Page 44 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

The elevator stopped, opening into the submersion area where specialized diving equipment was stored. But we wouldn't need it – the magical barriers maintained air pockets throughout Old Haven, allowing normal breathing in designated areas. Including, thankfully, my mother's garden.

I led Willow to the airlock that would grant us access to the underwater pathways. As I placed my hand on the final scanner, I paused, turning to face her.

"Last chance to reconsider," I said, fighting to maintain coherent speech. "My control... slipping faster now."

"We don't have alternatives," she reminded me simply. "And I'm not afraid of you, Kane."

"You should be." The airlock hissed open, revealing the glass-walled corridor beyond. "Right now, you very much should be."

We stepped through into one of the most remarkable features of Old Haven – transparent tunnels that wound between buildings, offering spectacular views of the underwater settlement.

Fish darted past, curious about our intrusion into their domain.

Magical lights embedded in the pathway floors activated as we passed, illuminating our way through the silent, submerged world.

Willow gasped softly, her earlier visit to Old Haven having shown her only a small portion of the underwater marvel.

The parts that lived in an pocket of air.

Here, entire streets stretched into the distance, buildings preserved in perfect condition as they had been before the lake's creation.

Ancient trees, magically adapted to underwater conditions, swayed gently in the current, their leaves gleaming silver in the artificial light.

"It's incredible," she whispered, momentarily distracted from our urgent mission. "All of this, hidden beneath the surface... How many people know it exists?"

"Very few," I replied, grimacing as another wave of transformation pain hit. "The original settlement was... much smaller. Expanded over generations. Mother's garden was... final addition before her death."

The reminder of our purpose sobered us both.

We continued through the winding pathways, my steps growing less steady as the transformation continued its relentless progress.

I could feel my consciousness fragmenting, the blood hunger rising to dangerous levels again.

Only the mate bond kept me oriented toward our goal, a lifeline of connection to Willow that transcended the growing madness.

Finally, we reached an ornate door set into the rock face of what had once been the hillside above the original settlement.

Moonlight filtered down through the water above, creating shifting patterns across the carved surface.

The door depicted a garden in relief, plants and flowers rendered in exquisite detail by artisans long dead.

"Mother's sanctuary," I explained, voice barely human now. "Blood... access only."

Understanding dawned in Willow's eyes as I pressed my palm against the carved bloodroot blossom at the center of the door. A small needle emerged, pricking my transformed skin. The door recognized Drake blood, altered though it was, and began to slide open with a soft hiss of equalizing pressure.

Beyond lay a garden unlike any other on earth.

What had been impressive during our dinner date was nothing compared to the breathtaking sight before us.

A massive dome of magic-reinforced glass soared overhead, allowing filtered moonlight to penetrate the water and fill the garden with ethereal illumination.

Plants from every corner of the world thrived in carefully designed beds, many species that should never have survived underwater flourishing under my mother's careful magical cultivation.

And at the center, pulsing with gentle bioluminescence, grew a circular bed of bloodroot – their white flowers glowing with inner light that shifted in patterns matching my heartbeat. The Drake blood connection, making itself known even after decades of absence.

"They're alive with magic," Willow breathed, approaching the bloodroot with professional fascination overwhelming caution. "I've never seen anything like this. They're actually processing the moonlight from above, storing it within their root systems."

I remained near the entrance, struggling to maintain control as the garden's connection to my bloodline intensified the transformation symptoms. The plants closest to me began to shift subtly, responding to my presence – not with aggression, but with recognition.

Tendrils reached out, not threatening but almost.. . concerned.

Willow noticed immediately, her enhanced plant sensitivity alerting her to the garden's reaction. "They know you," she said with wonder. "Not just as a Drake, but as you specifically. Kane."

"Mother's last project," I managed through gritted teeth. "Designed to... respond to me. Help control... transitions."

Understanding flashed across her face. "She knew about the curse. She was preparing safeguards in case it activated again."

I nodded, unable to form coherent speech as another wave of hunger crashed through me.

The scent of Willow's blood was overwhelming in the enclosed space, the mate bond amplifying every sensation until it bordered on madness.

I sank to my knees, claws digging into the soft earth of the garden floor.

Without hesitation, Willow turned her attention to the bloodroot, her hands moving with practiced efficiency despite the unusual environment. The plants responded to her touch with immediate recognition – Florence witch blood calling to them as surely as Drake blood did.

"They know me too," she said with surprise. "Or rather, they know what I am. A Florence witch. It's like they've been... waiting for this."

I wanted to explain – to tell her about my mother's journals, about her research into the Drake-Florence connection, about her theories that our bloodlines were meant to work in tandem rather than opposition.

But speech was beyond me now, the transformation accelerating rapidly without the remedy's suppression.

Willow worked quickly, harvesting the glowing bloodroot with murmured thanks to each plant she touched.

The roots came away easily in her hands, glistening with a silvery fluid that resembled moonlight given physical form.

She carefully placed each specimen in her waterproof collection bag, her movements becoming more urgent as my condition visibly deteriorated.

The garden itself seemed to be helping her, plants bending to provide better access, bloodroot specimens presenting their most mature roots for collection.

It was as if the entire sanctuary recognized the urgency of our mission, the decades of careful cultivation culminating in this moment of cooperation between witch and plant.

Meanwhile, my battle for control grew more desperate by the second.

The transformation pain had returned full force, bones shifting beneath my skin, muscles reconfiguring themselves for predatory efficiency.

Worse than the physical agony was the mental fragmentation – rational thought dissolving into instinctive hunger, memories fracturing into primal need.

One thought remained clear, anchoring me to my fading humanity: I must not harm Willow. Whatever else the beast within me took, I would not allow it to make me the instrument of her suffering. I would not become Viktor, betraying the Florence witch who offered help and partnership.

"Almost done," Willow called, her voice sounding distant through the roaring in my ears. "Just a few more specimens and we'll have enough for the complete remedy."

I managed a nod, no longer trusting myself to speak. My vision had narrowed, colors fading except for the crimson pulse that highlighted Willow's veins, the flow of her blood becoming the only detail my transforming senses cared to process.

A particularly vicious wave of hunger nearly drove me forward – toward her, toward blood and satisfaction of the gnawing emptiness within. I fought it with everything I had left, digging my claws into my own palms until my blood dripped onto the garden floor.

Where it touched, the plants responded immediately.

Vines rose from the soil, wrapping gently but firmly around my wrists and ankles, securing me in place.

Not restraining with force, but supporting with care – my mother's garden recognizing my internal battle and offering assistance in the only way it could.

Willow turned, sensing the garden's movement, and her eyes widened at the sight of me partially bound by the responsive plants. "Kane..."

"Stay... back," I managed, the words barely recognizable through transformed vocal cords. "Finish... harvesting."

She nodded, understanding the urgency, and returned to her work with increased speed. The bloodroot continued to cooperate, practically offering themselves for collection, glowing brighter as if trying to communicate their willingness to help.

I focused on the plants holding me, on their gentle but firm support, using the connection to ground myself against the rising tide of bloodlust. My mother had designed this garden not just for cultivation but for protection – a sanctuary in the most literal sense, a place where a Drake could find respite from the curse's most devastating effects.

"Done," Willow announced, securing the last specimens in her collection bag. She approached cautiously, wise enough to maintain distance despite her earlier bravado. "We have enough to create the complete remedy now. We need to get back to the sanctuary."

I nodded, uncertain if I could make the journey back through the underwater pathways without losing control entirely. The garden seemed to sense my concern, the plants shifting around us to create a clear path to the exit while maintaining their supportive hold on my limbs.

"The garden," I forced out through transformed jaws. "It's trying... to help."

Willow's expression softened with understanding. "Your mother built more than just a botanical collection. She created a living ally." She knelt, placing her palm flat against the soil. "And now it's responding to both of our bloodlines."

The plants around her hand shifted, curling affectionately around her fingers without restraining them. A small bloodroot bloom, not yet harvested, bent toward her touch as if offering itself specifically to her care.

"Take it," I managed, recognizing the garden's intent. "Personal... connection."

Willow gently collected the volunteered bloodroot, handling it with reverence before adding it to her collection. "Thank you," she murmured to the garden. "We'll return when we can."

The supportive vines released me slowly, almost reluctantly, as Willow approached to help me stand. I accepted her assistance with extreme caution, hyperaware of her proximity, of the pulse beating steadily at her wrist where it touched my arm.

"Dangerous," I warned, voice guttural and strained. "Going back... too close..."

"The plants will help," she assured me, gesturing to several vines that had detached from their parent specimens and were now twining around her wrist like living bracelets. "Your mother's garden is coming with us, at least in part."

Indeed, as we moved toward the exit, I realized the garden was sending representatives with us – small vines and seedlings detaching to accompany our journey, creating a living network of support.

It was unprecedented, plants willingly separating from their root systems to follow us into the corridors beyond.

Some wrapping around my legs and climbing up my body as if wrapping me in a cocoon.

The return trip through the underwater pathways was a blur of pain and hunger, my consciousness fragmenting further with each step.

Only Willow's steadying presence beside me and the garden plants twining supportively around both of us kept me moving forward rather than collapsing into mindless predatory instinct.

By the time we reached the elevator that would return us to the Moonwater Club proper, I was barely recognizable as Kane Drake – physically or mentally. The transformation had progressed to near completion, the hunger overwhelming every other sensation except for our bond's insistent pulse.

"Almost there," Willow encouraged, her voice reaching me as if through deep water. "Stay with me, Kane. Just a little longer."

The elevator ascended slowly, too slowly, the enclosed space filling with the scent of her blood until it became a physical torment. The plants from the garden tightened around me, sensing my deteriorating control, offering what support they could.

When the doors opened to the main level of the Moonwater Club, moonlight streamed through the windows, turning the marble floors to silver pathways.

Willow half-dragged me toward the exit, the harvested bloodroot secure in her collection bag, our unusual plant entourage following like a living shield.

"Car... soon," I managed, the words barely comprehensible. "Can't... much longer..."

"I know," Willow acknowledged, her voice calm despite the danger my deteriorating condition presented. "But we're going to make it. I didn't find you just to lose you to this curse now."

The determination in her voice reached through the haze of hunger and pain, touching something fundamentally human that remained beneath the monster I was becoming. Even now, even seeing what I was turning into, she refused to abandon me to my fate.

That stubborn faith, so characteristic of Willow, became my final anchor as we stepped out into the night air. The bond hummed between us, stronger than the curse, stronger than the hunger, a lifeline I clung to with my last fragments of humanity.

We had the bloodroot. We had a chance. And somehow, impossibly, we still had each other – Florence witch and Drake vampire, facing the curse together rather than apart.

As we reached her car, the Moonwater bloodroot safely secured, I made a silent vow with whatever remained of Kane Drake beneath the transformation: I would not repeat Viktor's mistake.

Whatever sacrifice the curse demanded, I would pay it willingly to spare Willow and end this cycle once and for all.

Even if that sacrifice was everything I'd built over centuries. Even if it was the power I'd accumulated with such care. Even if it was the very essence of what made me Drake royalty.

Because some prices, no matter how steep, were worth paying for the right reasons.

And Willow Florence had proven herself worthy of any sacrifice I could make.