Brewing Them

Chapter 62

"Drink." Callan whispered, offering me some of his blood from his palm.

I wrapped my cold hand around his wrist and bought it toward my mouth. As I drank, I could feel the warmth of Callan's blood spreading through my body, like a comforting embrace. It was sweet, with a metallic tang, and it tasted like life itself. Every gulp made me alive, heightened my senses and healed the wound in my back.

It only took a few seconds.

I moved his hand away from my mouth when I regained my strength. The cut on my back began closing slowly, inch by inch and the pain disappeared entirely.

"You're going to be okay," Callan said, his voice low and reassuring as he helped me sit up straight on the ground. "Just take it easy for a while. Don't get up until you feel better."

I nodded and he took a few steps away from me, allowing me some space to recover. A surge of energy coursed through my body, rejuvenating me in ways I couldn't even comprehend. Callan shot a glance at Dion first, and then at Elijah who still sat near to me.

"Who was it?"

"Someone from the coven. I only saw his face before killing him." Dion responded, folding his arms over his chest.

Callan's jaw clenched tight, anger spreading over his face. "I told you, it is not safe here, especially for her," His eyes pierced Elijah's. "I'm taking her with me once she's healed."

"No, you're not." He rose up from the ground and shook his head.

I knew what was coming next.

"Goddammit, Elijah." Their shoulders lined with each other as they neared face to face. "Like she's doing any good under your supposed care. She'll come with me and if there's a way to break the fucking curse, I'll figure it out, but I'm not letting you put her in anymore danger."

"She wanted to come here." He reminded him.

"I don't care. I'm taking her with me—"

"You're not taking her anywhere," Elijah responded, his voice thick with the same rage. "She stays with me. She's a witch with spirit magic and she needs me, not you."

I looked back and forth between the two of them, feeling slightly torn. The tension in the air was stiff, and there was a furious energy building between the two of them. It was like they were two predators, circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Enough," Dion's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "There's no use of having this argument. Those witches were willing to help, and they were helping us, Callan. There was nothing wrong until that unknown man appeared and stabbed her."

Callan snapped his attention at him. "Don't fucking talk," He raised his hand at him. "I fucking warned you to not come here. If I had been a moment late, she would've been fucking dead."

"But she's not," Elijah inserted himself back into the conversation and said. "So keep you anger aside and—"

Callan cut him off before he had the chance to finish, "Do you want to continue what we ended thirty years ago? Because I gladly will." He reached up to him, his eyes changing colors and turning deep red while darkness appeared over his pale skin.

My brows furrowed at his question and my hands reached the ground. I tried to get myself up, but it was still difficult and nauseous so instead, I looked up at them, hoping they would come to a sort of agreement. But it was clear that neither of them was willing to back down.

"I dare you to." Elijah responded, his own eyes flickering with a dangerous light. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time, Callan. You think you're the only one who's been waiting?" It was something entirely different now—whatever happened thirty years ago.

"I'll rip your head off."

They were head to head now. I could feel the tension building, the air around us thick with Elijah's magic and the potential of violence. The few seconds of silence was the calm before a storm, and I know that once it broke, there would be no stopping it.

"That if you've hands left to do it."

"Stop," I finally managed to get to my feet, my voice shaking as I tried to stop them. "This isn't going anywhere," My eyes met with Callan's, and I hoped he would calm down. "I came here myself while knowing the dangers that were here. I needed to come and Elijah's right, it helped me to connect with the spirits. I need his help for my magic and to further know about the curse."

"I don't care," Callan shook his head and wrapped his hand around my arm. "I don't want you getting into this bullshit. If someone has a problem with the curse, he can go deal it with himself."

"I'm a part of this curse too, Callan. Eventually, we all will die if it's not stopped." I said, my voice low and quiet as my throat was still a bit scratchy.

Dion agreed with me, "There's no purpose for any of this."

And there truly wasn't. Callan acted on his anger and in his own way, he was right. We shouldn't have come here, but if I didn't, I couldn't see what I had seen, I couldn't know how to connect with the spirits.

My hand wrapped around Callan's, and I looked up to him. "The spirits spoke with me, they told me a way to break the curse—at least one way." I wasn't sure if I wanted to share it with them, but what other option did I have?

"What?"

My eyes flickered to Elijah's, and his anger began to simmer just below the surface as I shifted the tension in the air. "Before that man stabbed me, I went into a trance, but I was only there for a few seconds. There were voices and gave me a name of a spell. Mors Praesagium."

The name hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. Dion and Callan were unaware of the meaning of the spell, but I knew it and so did Elijah. The weight of the spell's name felt ominous and dark, unease flashed over his face.

"It's the spell for death. It can bring death upon someone." He said.

I nodded, "Yes, but it's not just any death. It's meant for those who are cursed or have been cursed. The curse can be broken, but it requires a sacrifice. A life."

Dion stepped forward, "Whose life?"

I look at each of them and remembered what the voices had told me. "One of ours. The curse is bonded with five elements of life. Once the ties are severed by a sacrifice, we won't contain the Queen's magic along with the mark, it will be just gone and along with it all your strength, and immortality will also go, leaving you as the creature you were born to be."

Dion, a werewolf, wasn't meant to live as long as he lived. They lived for a century only, maybe a few years more here and there, but that was all. It was the same with Elijah, who was a witch. He could extend his life span with magic, but death was eventually going to catch up with him. On the other hand, Callan was a true immortal, a night-eater, and he could only be killed if his head was ripped from his body, otherwise, he couldn't die.

They were given the mark at the same time, and it had been hundred years for all three—four of them.

I wasn't sure of myself, or whether I was a part of this curse or not as I wasn't even alive a hundred years ago.

I glanced at all of them, knowing well what was going to happen. "It's quite clear that none of you are going sacrifice themselves to break this curse so we'll still have to find another way to break it, which meant that I still need Elijah's help."

"For what?" Anger crossed Callan's face again.

Elijah smiled a distance away and folded his arms over his chest, understanding what I meant. I rolled my eyes at him and turned my attention back to Callan. "He's only sadistic enough to drive me insane and furious which is going to connect me with the spirits. It's the only way."

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