Page 42 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

At Death's Door

Kane

T he remedy hadn't worked.

No—that wasn't quite right. Luna’s delivery of Willow's tincture had worked beautifully, for approximately six hours.

Six glorious hours of clarity, of the blood hunger receding to a manageable whisper rather than the deafening roar that had consumed my every thought for days.

Six hours of feeling almost like myself again.

Then it had turned on me, violently. Elspeth’s dose had only lasted for half the time.

I stumbled through the darkened streets of Haven's Cross, my car abandoned when my vision alternating between crystal clarity and crimson haze made it too dangerous to drive.

Each heartbeat I passed—each human or supernatural with blood flowing through their veins—sent fresh waves of hunger tearing through me.

My fangs had fully descended hours ago, and no amount of concentration would retract them now.

The incomplete remedy had shown me a glimpse of salvation before plunging me deeper into the abyss. Like an addict given just enough of a fix to make withdrawal exponentially worse, I now craved relief with an intensity that threatened to shatter what little control I had left.

My phone buzzed. Atlas again. I'd disabled the AI's voice functionality after the seventeenth call, unable to bear its clinical assessment of my deteriorating condition. The screen lit up with another warning:

"BIOMETRIC READINGS CRITICAL. TRANSFORMATION 87% COMPLETE. RETURN TO CONTAINMENT IMMEDIATELY."

I silenced it completely, shoving the device back into my pocket with trembling hands. My fingers had begun to elongate, the nails hardening into something closer to claws. The transformation was accelerating, just as Elspeth had warned it might if the incomplete remedy failed.

There was only one destination possible now. One last desperate chance.

Willow's sanctuary.

The irony wasn't lost on me. After days of pushing her away, of making unilateral decisions about our bond, of preparing to sever our connection permanently—now I was crawling to her for help.

Pride was a luxury I could no longer afford.

Not with the hunger clawing at my insides like a living thing, demanding to be fed.

The scent of flowers guided me through the darkened streets—a beacon of hope as my consciousness flickered in and out.

I'd avoided her shop since our confrontation in my greenhouse, afraid of what I might do if my control slipped even momentarily.

But now control was a distant memory, a concept that belonged to a Kane Drake who no longer existed.

I reached her shop just as a lightning bolt of pain drove me to my knees. My body was rejecting itself, cells morphing and reshaping as the curse drove the transformation forward. Through watering eyes, I saw the "CLOSED" sign on Floramancy, but soft light spilled from beneath the door.

She was still there. Working late. Creating remedies for my people while I hid in my tower.

The last few steps to her door were the hardest I'd ever taken. Each one a battle against the hunger that demanded I hunt rather than seek help. Each footfall a testament to whatever small piece of the man I had been still existed beneath the monster I was becoming.

I raised my hand to knock, but another spasm of pain bent me double. My knees hit her doorstep hard enough to crack the concrete. A strange, animal sound escaped me—not quite a growl, not quite a groan. I slumped against the door, no longer certain I had the strength to knock.

It opened anyway.

Willow stood framed in the soft light of her shop, eyes widening as she took in my transformed state. I couldn't imagine what I looked like to her now—skin ashen gray, eyes burning crimson, body hunched and twisted with the pain of fighting the change.

"Kane," she breathed, my name half question, half recognition.

I tried to speak, to explain, to apologize—but my vocal cords had begun to transform as well, making human speech nearly impossible. What emerged was a rasping whisper:

"Help... me."

The scent of her—flowers and sunshine and the sweet, sweet blood pumping just beneath her skin—hit me like a physical blow. The hunger roared to new heights, and I felt the last threads of my control beginning to snap.

Before I could move, the plants nearest the door responded to some silent command from Willow. Vines shot forward, wrapping around my wrists and ankles, securing me in place without causing harm. A flowered tendril brushed my face with surprising gentleness, seeming to assess my condition.

"You're further gone than I expected," Willow said, her voice remarkably steady despite the situation. Despite the monster on her doorstep. "The remedy didn't work?"

I managed to shake my head, focusing every remaining ounce of willpower on forming coherent words. "Worked... then worse. Much worse."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "The incomplete formula. Without the fresh bloodroot..." She knelt before me, close enough that I could see the pulse fluttering in her throat, yet far enough to stay beyond lunging distance. Not that I could lunge with her plants holding me firmly in place.

"You need to come inside," she said. "But I need to know you won't... that you can..."

"Can't... promise," I rasped honestly. The hunger was a living thing inside me, clawing for freedom, for her. "But... trying."

Something in my broken voice must have convinced her. Or perhaps it was the way her plants reacted to me—cautious but not hostile, restraining but not harming.

"The plants will help contain you," she said, making a decision. "They respond to your condition. They'll hold you if necessary."

The vines adjusted their grip, supporting rather than just restraining me as Willow helped me to my feet.

The movement sent fresh waves of dizziness crashing over me, and I stumbled, nearly taking her down with me.

Her hands gripped my arms, steadying me, and the direct contact sent an electric jolt through my system—the mate bond flaring to life despite my weakened state.

She felt it too. I saw the momentary shock in her eyes, the instinctive response of her body leaning toward mine before she caught herself.

"Inside," she said firmly, guiding me through the door with the vines' assistance.

The shop had transformed since I'd last seen it.

What had once been a charming but ordinary flower store was now a verdant sanctuary.

Plants covered every surface, many species growing together in ways that defied natural laws.

Vines wove protective screens between areas, creating secluded treatment spaces where a few early-stage transformed vampires rested peacefully.

The air smelled of growth and healing and life—and something else, something metallic and sweet that made my mouth water uncontrollably.

Blood. Her blood.

A particularly painful spasm drove me to my knees again as Willow guided me toward an empty treatment area. The plants parted to create a path, then closed behind us, forming a living barrier between us and the rest of the shop.

"You've been busy," I managed, focusing on speech to distract from the hunger. "Helping them. My people."

"Someone had to." There was no accusation in her tone, just simple fact. She helped me onto a cot surrounded by plants I recognized as having calming properties. "While you were busy trying to solve everything alone."

"Stubborn," I admitted. Another wave of pain hit, causing my back to arch. When it passed, I found her watching me with a mixture of concern and clinical assessment. "Thought... could protect you. Everyone."

"By excluding me from decisions about our bond? By preparing to break our connection without even talking to me first?" Now there was heat in her voice, justified anger that I deserved in full measure.

"Wrong," I gasped as the plants around us released calming scents that barely touched the edges of my agony. "I was wrong."

Those three words seemed to surprise her more than my transformed appearance had. She blinked, momentarily speechless, before her expression softened slightly.

"Yes. You were." She moved to a work table nearby, where various botanical components were arranged with meticulous care. "But admitting it is a start."

I watched through increasingly blurred vision as she examined various ingredients, her movements efficient despite the evident fatigue lining her face. She'd been working for hours, probably days, creating remedies for my people while I'd been falling apart in isolation.

"The incomplete remedy helped temporarily but then made things worse?" she said, not looking at me as she worked. "Your system must have recognized what it needed and reacted more strongly when it was removed. Like giving water to someone dying of thirst, but not enough to save them."

Another spasm wracked my body, and I bit through my own lip trying to contain the sound of pain. The copper taste of my own blood filled my mouth, a poor substitute for what the hunger truly demanded.

"I'm dying," I stated quietly when I could speak again. It wasn't a plea for sympathy but a simple acknowledgment of fact. "Transformation's nearly complete. Won't be... me... much longer."

Willow's hands stilled over her botanicals. She turned to face me fully, those remarkable eyes meeting mine without flinching despite what she must have seen there—hunger, pain, desperation.

"You're not dying yet," she said firmly. "And I'm not going to let the curse win. But I need you to be honest with me, completely honest, for once. No more unilateral decisions. No more noble sacrifices without consultation."

I managed a nod, claws digging into the edges of the cot to anchor myself against another wave of pain.

"The remedy I've been making isn't complete," she continued. "It's missing fresh bloodroot—not the dried variety I've been using. The grimoire is very specific about this. It has to be freshly harvested bloodroot with active properties."

"Full moon," I rasped, recalling what Martin had told me after his treatment. "You're waiting for the full moon to harvest."

"Yes. Which is still days away." She knelt beside me, close enough that I could count her eyelashes, smell the jasmine in her hair, hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat like a siren's call. "But you don't have days. You have hours, maybe less."

I closed my eyes, fighting another surge of hunger. When I opened them again, I found her still watching me, unafraid despite every reason to be terrified of what I was becoming.

"There's another option," I said, the words coming with great effort. "My mother's garden. Under the lake."

Her expression shifted into something hopeful. "The Moonwater Club? Your underwater garden?"

"Special variety of bloodroot. Grows year-round. Doesn't need full moon." Each sentence was a battle now, my transformed vocal cords making human speech increasingly difficult. "Mother cultivated it."

"But why didn't you mention this before? Why didn’t I remember seeing it there?" The frustration in her voice was justified. I'd withheld critical information, again.

"Didn't think of it. Remedy... clearing my thoughts." I gripped the edges of the cot harder as another wave of transformation pain washed over me. "Also... dangerous. For you. My control... slipping."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You're afraid you'll hurt me if we go there together."

I nodded, grateful she'd grasped my fear without requiring me to voice it. The thought of harming her—of fulfilling the curse's ultimate goal by betraying her as Viktor had betrayed Hazel—was the last horror I was still fighting against with everything I had left.

"The plants will help," she said, glancing at the living barriers surrounding us. "They respond to me now in ways I never thought possible. They'll protect both of us if necessary."

She was offering me hope when I deserved none. Offering partnership when I'd tried to exclude her. Offering protection when I was the greatest threat to her safety.

"Why?" I asked, the single word encompassing everything. Why help me after what I'd done? Why risk herself for someone who'd been ready to break their bond without consultation?

Willow's expression softened, something complex and vulnerable crossing her features. Her hand moved toward mine, hesitating just above my transformed fingers with their lengthened claws.

"Because this is bigger than just us," she said simply. "Because your people are suffering. Because the curse has gone on long enough." Then, more quietly: "And because I think we were brought together for a reason, Kane. Not just as some cosmic joke or punishment, but to finally end this cycle."

Her fingers closed around mine, warm and alive against my increasingly cold skin. Our mate bond surged between us at the contact, stronger than ever despite my transformation, despite my attempts to shield her from it.

"We'll go to the Moonwater Club," she decided, squeezing my hand once before releasing it. "Get the bloodroot. Create the complete remedy. And then figure out how to break this curse once and for all."

I wanted to warn her again about the danger, about my deteriorating control, about how the bond made her blood specifically call to me above all others. But she knew the risks. She'd seen what I was becoming. And still she chose to help.

"Thank you," I whispered, the words entirely inadequate for what she was offering.

She stood, already moving with purpose as she gathered supplies. "Don't thank me yet. This could all go horribly wrong in about a dozen different ways."

"Still," I managed, even as another wave of pain bent me double. "My stubbornness... endangered everyone. Should have trusted you."

Willow paused in her preparations, something like surprised recognition crossing her face. "That's probably the first step to breaking this curse, you know. Acknowledging where Viktor went wrong."

The insight struck me with unexpected force.

She was right. Hazel's curse had been activated by Viktor's choice to trust duty over love, position over partnership.

Every Drake since then, including me, had followed the same pattern—making unilateral decisions "for the greater good" without including their Florence counterpart in the choice.

"I've been... repeating history," I admitted, the words painful for reasons beyond my physical transformation.

"Yes." Willow's answer was simple but not cruel. "But recognition is the first step to breaking cycles. And we're going to break this one, Kane. Together."

Together. The word echoed in my fading consciousness as another, stronger wave of pain washed over me.

My last coherent thought before darkness claimed me was a prayer to whatever power might be listening: let me remain myself long enough to help her end this curse.

Let me not become the monster that betrays her trust.

Let me be worthy of the second chance she's offering, when I deserve none at all.