Page 46 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

The mixture flared with brilliant light as the final word left my lips – no longer silver or crimson but a pulsing, living gold that illuminated the entire sanctuary. The plants around us responded to the magic, flowers blooming out of season, vines growing inches in seconds.

I poured the completed remedy into a drinking vessel, the golden liquid continuing to swirl with internal light. Now came the most dangerous part – actually administering it to Kane.

He was barely recognizable now, the transformation nearly complete.

His struggles had weakened the plant restraints considerably, vines tearing under the pressure of his supernatural strength.

The crimson glow of his eyes had intensified until they seemed to be actual flames burning in his skull.

His mouth, now reshaped into a predatory maw filled with elongated fangs, emitted a constant low growl that raised every primitive fear response in my body.

Yet I approached him anyway.

"Kane," I said softly, holding the glowing remedy before me. "You need to drink this. All of it."

His eyes fixed on the vessel, then on my bleeding hand, hunger warring with something more human in his gaze. The plants tightened around him in anticipation of another violent surge, but instead, he went completely still – a predator's perfect stillness before the killing strike.

I took a step closer, then another, until I stood just beyond arm's reach. "I know you're still in there," I told him. "I know you can hear me. This will help. This will bring you back."

A sound emerged from his throat – not quite a word, but an attempt at one. His clawed hands flexed against the plant restraints, not fighting now but signaling... something.

Making a decision that my grandmother would have called foolish beyond measure, I moved closer still, until I could have reached out and touched him. The plants rustled in agitation, sensing the danger, but I calmed them with a thought.

"I trust you," I told Kane simply. "Even now. Even like this."

With that, I placed the vessel against his transformed lips.

For one terrible moment, I thought he might lunge for my throat instead – the hunger in his eyes was so intense it felt like a physical force between us.

But then, with visible effort, Kane opened his mouth and allowed me to pour the golden remedy inside.

The effect was instantaneous and violent. His body convulsed, so tense his torso almost levitated above the cot, a sound of pure agony tearing from his throat. The plants released him in surprise, retreating from the magical energy suddenly radiating from his transformed form.

Golden light spread beneath his skin, following the pathway of veins and arteries, illuminating him from within.

Where it touched, the transformation began to recede – skin returning to normal coloration, claws retreating into human fingernails, fangs shortening to their usual, merely intimidating length.

I stepped back, watching in awe as the remedy worked through his system. It was beautiful and terrible all at once – healing that came through necessary pain, transformation reversed through momentary agony.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Kane collapsed back onto the cot, his body once again recognizably his own.

The crimson glow faded from his eyes, revealing their usual amber, now filled with exhausted clarity.

His breathing changed from bestial rasps to the more controlled rhythm I recognized.

"Willow," he whispered, his voice hoarse but human. "You... you did it."

Relief crashed through me with such force that my knees nearly buckled. I sank into the chair beside his cot, suddenly aware of how utterly exhausted I was. "We did it," I corrected, looking down at my cut palm. "Both bloodlines working together, as it should have been all along."

Kane's gaze fixed on my injured hand, but the hunger in his eyes was controlled now – present but manageable. The remedy had worked.

"Your blood," he said softly. "That's been the missing component all along."

I nodded, finally wrapping a healing leaf around my palm.

"Florence witch blood has always been part of the remedy.

It's why Viktor seeking a political marriage was such a betrayal – he wasn't just abandoning Hazel romantically.

He was turning his back on the very thing that could have helped his people. "

Kane was silent for a long moment, processing this revelation. When he spoke again, his voice had regained some of its usual strength. "The bloodlust is still there," he admitted. "But... muted. Manageable. I can think clearly for the first time in days."

"The remedy isn't a permanent cure," I cautioned. "It manages the symptoms, but the underlying curse remains. You'll need regular doses to maintain control."

He sat up slowly, testing his recovered body with careful movements. "Then we need to break the curse completely. Not just manage it."

"Yes." I hesitated, uncertain how to broach what I'd discovered in my research during his absence. "Kane, I've found references in the grimoire about breaking the curse, not just treating it. But the price..."

"Tell me," he said simply. "Whatever it is, it's worth paying to end this."

I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. "The curse was created from heartbreak – Hazel's tears were the catalyst. Not just any tears, but tears of genuine loss and sacrifice. She gave up everything she valued to create it."

Kane nodded slowly, his expression growing somber. "And to break it?"

"Equal sacrifice from both bloodlines," I said softly.

"Willing, genuine sacrifice of what we value most. The grimoire suggests that what Hazel truly wanted wasn't revenge but proof of love – proof that a Drake would be willing to give up power and position for a Florence. A test that Viktor failed."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "So I must sacrifice my position as king. My company. Everything I've built."

"And I must sacrifice something of equal value," I added. "The curse requires balance between our bloodlines."

Kane was silent for a long moment, his gaze traveling around the sanctuary I'd created. "No, the price is too high Willow. Your grandmother's legacy. Floramancy. The work you've poured your heart into."

The prospect of giving up my shop – not just temporarily but permanently – sent a wave of genuine grief through me so strong it momentarily took my breath away.

Floramancy wasn't just a business; it was my history, my future, my connection to generations of witches who had come before me.

It was the culmination of everything I'd worked for since grandmother's death.

"Yes," I whispered, the single word catching in my throat. "That would be an equal sacrifice."

Kane reached out slowly, his hand stopping just short of touching mine, respecting boundaries even now. "Willow, I can't ask you to give up your legacy for my curse. For my people."

"You're not asking," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "The curse is demanding, but the choice is still mine to make. And it's not just about your people anymore, Kane. It's about breaking a cycle that has damaged both our bloodlines for generations."

Something shifted in his expression – a softening, a vulnerability I'd rarely seen in the usually controlled vampire king.

"I would give up the crown," he said quietly.

"All of it. The position, the power, the company I've built over centuries.

I would walk away from everything if it meant ending this curse and not having to give you up. "

The simple sincerity in his voice struck me deeply. This wasn't negotiation or manipulation – this was Kane Drake, stripped of pretense, offering genuine sacrifice.

"Then we do it together," I said, my own voice thick with emotion. "Equal sacrifice from both bloodlines. An end to what Hazel started."

Kane nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "How? What does the ritual require?"

I rose, moving to the ancient grimoire that lay open on my workbench.

"According to this, the breaking must happen in a place of significance to both bloodlines.

The ritual itself is surprisingly simple – just words of release and something symbolic of what we're sacrificing.

But the tears..." I paused, tracing the faded writing with my finger.

"The tears must be genuine. Hearts truly broken by what we're giving up. "

"That won't be difficult," Kane said softly. "Drake Orchards is my life's work. Walking away from it..." His voice trailed off, the pain in his eyes telling me everything his words couldn't express.

"I know," I whispered, thinking of my grandmother's shop, of the generations of Florence witches who had built our botanical legacy. "I feel the same about this place."

We sat in shared silence for a moment, both contemplating the enormity of what we were agreeing to sacrifice. It wasn't just businesses or positions – it was identity, purpose, legacy. Everything that had defined us beyond our respective bloodlines.

"When?" Kane finally asked, his voice steadier now.

"Now," I said simply. "While you're stable from the remedy. While we both have clarity about what needs to be done."

He nodded, rising from the cot with the fluid grace that had always characterized his movements. "Where should we perform this ritual?"

I considered for a moment. "Here, in the sanctuary. It's where I've made all the remedies, where your people have begun healing. It's become a place where both bloodlines intersect."

"A place of mending," Kane agreed.

I gathered what we needed for the ritual – a candle made from sanctuary beeswax, water from the lake that covered Kane's ancestral home, leaves from plants that had witnessed our growing connection. Simple elements that carried profound meaning.