chapter 59:Fragmented Memories

Alaric's eyes burned with an unhinged intensity as he stared at her, the words "liar" spilling from his lips like venom. He staggered back, his hands curling into trembling fists, and with one swift motion, he grabbed a chair and smashed it against the wall. Splinters flew everywhere as his voice thundered through the room.

"You're lying! Killian would never do that to me!" he snarled, his voice breaking with rage and denial. His chest heaved as he stormed through the room, knocking over tables, ripping curtains from their rods, and sweeping everything off the desk in one furious motion. Papers and glass shattered on the floor as he loomed over her, his face a mask of anguish. "He wouldn't! Stop trying to twist my mind!"

She stood her ground, though fear flickered in her eyes. Alaric's presence was suffocating, the air around him charged with a violent energy she had only glimpsed before. Yet she took a step forward, her voice steady, though edged with urgency.

"Alaric, listen to me. I'm not lying! You don't remember because—because he made sure of it! You've been living a lie!"

Alaric whirled around, his hands tearing at his hair as if trying to claw away the doubts crawling into his mind. "Shut up!" he roared, slamming his fist into the wall, leaving a deep crack. "You don't know anything about him! About us!"

She flinched as a vase exploded against the floor, but she didn't move away. Instead, she circled behind him, her voice softening as she tried to reach him through the storm of his anger. "You don't have to believe me. But if you won't listen, then let me show you the truth. I can restore your memories. Everything you've forgotten, everything he's hidden from you—I can give it all back."

Alaric froze, his back still turned to her, his fists trembling at his sides. His breathing was ragged, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of her words had finally begun to sink in.

But then he laughed—a cold, bitter sound that sent a chill down her spine. "You think I'd trust you? After what you've said?"

She stepped closer, close enough to feel the tension radiating off him like heat. "You don't have to trust me. Just let me do it. Let me help you see."

His head turned slightly, his gaze flicking to her from the corner of his eye. For a moment, it looked as if he might lash out again, but instead, he stilled. His voice was low and dangerous when he finally spoke. "If this is some trick…"

"It's not," she interrupted, her tone resolute. "After what you did to me, I have every reason to walk away, to let you drown in your ignorance. But I know what you've lost. And I know what you'll do when you remember. So I'll take that risk."

She hesitated only for a second before lifting her hand, placing it gently on his back. He flinched at the touch but didn't pull away.

"I'll show you," she whispered, her voice carrying a strange, otherworldly weight now. "And when you see, Alaric, you'll know the truth about Killian. And you'll know what you'll have to do."

Alaric didn't respond, but the way his fists loosened at his sides told her he was no longer resisting. A faint shimmer began to emanate from her fingertips, and as the energy spread through the room, she knew there was no turning back now.

The woman placed both hands on Alaric's shoulders, steadying herself as much as him. Her voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and commanding.

"Remember."

Alaric's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened in shock. A sudden, overwhelming force surged through him, rooting him in place. His body grew impossibly heavy, his knees buckling.

"No… no, stop…" he gasped, clawing at her arms, but his strength was failing.

His legs gave out, and he fell backward, hitting the floor with a hard thud. His body began to convulse, his muscles jerking violently as if resisting the flood of memories rushing into him. His eyes rolled back, his mouth opening in a silent scream, while fragments of something foreign—something buried deep—exploded into his mind.

Images. Sounds. Voices he didn't recognize yet felt achingly familiar. They assaulted him all at once, disjointed and chaotic, but unmistakably his. His breathing turned ragged as flashes of faces, places, and emotions surged through him.

Alaric's fingers dug into the floor as his body arched, trembling under the force of it all. His voice finally broke free in a hoarse, agonized cry.

"Killian!"

The woman stepped back, her expression unchanging, though her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Watching him writhe on the floor, she whispered to herself, as if in resolve:

"It's time you knew the truth."

As Alaric lay on the floor, his convulsions subsiding into shuddering gasps, the woman knelt beside him.

"I can't make you remember everything," she said softly, her words deliberate, "what Killian used on you… it's strong magic, far stronger than you understand."

Alaric's head lolled to the side, his breath uneven, his eyes glazed as if caught between the present and the torrent of memories clawing at his mind.

The woman leaned closer, her tone sharpening. "But I can make you remember one thing. Something I want you to remember the most."

Alaric's eyes flickered, trying to focus on her. His lips parted, forming an inaudible question.

She tilted her head, her gaze narrowing as a faint smirk tugged at her lips. "Something you took from me... and something Killian took from you."

Alaric groaned, a low, guttural sound escaping him, as if his body already knew what was coming. The woman placed her hand over his chest, directly above his heart, and muttered words in a language ancient that Alaric knew what it was—dark magic .

"You won't forget this," she whispered, her hand pressing harder against him. "No matter how much you fight it."

A searing pain erupted in Alaric's chest, his back arching as a wave of magic poured into him, forcing something buried deep within his mind to surface. He screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the crackling energy coursing between them.

She leaned in, her voice low but piercing. "Now, remember."

The woman's voice softened, almost tender, as she began to guide Alaric through the chaos in his mind.

"You didn't used to kill so freely, Alaric," she said, her fingers still pressed against his chest as the magic pulsed between them. "Back then, you killed only to survive. You weren't… this. Not yet."

Alaric's breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering shut as the flood of memories began to take form. The haze in his mind parted.And then he saw her—not as she was now, hardened and bitter, but as she had been then: young, radiant, her eyes wide with wonder. She stood at the edge of a clearing, her hands clutching a basket of herbs. Her hair caught the sunlight, and her lips curved into a shy smile when their eyes met.

"You were the most beautiful man I had ever seen," her voice echoed in his mind, blending with the vision. "You were dangerous, yes, but you didn't hide who you were. You never lied to me. That's what drew me to you. You were real in a way no one else was."

His smile, rare even then, held no malice as he greeted her.

She continued speaking, her voice thick with emotion. "My coven hated you. They warned me to stay away. But I couldn't. I told myself it was because I wanted to understand you, to see if the stories about you were true. But deep down, I knew. I loved you from the moment I saw you."

Alaric's vision shifted, the forest fading into the warm glow of a small cottage. He saw her sitting by the fire, her laughter filling the room as she teased him for his lack of patience. He saw himself watching her with an intensity that should have frightened her but only seemed to draw her closer.

"You were different with me," she said. "You listened. You cared. You protected me, even from yourself."

The images grew sharper, more vivid, as if they were happening now. Alaric felt the weight of the emotions he had once carried—the cautious hope, the unfamiliar warmth that she had brought into his cold, endless existence. He remembered the way she would touch his hand as if it were something sacred, her magic intertwining with his being in ways he didn't understand but couldn't resist.

But then the warmth began to flicker, like a candle struggling against the wind. The edges of the memory darkened, shadows creeping in. Alaric's heart clenched as the vision began to unravel, fragments slipping through his grasp.

"I loved you, Alaric," she said again, her voice breaking slightly. "Even when you destroyed everything I knew, everything I was…"

Her words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and sorrow, as the vision dissolved, leaving Alaric gasping on the floor, his body trembling.

The woman knelt beside Alaric as he struggled to steady his breath, her voice trembling with a mixture of tenderness and sorrow. "I would have done anything for you, Alaric. And I did."

Alaric opened his eyes, glassy and unfocused, his chest heaving as her words clawed at the fragile memories still forming in his mind.

"They forced me, Alaric. My coven forced me to bear a child to continue the bloodline," she said softly, her fingers brushing over his temple, as if to soothe the storm raging within him. "I was terrified—terrified you would hate me, that you would see me as weak or... tainted. I thought you would leave."

Alaric flinched at the words, a sharp pang in his chest as fragmented images stirred again. He could see her, her body frail but her spirit unbroken as she cradled a newborn in her arms, her face etched with fear and desperation. The cries of the child echoed in the background, mingling with the faint hum of wind rattling through a window.

"But you didn't leave," she continued, her voice cracking under the weight of the memory. "You stayed. You… you held the baby, Alaric. You held her as if she were your own."

The memories grew sharper, more vivid. Alaric saw himself standing in the dimly lit cottage, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. He was holding the child, his arms awkward at first, his face unsure. But the baby—fragile, with tufts of ginger hair and her mother's bright eyes—stared back at him, reaching for him with tiny, delicate fingers.

"You didn't have to love her," the woman said, her voice breaking completely now. "But you did. You stayed, and you loved her as if she were your blood. We were a family, Alaric. For years, we were beautiful together."

The vision shifted again, filling Alaric's mind with stolen moments of peace. He saw the three of them in the meadow, the child chasing fireflies as the sun dipped below the horizon. He saw himself tucking her into bed at night, reading to her from old, tattered books. He saw her laughter filling the tiny home, her small hands reaching for his as she begged him to stay just a little longer.

And through it all, he saw the woman. She watched him with an expression he couldn't name—something beyond love, something raw and vulnerable.

"You gave me something I thought I'd never have," she whispered, her voice like a plea. "You gave me hope. You gave me a future. And I gave you everything I had, Alaric. Even when it cost me everything."

The woman's voice trembled as she continued, her gaze fixed on Alaric, who sat rigid, his hands gripping the edge of the floor as if the world might slip away beneath him.

"That was until you brought him home," she said, her tone darkening. "Your… friend."

Alaric flinched as the word cut through him, his vision clouding as the memory shifted again.

"You told me you had been separated," she said, her voice growing quieter, but each word sharper than the last. "That he had been on a mission and only recently came back. I didn't question it—I trusted you. But then I saw how close you two were. Closer than we ever were. I wasn't blind, Alaric. The way he looked at you, the way you looked at him…"

Alaric's breathing hitched as images surfaced, unbidden and sharp. He saw himself standing beside Killian, the two of them laughing quietly in the dim light of the house. He remembered Killian's hand brushing his shoulder, the unspoken bond between them stronger than he had realized.

"Then he asked you," the woman continued, her voice breaking with bitterness, "who I was to you. And you said…"

Her pause lingered like a knife, twisting the tension in the air.

"You said I was your lover," she finally whispered, her tone drenched in quiet agony. "And I watched his face—watched how his entire expression twisted with rage. That day, something changed. He couldn't hide it from me. He hated me, Alaric. He hated what I was to you."

Alaric gritted his teeth as her words scraped at his mind, and the memories began to shift again. He saw Killian's face now—sharp, angular, and cold. His once calm and collected demeanor cracked under the weight of the revelation.

"And then," the woman continued, her voice rising, "the next morning… I woke to the smell of smoke."

Alaric's eyes widened as the memory overtook him. The crackle of flames, the acrid scent of burning wood, the suffocating heat—all of it flooded his senses. He saw himself running toward the house, his heart pounding in his chest, and then he saw her. She stood outside the smoldering ruin, her arms clutching the child tightly, tears streaking her soot-covered face.

"Someone had lit our home on fire," she spat, her voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. "The place where we were supposed to be safe, where we were supposed to build a life together. And when I looked back, when I tried to remember who might have done it…"

Her words faltered, but Alaric didn't need her to finish. The image crystallized in his mind, cutting through him like a blade. He saw Killian standing there, his face half-obscured by the shadows of the night, but his eyes burned with a possessive rage.

"No…" Alaric whispered, shaking his head violently. His hands clawed at the floor, his entire body trembling as if trying to reject the truth.

"Yes," she hissed, stepping closer to him. "It was him, Alaric. The man you called your friend. The man you trusted above everyone else. He took everything from us. From me."

"Back then, you knew it was him, Alaric. You knew," she hissed, her words slicing through the thick air between them. "You went to confront him. To have what you called a 'chat.'"

Alaric's memories surged forward, almost as if dragged by her words. He saw himself standing in a darkened room, facing Killian. The air between them was heavy, their voices raised as the tension exploded into a bitter argument.

"It was a fight," the woman said, her tone sharp and relentless. "A big, awful fight. You were screaming at each other. And then he asked you… he asked you if staying with me meant you were leaving him."

Alaric's breath caught as the memory sharpened into focus. Killian's face twisted with desperation, his voice hoarse as he yelled, "If you stay with her… does that mean you're leaving me?"

"And you said it, Alaric," the woman spat. "You said yes.'"

Alaric flinched, the weight of those words settling heavily in his chest. He could see Killian's expression now, the way it crumbled into something almost inhuman—a mix of devastation and fury.

"But then," the woman continued, her voice shaking with disgust, "he changed. He begged you. Begged you not to leave him. And you…"

Alaric closed his eyes as the memory played out, as vivid as if it were happening all over again. He saw Killian drop to his knees, his voice cracking as he pleaded, "Don't leave me, Alaric. Please, I can't do this without you."

"And you couldn't resist him, could you?" the woman accused, her tone sharp enough to draw blood. "You forgave him. You took him back like nothing had happened."

Alaric felt a lump rise in his throat as he watched his past self pull Killian to his feet, as he heard his own voice murmur, "Okay."

The woman's voice grew venomous, her fury boiling over. "I detested how easily you forgave him. How you looked past everything he had done. He burned down the life we built, and yet you let him back in as if it didn't matter. As if we didn't matter."

Alaric couldn't meet her eyes. The weight of her words crushed him, and the memories tore at his mind like claws. He saw her face in the haze of the past—heartbroken, betrayed, and watching as he chose Killian over her and the life they had built together.

"I loved you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But you loved him more."

The woman's expression darkened as she continued, her voice a mixture of pain and anger. "That very day, after you forgave him, Killian came to me," she said, her eyes boring into Alaric's. "He didn't waste time. He told me to leave you, to disappear from your life entirely."

Alaric's head snapped up, his chest tightening as the memories flickered at the edge of his mind. "He what?"

"When I refused," she said bitterly, "he smiled at me. That psychotic smile of his, the one that chills you to the bone, like he was already ten steps ahead. And then he walked out with a large black book in his hand."

Her words struck something deep within Alaric, and suddenly, he remembered that day with unnerving clarity.

"Yes," Alaric whispered, his voice trembling. "I remember now… Killian wanted to talk that day. He wanted to feel truly forgiven. And I…" He trailed off, the weight of the realization pressing down on him.

"You couldn't resist him," the woman finished for him, her tone sharp and accusatory. "You never could. You went to him, Alaric."

The fragmented pieces of Alaric's memory began to fall into place, the images and sensations rushing back with overwhelming force. He recalled sitting with Killian, the man's warm smile and soft words luring him into a false sense of security. Then, suddenly, the memory stopped. Everything went black.

"I remember… nothing after that," Alaric said, his voice hollow.

The woman nodded grimly. "That's because he took everything from you," she said. "That man changed your memories, Alaric. He rewrote them to suit his own twisted needs."

Alaric's jaw clenched, his body trembling as fury and disbelief coursed through him. "He made me forget you,made me despise you" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Not just me," the woman said bitterly. "He poisoned your mind, Alaric. He made you believe I coveted your immortality. That I wanted to take everything from you. And worse, he warped you—made you into something you never were."

Alaric's head spun, his thoughts colliding in a chaotic storm. He saw glimpses of himself from the past—bloodied hands, a wild look in his eyes, a trail of destruction left in his wake.

"He made you murderous," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "The man you became wasn't you. It was his doing. He planted those thoughts in your head, pushed you to kill without reason. And you… you let him."

Alaric stumbled back, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps as the truth threatened to crush him. Killian hadn't just betrayed him—he had destroyed him.

Alaric's head fell back as a sudden wave of clarity hit him, the memories unfurling in his mind like a cruel tapestry. He saw it now—Killian's jealousy, his obsession. Eleanor. She had been the wedge, the unintentional threat to Killian's hold over him.

"Killian was jealous of you," Alaric murmured, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "He couldn't stand the thought of me giving someone else even a fraction of my attention."

The woman watched him closely, her arms crossed as she waited for the full realization to settle.

Alaric's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile threatening to form despite the storm raging within him. "What a child," he muttered, almost amused despite himself. "Killian was nothing more than a big baby when it came to me. Jealousy for you?" He huffed, shaking his head. "Ridiculous."

But as quickly as the faint smile appeared, it vanished, replaced by a deep scowl. A wave of anger surged through him, hot and unforgiving. His hands clenched into fists as his body tensed, his blue eyes darkening with fury.

"How dare he," Alaric said, his voice low and dangerous, the words spilling out like venom. "How dare he alter my memories, manipulate my mind, and take away pieces of who I was. There was no need for any of it!"

The woman stepped back slightly, wary of the sudden change in his demeanor.

"I would have never truly left him," Alaric growled, his voice rising. "Even if I said those things, even if I told him I would stay with you, I would never have left him." His hand slammed against the table, the force of the impact reverberating through the room.

His anger was palpable, almost suffocating. It was more than just rage—it was betrayal, the realization that someone he loved had doubted the depth of his loyalty, of his devotion.

"All he had to do was trust me," Alaric said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "He didn't have to destroy my memories, to twist me into something I'm not. He didn't have to take everything from me just to keep me by his side."

The woman's expression softened, though her own anger still simmered beneath the surface. "Killian didn't know how to share you," she said bitterly. "He wanted all of you, always. No matter the cost."

Alaric's fists unclenched, his body trembling as he tried to steady himself.

The loud, insistent pounding on the door made Eleanor freeze. Her head snapped toward the sound, fear flashing in her eyes. "They've noticed," she whispered, her voice trembling. "They know I'm not supposed to be here."

She darted toward the door, bolting it with trembling hands, but the pounding grew louder, more forceful. The door rattled on its hinges, and the room seemed to shrink under the weight of her panic.

"Alaric," she said, rushing back to him and gripping his hand tightly. Her wide, desperate eyes bore into his. "We could've had a life together—a real life. You, me, and a family. Don't you see? It could've been perfect. It should've been perfect!"

Alaric's face remained cold, his expression hard as stone. The anger simmering beneath his surface had not yet subsided, but his focus was no longer on Eleanor—it was on the betrayal that Killian had inflicted on him. Her words felt distant, inconsequential in comparison to the storm raging in his mind.

"No," Alaric said firmly, his voice sharp like a blade cutting through her delusions. He looked down at her, his piercing blue eyes devoid of the warmth she so desperately sought. "That would never have happened."

Eleanor froze, her lips parting in shock. "What?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

"I would never leave Killian," Alaric said, his tone resolute, his words striking like a hammer. "Killian is my everything. He always has been, and he always will be."

Her hand slipped from his as she staggered back, staring at him in disbelief. "How can you say that?" she demanded, her voice trembling, laced with anger and heartbreak. "After everything I've done for you! After everything we've been through! How can you—"

"You don't understand," Alaric interrupted, his voice steady but laced with bitterness. "It was always him. It's still him. No matter what you think we had, it would never compare. I would never choose you over him."

Her breathing grew ragged, her face twisting with desperation and obsession. "You're wrong," she hissed, stepping closer to him. "You're wrong. You loved me once—I know you did! You just need to remember."

"Eleanor—" he started, but she didn't let him finish. Her hands shot up to grip his face as she leaned in, her lips crashing against his in a forceful, frantic kiss.

Alaric stiffened, his entire body going rigid as her desperation spilled over. He didn't kiss her back; his hands gripped her arms and pushed her away with a strength that sent her stumbling back a few feet.

"Stop it," he said harshly, his voice a growl as his eyes blazed with fury. "Don't ever do that again."

Eleanor's chest heaved as she stared at him, her eyes wide with shock and hurt. Tears welled up, but they didn't fall. Instead, her expression twisted into something darker, something unhinged.

The pounding on the door grew louder, and cracks began to form in the wood. Whoever was outside was no longer just knocking—they were breaking in.

"Alaric," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and fear. "You can't leave me. Not like this. Not after everything."

But Alaric's gaze was unwavering, his stance cold and immovable. "You're the one who needs to let go, Eleanor," he said, his voice like ice.

The door splintered, and a deep voice shouted from the other side, but Alaric didn't flinch. Eleanor, however, looked like a caged animal, her obsession and fear warring for control.