Page 45 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)
Blood and Water
Willow
T he drive back from Lake Norman seemed to take both a lifetime and no time at all.
Kane's condition deteriorated with each mile, his once-aristocratic features now almost unrecognizable beneath the transformation's cruel progression.
His skin had turned ashen gray, veins prominent and dark beneath the surface.
The elegant hands I'd once watched mix cocktails were now tipped with bone-like claws that had torn through the upholstery of my passenger seat.
I couldn't bring myself to care about the car. Not when Kane's breathing had become a labored rasp, each exhalation carrying a soft growl that raised the hair on the back of my neck.
The Moonwater bloodroot pulsed with bioluminescent light in the specimen bag beside me, a cool, otherworldly glow that matched the rhythm of Kane's increasingly erratic heartbeat.
The plants that had volunteered to accompany us from his mother's garden had wrapped themselves protectively around both the specimens and Kane himself, seemingly trying to stabilize his condition through their connection to his bloodline.
"Almost there," I said, more to reassure myself than him. Kane's head turned slightly at my voice, crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness of the car. He didn't respond verbally – couldn't respond, I suspected. The transformation had progressed beyond the point where human speech remained possible.
Yet somehow, impossibly, I still felt him there – the essence of Kane Drake stubbornly holding on beneath the monster he was becoming. Our mate bond pulsed with desperate intensity, as if the connection itself was fighting to preserve what remained of the man I'd come to care for.
Floramancy came into view, the darkened storefront appearing ordinary from the street, giving no hint of the sanctuary hidden within or the battle against an ancient curse being waged behind its walls. I parked haphazardly in the back lot, caring nothing for straight lines or proper spots.
"We made it," I told Kane, reaching for the specimen bag while keeping a cautious distance. "Just a little longer."
His response was a low, rumbling sound – not quite agreement, not quite warning. Every line of his transformed body radiated tension, the battle for control evident in how tightly he gripped the door handle, metal bending beneath his claws.
Getting him inside would be a challenge. I stepped out first, moving quickly to the sanctuary's back entrance. The plants guarding the doorway recognized me immediately, parting to allow access, then extending tendrils toward the car where Kane remained motionless.
"He needs help," I told them softly. "But he's dangerous right now. Be careful."
The plants responded with a subtle rustling that I somehow understood as acknowledgment.
The vines from Kane's mother's garden moved first, extending from the car window to create a sort of living harness around his shoulders.
My own sanctuary plants joined the effort, creating a corridor of living restraints that would both guide and contain him.
"Kane," I called, my voice firm despite the fear fluttering in my chest. "We need to go inside now. The plants will help you."
His head turned toward my voice, those burning crimson eyes finding mine with unnerving precision. For a moment, I glimpsed naked hunger there – primal and overwhelming – before something else asserted itself. Recognition. Determination. The man still fighting beneath the monster.
With visible effort, Kane pushed open the car door and stepped out. The movement was no longer human – too fluid, too predatory – but the intent behind it was. He was forcing himself to follow me inside, every step a battle against the instinct to hunt me instead.
The plants surrounded him immediately, supporting his weight when he stumbled, restraining his arms when a particularly strong wave of bloodlust caused his hands to reach involuntarily toward me.
We moved slowly through the back entrance, into the main workspace of the sanctuary where I had prepared my equipment earlier.
Everything was ready. The specialized glassware grandmother had used for generations of remedy-making gleamed in the soft light. The base tincture I'd prepared from other botanical components waited in the largest vessel, missing only the crucial moonwater bloodroot.
"Almost there," I murmured, as much to myself as to Kane.
My hands trembled slightly as I unpacked the specimens we'd harvested.
They continued to pulse with that ethereal light, synchronized with Kane's heartbeat.
I tried not to think about what that might mean – how deeply the connection between vampire and plant had become, how the curse might have altered both in ways we didn't yet understand.
The plants guided Kane to the reinforced treatment area I'd prepared, forming living barriers around him that were both supportive and restraining. He sank onto the cot without resistance, his transformed body seeming too large for the space, too powerful to be contained by mere vines and flowers.
Yet he allowed it. Even now, even this close to complete transformation, he was choosing restraint over freedom. Choosing my safety over his instincts.
I worked quickly, hands becoming steady as I focused on the familiar motions of remedy preparation.
The bloodroot needed to be cleaned, processed, its essence extracted in precise proportions.
The moonwater variety was unlike anything I'd worked with before – the root systems glowed from within, the severed ends weeping a silvery fluid that resembled liquid moonlight more than plant sap.
"This is remarkable," I said aloud, falling into my habit of narration while working. "The properties are far more concentrated than standard bloodroot. Your mother was a botanical genius, Kane."
A rumbling sound that might have been agreement came from the treatment area. I glanced up to see Kane watching me with unnerving intensity, his gaze fixed on my hands as they worked with the specimens. Not with hunger now, but with something like desperate hope.
The extraction process was delicate work, requiring absolute precision.
I lost myself in the familiar rhythm of it – measuring, filtering, combining elements in the proper sequence.
Grandmother's teachings guided my hands while my enhanced connection to plants allowed me to sense the bloodroot's unique properties, adjusting the process to accommodate its unusual nature.
Finally, the extracted essence sat before me in a small crystal vial – glowing silver-white like captured moonlight. Only one step remained to complete the remedy.
I reached for the ceremonial knife that had passed through generations of Florence witches, its blade still sharp after centuries of use. The handle fit my palm perfectly, as if it had been waiting for this moment, for this particular Florence witch to complete this specific task.
"Kane," I said, turning to face him directly. "The remedy requires one final component."
His eyes narrowed slightly, the crimson glow intensifying as he watched me raise the knife to my palm.
"Florence blood freely given," I explained, though I wasn't certain how much he understood in his current state. "Not just any blood – witch blood. My blood specifically. The grimoire is very clear about this."
A sound of protest emerged from his throat, the plants around him tightening in response to his sudden tension. He was shaking his head, as much as his transformed physiology allowed, clearly objecting to what I was about to do.
"It's necessary," I told him firmly. "The remedy isn't just botanical. It's a blend of both our bloodlines – Drake through the Moonwater bloodroot, Florence through my blood. It's always been this way, Kane. Generations of Florence witches helping Drake vampires manage the curse."
His eyes held mine, and I saw understanding there – along with fear. Not for himself, but for me. Even now, he was trying to protect me.
"It's not the first time I've done this," I said more gently. "Every remedy I've made for your people has contained my blood. Just a few drops. It's why they work at all."
With that, I drew the blade across my palm, the sharp edge parting my skin with minimal pain. Blood welled immediately – rich and red against my pale skin. The scent of it filled the enclosed space of the sanctuary, metallic and vital.
Kane's reaction was immediate and visceral.
His body surged against the plant restraints, a sound emerging from his throat that was pure predator – hungry and desperate.
The plants tightened in response, more vines joining the effort to hold him in place as the bloodlust overwhelmed whatever human control he had maintained.
I worked quickly, allowing exactly seven drops of blood to fall into the silvery Moonwater bloodroot extract.
Each drop caused the mixture to swirl and shift, crimson bleeding into silver before the two substances began to dance together, creating patterns that reminded me of astronomical charts – planets and stars in miniature, circling each other in perfect harmony.
The scent of blood continued to fill the room, Kane's struggles growing more violent with each passing second. The plants were straining to contain him now, some stems beginning to tear under the pressure of his transformed strength.
"Hold on," I urged him, though I wasn't sure if Kane could even hear me anymore beneath the roaring hunger of the vampire he was becoming. "Just a few more seconds."
The final step required specific words – an incantation passed down through the Florence grimoire for generations. I spoke them now, my voice steady despite the chaos around me:
"Blood of the earth, blood of the witch, Moonlight captured, balance restored. What was broken seeks to mend, What was severed longs to join. By my will, by my blood, Let healing flow where hatred grew."