The Curse

Aldren clenched and unclenched his fist as his eyes remained on the unconscious state of Violet. Something within him couldn't understand why he was so mad, and more so, to himself. Didn't he decide days before that if she dies, so be it? He tried, didn't he? Wasn't that more than enough?

Then how come he felt like ripping people apart? He had been gritting his teeth all the while the witch had left to find a solution. However, a part of him couldn't blame himself for causing her weakened state; he had ordered the cook to spike her food with wolfsbane, making sure that she was never strong enough to escape him. He even coerced her into drinking a shot of it with whiskey. And finally, just a few hours ago, he stabbed her with a wolfbane concentrate.

She had flatlined numerous times in the past hours.

Now, her body was too weak even to regenerate her wound. A mere flesh wound.

Based on just her complexion and the stain on her shirt, she was on the verge of a hypovolemic shock. And he wondered if she could survive it, her heart was barely beating at that point and struggling even to provide circulation to her vital organs. And as strong a hybrid could be, she was not invincible. She could die, and he debated himself for the first time if he would indeed be okay with that.

He was his 'wife', and he planned to have her mother his children.

But right then that didn't matter; children be damned, he thought.

Keeping her alive mattered the most, and he was powerless.

And he hated every bloody second of it.

He couldn't do anything, unless…

He considered,

'Turn her into a vampire.'

And he could have all the time in the world with her even if she died, but his problem now was the thought of her hating him for the rest of Eternity. And he knew all too well Eternity was such a long time.

He threw care to the wind and bit his wrist, and he sat beside her, taking her head on his lap and pressing his wrist against her pale, cold lips.

"Drink, darling," he said, causing her head to turn away from him weakly. Her brows furrowed together in discomfort. A whine passed her lips as if telling him no. But he didn't care about that at the moment, he would have to deal with her wrath after, and he gently forced his wrist to her mouth.

"It will help you heal faster, don't be stubborn, darling, and just drink it", he said, causing her eyes to open slowly. A scowl emerged from Violet's; she didn't want to wake up. She just wanted to sleep.

"No," she tried to say, but it passed more like a groan of pain, she was in pain after all. She turned further away, trying to push his arm away but was too weak to move. She never felt that powerless before, and why was her vision spinning?

Did she overuse her magic again? Is it tearing and fixing herself apart at the same time?

Aldren turned to the door, glaring at the brunette standing there.

"You better give me something, or you're dead," he warned, wanting to have a reason to kill. Prove she was worthless and he will reunite her with her treacherous grandmother in the afterworld.

"Yes!" Tracey answered, holding the jar of banishing oil and slowly made her way towards the bed. Aldren observed her; his eyes narrowed at her in a warning. One false move and her head will drop like her grandmother's head did.

"I need to..pour it on the wound," she said, leaning closer and pouring the oil on the open wound.

Aldren watched as Violet squirmed, whimpering in pain. His hand automatically found its way around the witch's jaw, earning a petrified gasp from her.

"There's a wolfbane in it, it's for her good im sorry!" she explained, afraid. Finding no lies on her statement, he released her, and the two watched as Violet slowly calmed down in time.

He took note seconds later that her wound started to close up, and Tracey expelled a sigh of relief, and she stepped away. Aldren wiped the oil off her minutes later when the wound sealed off completely. He felt a sense of relief noticing her recovering, but her heart still bothered him. He needed a witch he trusted to heal her.

It was minutes later when he got off the bed and stood by the window; he watched as two cars parked outside the house.

His people just arrived, too late in his opinion but better than nothing. He turned to the brunette; his obsidian eyes narrowed at her. "You, watch over her. Your life depends on her surviving", he ordered, earning a nod from Tracey then he disappeared before her eyes.

Tracey looked down at her grandmother on the floor, and she felt the wind blow in the room. The windows were closed, and she knew it was her grandmother's spirits urging her to go on.

Deciding to put her fate in the spirit's hands. She walked towards the bedside cabinet and pulled a syringe, she swiftly extracted blood from the blonde's arm and placed it in a vial.

She can do this, she told herself.

She will not fail.