territories.

" Her expression softened slightly. "We don't have to be adversaries, Kane.

The merger benefits both our peoples. But we cannot risk alliance with a court whose leader may be compromised by bloodlust or distracted by witch magic. "

"And if I address this... personal matter? The merger proceeds?"

Elara studied me for a long moment. "Prove you have control of your territory and yourself, and yes, we would resume negotiations. With certain additional safeguards, of course."

"Of course," I echoed, my mind already calculating costs and benefits with cold precision. The merger represented expansion opportunities worth billions, security for my people, resources we desperately needed. Weighed against a mate bond formed almost by accident...

The thought sent an unexpected stab of pain through me, the bond flaring with protest as if it could sense my wavering loyalty.

Images of Willow flashed through my mind—her laughter in the garden, her fierce protection of her plants, her body moving with mine in perfect harmony.

The fruit crown. The way she challenged me at every turn.

"I'll consider your position," I said finally, neither committing nor refusing.

Elara's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't take too long. Some opportunities, once lost, never return." The screen went dark before I could respond.

I stood staring at the blank screen, a storm of emotions battling within me. Centuries of careful planning, generations of work building Kane Industries, the safety and future of my entire vampire kingdom—all potentially sacrificed for a witch I'd known barely a month.

The rational, CEO part of me knew what needed to be done. The mate in me rebelled at the very thought.

"Sir," Atlas's voice emerged from my desk speaker. "I've compiled the historical research you requested on the Florence bloodline and its connection to the Drake family."

At least someone in my organization was still functioning efficiently. "Display findings."

The wall screens filled with genealogical charts, historical records, and ancient texts. Archival photographs and paintings showed generations of both families, the branches occasionally intersecting before being violently pruned apart again.

"Based on genetic markers and magical signatures," Atlas explained as the data organized itself, "both the Drake and Florence bloodlines trace back to the original progenitors of their species.

Your family descends directly from the first vampire, while Willow Thorne's maternal line extends to the original witch clan. "

The implication was clear. "Making our bond particularly powerful," I murmured.

"And particularly volatile," Atlas confirmed. "Historical records indicate that when members of these bloodlines form mate bonds, it creates a magical resonance that activates dormant traits in vampires throughout the bonded Drake's territory. In simple terms—"

"It triggers the curse," I finished grimly. "Turning fruit bats back into blood drinkers."

"Precisely. The last documented case was Michael Drake and Patty Florence in 1843. The resulting transformation wave affected nearly 40% of the Eastern Court vampires before Michael broke the bond."

I froze. "He broke it? How? Mate bonds are supposedly unbreakable."

"Not unbreakable," Atlas corrected, "though the process is typically fatal for both parties. Michale Drake survived only through extensive magical intervention. Patty Florence did not."

The screens displayed an old newspaper clipping, announcing the tragic death of a young woman from a "wasting illness." Beside it, a painted portrait showed a woman with startlingly familiar eyes—the same shape and intensity as Willow's.

"After Patty's death," Atlas continued, "the transformations gradually reversed over a period of months.

Michael Drake married Scarlet Blackstone in a political alliance that united two major vampire territories.

There have been 4 attempted mate bonds between the two lines since the curse was established and the results were catastrophic each time. "

The cold, calculating move was almost admirable from a strategic perspective.

Michael had sacrificed his mate bond for the greater good of his people, expanding his territory and securing his position despite the personal cost. Michael was a distant cousin of mine.

I had vaguely heard of something happening but had paid it no mind. I was busy starting my company then.

Yet something about the story nagged at me. "What happened to Patty before she died? There must have been more to it than simply breaking the bond."

Atlas hesitated, unusual for an AI. "Records are incomplete. However, there are references to a child. A daughter, named Marianne, who disappeared from historical records shortly after Patty's death. This was the last time the curse was activated."

A daughter. Michael had abandoned not only his mate but his child. The revelation settled in my stomach like lead.

"Is there any indication this Marianne could be related to Willow?"

"Genealogical records show a Marianne Thorne establishing the first Florence flower shop in Haven's Cross in 1865. Census data lists her as a widow with a young daughter. The shop eventually passed to her granddaughter, then to Willow's grandmother, and finally to Willow herself."

The pieces clicked into place with terrible clarity.

Willow wasn't just a Florence witch who'd accidentally triggered an ancient curse.

She was the direct descendant of Patty and Michael—our bloodlines already mingled generations ago, the mate bond merely reactivating what had been there all along.

Last I had heard, Michael was somewhere in Scotland still.

No wonder the curse had activated so strongly. No wonder our connection had felt so immediate, so powerful.

"Sir," Atlas interrupted my thoughts, "your heart rate and cortisol levels have increased again. Perhaps you should—"

"Mute," I commanded sharply. I needed to think, needed to process the implications of what I'd learned.

My options were starkly clear. I could break the bond with Willow, potentially sacrificing both our lives but saving my people from transformation.

I could maintain the bond and watch my carefully built empire crumble as more vampires turned, the blood supply dwindled, and chaos engulfed everything I'd worked for.

Or I could find another solution—one that neither Michael nor anyone else had discovered in all the generations since.

The mate bond pulsed in my chest, warm and insistent despite the distance between us. It seemed to have its own opinion on which option I should choose.

My phone chimed with a message from Margaret: "Board reconvening in five minutes. Article 17 vote proceeding."

Perfect. My leadership challenged, my people transforming into something they'd never prepared for, my mate bond threatening everything I'd built, and now the revelation that Willow and I were the latest iteration of a doomed bloodline connection.

I straightened my tie, pushing down the turmoil to present the calm, controlled facade expected of Kane Industries' CEO and the Eastern Court's king. Personal feelings had no place in leadership decisions. I'd learned that lesson centuries ago.

Yet as I moved toward the door, the bond gave another persistent pulse, as if reminding me that some connections couldn't be so easily compartmentalized. Willow was now part of me, for better or worse.

And if history was any indication, "worse" was far more likely than "better."