Page 32 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)
My phone chimed with another update from Atlas, this one even more concerning than the last: surveillance footage of Marcus, now fully turned, breaking through reinforced containment doors at the Charlotte facility.
The image froze on his face—contorted with bloodlust, eyes entirely crimson, fangs fully extended.
He looked nothing like the efficient, controlled executive who'd served as my right hand for decades.
He looked like a monster from human nightmares. Like what we had been, before we evolved.
Like what I was becoming again.
I left the greenhouse exactly as I'd found it, instructing Atlas to restrict access to everyone, including cleaning staff. The evidence needed to remain untouched until I understood what was happening to me—to all of us.
The drive to Elspeth's gave me too much time to think.
The mate bond pulsed steadily as I put distance between myself and the city, a constant reminder of Willow.
Each time I considered answering her calls, explaining what was happening, my resolve weakened.
If I heard her voice, saw her face, I might not have the strength to do what needed to be done.
Michael had made the ruthless choice, sacrificing Patty to save his people. If it came to that, could I do the same?
The question haunted me as I navigated the increasingly narrow mountain roads, the sleek sports car handling the curves with precision even as my thoughts spiraled without direction.
By the time I reached the unmarked turnoff to Morana's property, the sun had fully risen, casting long shadows through the ancient forest surrounding her home.
I parked at the edge of the clearing where her cottage stood—a deceptively simple structure that masked the power contained within. Smoke curled from the stone chimney, indicating she was awake and likely already communing with whatever entities she consorted with.
Before approaching her door, I retrieved a small wooden box from my trunk.
Payment for services rendered was non-negotiable with Elspeth, and what I needed to ask would come at significant cost. The box contained treasures gathered over centuries—a vial of phoenix ash, feathers from the last thunderbird spotted in North America, seeds from a tree that grew only in the deepest part of the Amazon and bloomed once a century.
Small prices to pay if she could offer a solution to the curse.
I was three steps from her door when it swung open, revealing Elspeth herself.
She looked exactly as she had when I'd last seen her fifty years ago—ageless in the way of powerful witches, her silver hair falling in a straight curtain to her waist, her face lined only at the corners of eyes that had seen millennia pass.
"Kane Drake," she said, her voice like dry leaves rustling. "I wondered when you would find your way to my door. The spirits have been most insistent about your arrival."
I inclined my head respectfully. “Elspeth. You're looking well."
"And you," she observed, her gaze sharp, "are looking considerably worse than when I saw you last. The transformation has begun earlier than expected."
So she knew. Of course she knew—little happened in the supernatural world without Elspeth's awareness, especially when it involved ancient magic activating after generations of dormancy.
"May I enter?" I asked formally, following the old protocol.
She stepped aside, gesturing me into her home with a gnarled hand adorned with silver rings. "Enter freely and with honest purpose, Kane Drake. Though I suspect your purpose brings more complications than honesty."
The interior of Elspeth's cottage belied its rustic exterior.
Books lined every wall from floor to ceiling, some so ancient their bindings had crumbled to dust, protected now only by magic.
Strange artifacts occupied the spaces between volumes—skulls of creatures long extinct, crystals that pulsed with inner light, plants that seemed to breathe and shift when observed directly.
She led me to a circular table in the center of the main room, where a fire burned in a sunken pit despite the warmth of the summer morning. The flames cast dancing shadows across her face as she settled into a chair carved from a single piece of ancient oak.
"Your payment?" she asked, straight to business as always.
I placed the wooden box on the table between us. "Phoenix ash, thunderbird feathers, century bloom seeds. And this." I removed a small velvet pouch from my pocket, placing it atop the box. "Tears from the last known elder dragon, collected during the passing of the Crimson Comet."
Her eyes widened slightly—the most surprise I'd ever seen her display. "Extravagant. You must be truly desperate."
"I am."
She opened the pouch first, examining the crystallized dragon tears with evident satisfaction before turning her attention to the other offerings. When she had inspected each item and found them worthy, she closed the box and set it aside.
"Now," she said, leaning back in her chair, "tell me what you seek, though I already know. You want to understand the curse that transforms your kind back to blood drinkers. You want to know if it can be broken without sacrificing your Florence witch."
I nodded, refusing to show surprise at her knowledge of Willow. "Historical records are incomplete or deliberately obscured. Michael Drake supposedly found a way to survive breaking the mate bond with Patty Florence. I need to know how."
Morana's laugh was bitter. "Is that what your family archives claim? That Michael 'survived' breaking the bond? How convenient for the Drake legacy."
"What do you mean?"
She rose, moving to one of the bookshelves and retrieving a leather-bound volume so old its pages had turned the color of tea.
"Michael Drake never broke the mate bond with Patty Florence.
He severed it—a different process entirely, and one with consequences your sanitized family history conveniently omits. "
She opened the book, revealing pages filled with handwritten text in a language I didn't recognize. "This is Hazel's true grimoire, not the redacted version your family allowed to survive. In it, she details exactly what happened between them."
My heart rate increased, the bond pulsing faster in response to my agitation. "Tell me."
Elspeth's eyes flicked to my chest, seemingly able to see the bond itself.
"Michael and Patty formed a mate bond accidentally, much like you and your witch.
The curse activated immediately—vampires throughout his territory began reverting to blood drinkers.
Michael's advisors convinced him the only solution was to end the connection completely. "
"Through magical intervention," I supplied, repeating the vague phrase from the Drake archives.
"Through blood sacrifice," Elspeth corrected sharply.
"Michael didn't merely break their bond—he used ancient, forbidden magic to sever it entirely, a process that required blood willingly given.
He told Patty he needed her blood for a ritual to stabilize their connection, to prevent the transformations while maintaining their bond. "
A cold feeling spread through me. "But that wasn't the truth."
"No. The ritual he performed used her freely given blood to sever the bond completely, channeling the resulting magical backlash into her instead of distributing it between them as happens in a natural breaking. It protected him entirely by directing all the damage to her."
"Killing her," I whispered, the horror of it settling in my bones.
"Eventually. But not before she realized his betrayal and activated the curse properly—not the spontaneous activation that had occurred with their bonding, but a deliberate, carefully constructed curse designed to punish generations of Drakes if they ever repeated Michael's choice. When Hazel cast the original curse she went into hiding so Victor couldn’t find her and stop it.
Patty used her death to punish the Drake clan for the betrayal itself. "
Elspeth traced the symbols on the grimoire's pages.
"She was already carrying his child when he performed the ritual.
The severing magic should have terminated the pregnancy, but Patty was a powerful witch.
She protected her daughter with the last of her strength, binding her life force to the unborn child. "
"Marianne," I said, recalling the name from Atlas's research.
Elspeth looked up sharply. "You know of her?"
"I know she was their daughter, and that she likely founded the line that eventually produced Willow Thorne."
"Not likely. Certainly." Elspeth closed the grimoire carefully. "Marianne carried both bloodlines within her—Drake vampire and Florence witch. Patty's final act was to ensure that the Drake traits would remain dormant, emerging only if another mate bond formed between the bloodlines."
The implications were staggering. "You're saying Willow carries dormant vampire traits? That our bond is activating not just a curse, but something in her genetic makeup?"
"Just as it's activating something in yours.
" Elspeth's gaze was piercing. "The fruit bat evolution was never as complete as your kind pretends.
The blood drinker remains dormant in all of you, waiting for the right trigger to reemerge.
Your mate bond with a Florence witch is that trigger—the same trigger that activated the change in Viktor's and Michaels times. "
I struggled to process this information, so at odds with everything I'd been taught about our evolution. "So there's no breaking the curse without repeating Viktor's betrayal? Without sacrificing Willow?"
"I didn't say that." Morana returned to her seat, the firelight casting her face in dramatic shadows.
"Hazel designed the curse with a flaw—all magic has limitations, and hers was crafted in heartbreak and rage.
It activates when Drake and Florence blood reunite, but it was never meant to be permanent. "