Brewing Them

Chapter 29

Strength.

I needed strength.

Strange cuts appeared over my body as I bled from nearly everywhere. My mind went completely numb. Dark images and flashes appeared and disappeared. I groaned in pain before falling onto the ground beneath.

My fingers brushed against the rough carpet while I grabbed onto to the side of my head. The excruciating pain spread even more. Never ending. A small scream escaped my mouth along with a hiss as my head fell lower, now only inches away from the ground.

What was happening to me?

The bottle with my blood was on the side, the glass not broken even after so many days.

Only one thing made sense. Someone was retorting. Someone I had done magic on was returning it to me, and it was far worse than what I had done.

My skin tingled with pain. I grabbed the side of the bed frame and lifted myself off the ground. Bile collected up my throat, but I refrained from spilling it out, knowing it might be my guts or something worse.

"Fuck."

I groaned in pain once before reaching for the phone I had left behind. It was at the end of the bed. The last person I called was my mother, and it was hours ago.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could barely hold the phone steady in my trembling hand. I knew I needed help, and I needed it fast.

This wasn't something I could brush away, not when new cuts and bruises were appearing all over my skin. My head fell against the mattress as it slowly became unbearable. Tears dripped from the corner of my eyes and onto the cloth beneath.

I held my phone tighter in my hand and tried to find out Callan's number. He knew me well, and I knew he wouldn't say anyone about this. There was too much risk with anyone else. No one could know I was practising black magic in court, or someone had done it on me.

But who could it be?

One of the marked men?

Callan and Dion weren't witches, but there was a chance the other two, who I didn't know about, could be witches.

Fuck.

"I need help," I choked out as he picked up my call. "Fast. Please, come to my room and don't tell anyone." I begged him while the words barely escaped my throat.

When I drew the phone away from my ear, I found my hand covered in blood. The mark on my cheek, the place where my father had hit me once, was bleeding. A chill quickly ran down my spine. I didn't think of my father even when my mind took me there.

No. I reminded myself he wasn't alive. This wasn't his doing. None of this was.

It was someone else—one of the marked men.

I placed my hand against the back of my head where it ached for the worse. Immediately, my hand was soaked in blood and as I drew my fingers away, strands of my hair came along with me. This was the reaction to the magic I had been doing.

But how could I stop it?

The spell had already gotten out of control. It reached someone, one of them, and he retorted, sending something worse back to me.

Callan arrived at my room quickly with worry over his face. The state I was in shocked him, and for a moment, I suppose he suspected someone had done this.

"What happened?" he asked, nearing to me on the bed. His hands extended, immediately going around me. "Who did this to you?"

"No one," I shook my head and laid straight on the back while staring at the ceiling above. My eyes burned with tears as they continued to spill as a response to the pain my body was dealing with it. "It's no one's fault. I did magic on someone and it's coming back to me—I think so. I don't know."

I wasn't a hundred percent sure.

Maybe ninety nine.

"I think I'm going to die, Callan." I whispered, turning to him. Blood from the bruise over my cheek dripped to the side of my face and onto the sheets beneath.

His eyes turned red in uncontrollable hunger, and he stepped back. "No, no," He held himself back from ravaging through my blood that had already spilled. When his eyes changed color back to the blue ones I was familiar with, he came back down and slipped his arm underneath my back. "You're not dying anytime soon." He said firmly, reassuring me and himself.

When I sat up straight, against the large headboard of the bed, he stood beside me with a towel in his hand. The white towel soon became red with my blood.

I unbuttoned my pants, slipping them off my legs, and found fresh bruises and cuts all over me.

"What did you do?" Callan asked, his eyes wide with horror.

"Magic," I whispered, holding my sobs back while pressing my hand over where I bled the most.

"I told you not to do it," He stepped back, his eyes wandering around everywhere in my room, hoping to find something. "Reverse it."

"I can't." I shook my head. Once a spell was done, it was done and nothing could possibly reverse it.

"Fucking hell," His face filled up with panic before he stepped away from the bed. He found the bottle on the ground, the bottle I filled my blood with and placed the mark of the pentacle inside. "What the fuck is this?" His hand were now on it.

Fuck.

"Throw it. Don't see what's inside." My terrible try to get up from the bed failed as my limbs barely functioned.

He leaned back up straight with the bottle in his hand. Instead of plopping the top open, as I expected him to do, he opened the window and tossed it outside. Fear hung on his face like I had never seen before. The glass shattered on the open ground outside, but it didn't affect the pain skittering through my body.

Nothing changed.

"What else have you been cooking inside here?" he asked, turning to me. His eyes were red again , this time with rage rather than hunger. "I warned you about the risks—"

"I'm dying." I cut him off.

He stepped forward, nostrils flared. "Good, it will teach you a lesson. What were you even doing? And on who?"

I pressed my teeth together, holding back the groans of pain while my brows furrowed. It was better if I had just died alone rather than being lectured by Callan.

He stood inches away from me, hands unfolding from his chest. His face softened along with his eyes before he ran the palm of his hand against the sharp edge of the bed. The wood split his skin, and his blood spilled.

"Take my blood. It will heal you for now," He said after spending minutes watching me cry in pain. "But don't expect me to let this go. You're in some big trouble."

I grabbed his hand and wrapped my mouth around the slit before taking in his blood. A night-eater's blood was truly a healing property for anyone, even themselves. As soon as it entered my system, the bruises and the cuts disappeared from my skin, and just for the time being, the pain was finally gone.

My heart stopped thudding, and I finally breathed with ease.

Just as I did, a thunder split the sky, shaking the windows and the walls of the room.

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