Page 40 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

"Florence tears," I murmured, feeling a connection to generations of witch women who had performed this same ritual through the centuries. "Freely given."

I had just finished bottling a small test batch when a knock came at the shop's front door. Through the glass, I could see Luna standing beside a man I didn't recognize—tall, gaunt, with the grayish pallor that indicated early stages of transformation.

I hurried to let them in, the plants nearest the door shifting protectively as I approached.

"This is Martin," Luna said without preamble. "He's been experiencing symptoms for three days. He's still in control, but it's getting harder."

Martin nodded stiffly, his posture rigid with the effort of maintaining composure. His eyes had the faint reddish glow I'd seen in Kane's, though not yet as pronounced.

"Thank you for coming," I said, locking the door behind them. "I've prepared something that might help."

I led them to the back room, hearing Martin's sharp intake of breath as he entered the botanical sanctuary. The plants responded to his presence, some drawing back slightly while others extended toward him, sensing his condition.

"What is this place?" he asked, voice rough with strain.

"A healing space," I explained, guiding him to one of the cots. "The plants are helping create an environment that will calm the hunger."

Even as I spoke, I could see the effect the room was having on him. His breathing slowed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as the combined scents of jasmine, lavender, and a dozen other calming botanicals filled the air.

"Lie down," I instructed, moving to the worktable where my test batch waited. "This tincture won't cure what's happening to you, but it should provide temporary relief."

Martin looked to Luna, who nodded encouragingly. He stretched out on the cot, the living screens of vines shifting to provide him privacy while still allowing me to observe his condition.

I brought the small vial to him, noticing the way his nostrils flared at the scent—detecting, no doubt, the trace of my blood in the mixture.

"It's freely given," I assured him, seeing the conflict on his face.

His hand trembled slightly as he accepted the vial. "Why would you help us?"

"Because suffering is suffering," I said simply. "And because we're all connected to this, whether we want to be or not. My ancestor created the curse that affects you. My bloodline has a responsibility to help. And I have someone to protect."

He drank the tincture in one swift motion, grimacing at the taste. For a moment, nothing happened. Then his body went rigid, back arching slightly as the remedy took effect. I watched anxiously, ready to call for Luna if something went wrong.

But after a few tense seconds, Martin relaxed completely, his body melting into the cot as if strings had been cut. The gray pallor of his skin began to recede, color returning to his face. When he opened his eyes, the red glow had dimmed significantly.

"The hunger," he whispered, wonderment in his voice. "It's... quiet. Not gone, but... manageable."

Relief flooded through me, matched by the satisfied rustle of the plants surrounding us. "How do you feel otherwise?"

"Tired. Peaceful." His eyes were growing heavy. "Like I could actually sleep without nightmares for the first time in days."

"Rest," I encouraged, pulling a light blanket over him. "The plants will watch over you."

As if in response, the vine screen shifted slightly, creating a more enclosed space for his comfort. I returned to Luna, who had been observing from the doorway with undisguised amazement.

"It worked," she said, studying my face intently. "You actually found a treatment."

"A temporary one," I cautioned. "Based on what the grimoire says, the effects might last anywhere from hours to days, depending on how far the transformation has progressed. And my version isn't complete yet—I'm missing two key ingredients that I'll need to gather."

Luna shook her head, still processing what she'd witnessed. "Do you understand what this means? You could help dozens of affected vampires. Give Kane time to find a more permanent solution."

Kane. Just hearing his name sent a complicated mix of emotions coursing through me—anger at his deception, hurt at his willingness to break our bond, and beneath it all, unwavering concern for what he was suffering.

"I need you to tell him," I said, turning to arrange supplies on my work table rather than meeting Luna's eyes.

"About the sanctuary, the remedy. Give him this bottle and make sure he drinks it.

But don't tell him I want to see him. I don't—not yet.

I'm still too angry about what he is planning to do. "

Luna's expression softened with understanding. "He is trying to protect you, in his own misguided way."

"By making decisions about our bond without consulting me? By preparing to sacrifice himself without exploring alternatives?" I shook my head firmly. "That's not protection, that's control. And I won't accept it—not from him, not from anyone."

"Fair enough," Luna conceded. "I'll spread the word about your sanctuary, but I won't push you two together. That's for you to decide when you're ready."

After she left, promising to return with more affected vampires who needed help, I checked on Martin.

He was sleeping peacefully, his breathing deep and regular, the grayish cast almost entirely gone from his skin.

The plants surrounding him had adjusted their position slightly, creating a protective canopy over his cot.

Encouraged by this success, I turned my attention back to the grimoire, searching for more information about the curse and potential cures.

With the moonflower nectar revealing hidden text on page after page, I discovered detailed observations from generations of Florence witches who had treated affected vampires.

One passage particularly caught my attention:

The curse strengthens and weakens in cycles, responding to celestial events and bloodline connections. When Drake and Florence blood unite, the hunger returns with greater force, testing the Drake's true nature. This is by design—Hazel's final safeguard against another betrayal like Viktor's.

What few understand is that Hazel never intended the curse to be permanent. It was designed to end when a Drake king made the choice Viktor would not—choosing love over duty, family over power, sacrifice of self rather than sacrifice of other.

The ritual Michael discovered was incomplete—he saw the requirement for blood sacrifice but missed the essential nature of the offering. It is not death that breaks the curse, but the willing surrender of power for love's sake.

I reread the passage several times, excitement building. This was critical information—confirmation that the curse could indeed be broken, and that Kane's belief in a death sacrifice was incorrect. The true requirement was something else—a surrender of power, not of life.

But what exactly did that mean? What kind of power? And how was it to be surrendered?

The jade plant rustled again, drawing my attention.

When I looked at it, another memory formed in my mind—a much older one this time, showing a woman who must have been Hazel herself, working at a table much like mine, surrounded by plants as she inscribed the grimoire by candlelight.

I didn’t realize just how old this jade plant really was.

Magic must have made it live far beyond it’s natural lifespan. How, I don’t know.

"What are you trying to show me?" I asked aloud, approaching the plant and gently touching its leaves.

The image sharpened, focusing on Hazel's face as she wrote. Her expression wasn't vengeful or bitter as I might have expected from someone casting a generational curse. Instead, she looked determined but sad, her actions born of necessity rather than pure vindictiveness.

The vision pulled back, revealing more of the room—and a cradle beside Hazel's table, containing an infant. As she wrote, she frequently paused to look at the child, as if reminding herself why her work was necessary.

"Her daughter," I whispered. "My ancestor. But I thought she didn’t have a child with Viktor."

The image shifted again, showing Hazel crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle, tears falling freely from her eyes to mix with the botanical components. Florence tears, freely given—not in service of a remedy, but as an essential component of the curse itself.

The vision faded, leaving me with a profound sense of connection to this woman who had shaped the destiny of two bloodlines with her magic.

She hadn't been a villain seeking vengeance; she had been a mother protecting her child and all who would come after, ensuring they would never suffer the same betrayal she had endured.

A soft sound from the treatment area pulled me from my contemplation. Martin was stirring, looking refreshed despite having slept for only an hour.

"How do you feel?" I asked, approaching his cot.

He sat up slowly, assessing himself with evident surprise. "Better. Much better. The hunger is still there, but distant, like... like hunger for food when you're busy with something else. Present but not consuming."

"Good," I said, relief washing through me. "The effects won't last forever—hopefully a day or two based on your condition. You'll need to return for another treatment."

"I'll come back," he assured me, standing cautiously. "And I'll tell others. There are so many suffering..." His voice broke slightly. "So many locked away in containment because they can't control themselves. Will you help them too?"

"Yes," I promised without hesitation. "As many as I can. But the most severely affected might need to wait until I can complete the full remedy after the full moon. The version you received is missing key ingredients."