Page 47 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

Kane watched me work, his expression unreadable. "Do you need to make preparations? Call your people? I should at least inform Atlas of what's happening."

I shook my head. "If we start making preparations, we might talk ourselves out of it.

Find alternatives. Make excuses." I placed the ritual components in the center of the sanctuary, creating a small circular space where we would stand.

"The sacrifice needs to be genuine, Kane. Complete. Without reservation."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. Clean breaks heal better than hesitant ones."

I lit the beeswax candle, its warm light creating dancing shadows throughout the sanctuary. The plants around us seemed to sense the significance of what was about to happen, leaves turning toward us, flowers opening despite the late hour.

Kane took his position across from me in the ritual circle, his recently restored humanity evident in the way he held himself – still powerful but controlled, present in a way that had been missing during his transformation.

"What do we do?" he asked quietly.

"We state our sacrifices," I explained, consulting the grimoire one last time. "Explicitly, naming what we're giving up. Then we seal it with tears freely given – tears of genuine loss."

Kane nodded, his expression solemn. "You first, or me?"

"Together," I said. "Equal sacrifice, equal participation. That's what breaks the cycle."

I held out my hands, palms up, in the space between us. After a moment's hesitation, Kane placed his hands beneath mine, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.

The words came naturally, as if the ritual itself was guiding us:

"I, Willow Florence, witch of the Florence witch bloodline, willingly sacrifice my botanical sanctuary, my shop, my inheritance, and my legacy.

I give up Floramancy and all it represents – my connection to my ancestors, my life's work, the future I have built.

I do this freely, to break the curse that has bound our bloodlines in conflict for generations. "

Kane's voice joined mine, steady and resolute:

"I, Kane Drake, king of the Drake vampire bloodline, willingly sacrifice my crown, my position, my company, and my power.

I give up Drake Orchards and all it represents – my centuries of work, my authority over my people, the empire I have built.

I do this freely, to break the curse that has bound our bloodlines in conflict for generations. "

The candle between us flared higher, its light intensifying as our words filled the sanctuary. The plants around us rustled without wind, responding to the magic building in the space between our outstretched hands.

Now came the final requirement – tears freely given, hearts genuinely broken by sacrifice.

I closed my eyes, thinking of Florence Botanicals – not just the shop itself, but everything it represented.

Grandmother's gentle guidance as she taught me to identify plants by touch and scent.

The first time I successfully created a remedy entirely on my own.

The generations of Florence witches whose knowledge flowed through my veins and into my work.

The future I had planned, expanding the sanctuary, helping more people, honoring my bloodline through service.

All of it, gone. Surrendered willingly to break a curse I hadn't created.

Grief rose within me, honest and overwhelming. I felt tears gather beneath my closed eyelids, then spill over, tracking warm paths down my cheeks. Not summoned by effort or pretense, but flowing naturally from genuine loss.

I opened my eyes to find Kane watching me, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He was thinking of Drake Orchards, I knew – the company he had built from nothing, the centuries of careful work, the empire that had defined him beyond his vampire nature.

The position he had protected so fiercely that he'd been willing to sever our mate bond rather than risk it.

"It's everything," he whispered, a single tear breaking free to trace a path down his aristocratic cheekbone. "Everything I've built."

"I know," I answered softly, my own tears flowing freely now. "For me too."

More tears fell – from both of us now – dropping into the space between our outstretched hands.

Where they met, something extraordinary happened.

The tears didn't fall to the floor but instead hung suspended in the air, glowing with the same golden light as the completed remedy had.

They merged together, Florence and Drake, witch and vampire, forming a small sphere of brilliant luminescence between our hands.

The golden sphere began to pulse, matching the rhythm of our heartbeats – his slow and steady, mine quicker but strong. With each pulse, the light grew more intense, spreading outward in concentric rings that passed through us, through the sanctuary walls, beyond into the night.

"Willow," Kane whispered, awe replacing grief in his expression. "Look at your hands."

I glanced down to see the cut on my palm – the one I'd made to add blood to the remedy – healing before my eyes, skin knitting together without even a scar remaining. More than that, my hands themselves seemed to be glowing faintly from within, as if the magic had seeped into my very cells.

Kane's hands were undergoing a similar transformation, the faint gray pallor that had always marked him as vampire giving way to something warmer, more vital. Not human – he was still immortal, still vampire – but changed in some fundamental way I couldn't quite identify.

The golden sphere between us expanded suddenly, engulfing our hands, our arms, then our entire bodies in warm, pulsing light. I gasped as it passed through me, feeling like a wave of pure sunlight flowing through my veins, touching every part of me before moving outward.

Around us, the plants of the sanctuary were responding dramatically – flowering all at once, growing inches in seconds, creating a verdant explosion of life and color. The very air seemed charged with vital energy, making each breath feel like drinking pure vitality.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the golden light collapsed back into the space between our hands, condensing into a tiny, brilliant point before vanishing entirely with a soft musical note that seemed to echo throughout the sanctuary.

In its place, a single perfect flower blossomed in the air between our palms – neither falling nor rising, simply existing in the space where our tears had merged.

It was like no flower I had ever seen, with petals that shifted between bloodroot white and rich botanical green, its center glowing with the same golden light that had just filled the room.

"Is it... over?" Kane asked quietly, his voice filled with wonder as he stared at the impossible flower hovering between us.

Before I could answer, I was struck by a powerful vision – so vivid it felt like being physically transported through time.

I saw Hazel Florence, dressed in the fashion of her era, standing in a stone chamber lit by candles.

Her face was streaked with tears as she bent over a cauldron, speaking words of binding and consequence.

The tears falling from her eyes glowed as they hit the mixture below, creating the same golden light we had just witnessed.

"Tears of heartbreak created the curse," I whispered as the vision faded, understanding flooding through me. "Tears of willing sacrifice undid it. Hazel never wanted revenge – she wanted proof that a Drake would sacrifice power for love. That was the test Viktor failed."

Kane's expression shifted as he processed this revelation. "And we just passed it. Both of us, willingly giving up what matters most."

The floating flower pulsed once more with golden light, then gently descended to rest on the ritual space between us – a living symbol of what had been accomplished.

"I can feel the difference," Kane said with quiet amazement, looking down at his hands. "The bloodlust – it's still there, but... changed. Controllable. Not the overwhelming hunger it was before."

"The curse is broken," I confirmed, sensing the shift in energies throughout the sanctuary. "The transformation is reversed for those in the early stages. Your people will be themselves again."

"And those fully transformed? The blood drinkers?" Kane asked, his responsibility to his people evident even in this moment of personal transformation.

"They'll remain as they are," I said regretfully. "The curse can be broken going forward, but its effects can't be completely undone. Those who fully transformed will need help adjusting to their new reality."

Kane nodded, accepting this limitation with remarkable grace. Then his expression changed, a new realization dawning. "Willow, if the curse is broken... do we actually have to give up everything? Or was it the willing sacrifice that mattered? The genuine intention?"

I blinked, considering his words. The grimoire had specified willing sacrifice, tears freely given from genuinely broken hearts. It had never explicitly stated that the sacrifices must be carried through once the curse was broken.

"I think..." I said slowly, hope beginning to build, "it was the willingness that mattered. The test was whether a Drake would choose a Florence over power – and whether a Florence would choose a Drake over legacy. We both passed that test. Our tears were real."

"We meant it," Kane said, understanding lighting his features. "We were genuinely prepared to give everything up. That was the point – not the actual loss, but the willingness to experience it."

The floating flower pulsed again, as if confirming our realization, before settling onto the candle beside it. Where it touched, the flame changed color, burning with the same golden light that had filled the sanctuary moments before.

"So we don't have to..." I couldn't quite finish the sentence, afraid to hope too much.

"We don't have to actually dismantle our lives," Kane completed for me. "Because we've already proven we would. The curse wanted certainty of our priorities. We've given it."

Relief crashed through me with such force that fresh tears sprang to my eyes – tears of joy this time, not sacrifice. "We can keep the sanctuary. Keep helping people. Just without the curse hanging over everything."

Kane's smile was unlike any expression I'd seen on his face before – open, unguarded, genuinely joyful. "And Drake Orchards can continue producing fruit rather than just blood substitutes."

"Though the blood substitutes might still be helpful for those fully transformed," I pointed out, my mind already racing with possibilities.

"A joint venture," Kane suggested, his eyes never leaving mine. "Drake and Florence working together rather than apart. As it always should have been."

The vision of our combined businesses – his resources and my botanical knowledge creating something neither of us could have built alone – felt right in a way few things ever had. Not just practical but meaningful, a true mending of the break that had occurred generations ago.

"Partners," I agreed softly.

"In all things," Kane added, his meaning clear.

The mate bond hummed with renewed strength, no longer complicated by curse or conflict. I could feel it more clearly now – a connection that wasn't forced upon us but chosen, strengthened by what we'd just experienced together.

The floating flower between us had taken root in the candle wax, growing even as we watched, its unique petals opening fully to reveal a center that glowed with that same golden light.

A physical manifestation of what had been created between our bloodlines – not just the breaking of a curse, but the beginning of something new.

"What do we call it?" I asked, gesturing to the impossible flower.

Kane considered for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Reconciliation," he suggested. "A living symbol of bloodlines mended."

"Reconciliation," I repeated, feeling the rightness of the name. "The first of its kind."

"But not the last," Kane said, his hand finally, deliberately taking mine across the ritual space. "Just the beginning of what we can create together."

His touch sent warmth spreading up my arm – not the disorienting fire of our first contact but something steadier, deeper, more sustainable. The bond hummed steadily, no longer fighting against the curse but flowing freely, connecting rather than constraining.

Outside the sanctuary, I could sense the world already changing – transformed vampires returning to themselves across Haven's Cross, the magical shockwave of the broken curse spreading outward to affect all it had touched.

There would be challenges ahead – helping the fully transformed adjust, integrating our businesses, finding our way forward as partners rather than reluctant allies.

But in this moment, with Kane's hand in mine and the Reconciliation flower blooming between us, those challenges felt like opportunities rather than obstacles.

The curse that had defined both our bloodlines for generations was broken, not through force or domination, but through willing sacrifice and genuine tears.

Hazel Florence had created the curse from heartbreak, waiting generations for a Drake who would choose love over power. Kane Drake had finally passed the test that Viktor had failed, proving that some things – some people – were worth sacrificing everything for.

And I had discovered that sometimes, the greatest power comes not from holding tightly to legacy, but from being willing to let it go for the right reasons.