Chapter 12: Maximus: (2) His Bride

–Maximus–

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She had Demetrius at sixteen, and next is Sylus at eighteen. Followed by Ophelia at twenty. We were so happy despite the war and everything. We are living in a happy family, but there were people who betrayed us. To protect my family and my kingdom, I have to do something. We were outnumbered, and my wife had done everything to protect our children, to keep them from being a sacrifice or a trade.

I made a pact with a devil, and here I am, an immortal who can’t die and can do magic and illusions. It’s an agreement with the devil, and with that, he was also lifted from being confined in that dark cave.

When my children turned into adults after we lost my wife, they made a choice to always be with me and drank my blood for their immortality. They had their own gifts. We might be the first ones to turn into immortals. And feed from blood to fill us, and to keep us alive. But I did it to survive, and I was too late. Too late. They killed my wife and cursed her by that ancient witch.

And that curse made us pay every twenty years. Every twenty years, she’ll die and be reborn, again and again. Tortured, violated, defiled… every bad thing that could happen to a person. She felt it. She experienced it. She’s the sacrifice for that mistake.

That witch might be evil, but I become the devil. And I don’t regret any of it, for the sake of our children and to save my only love.

Until now, I am still hunting for that witch. I know that she became an immortal, too. Too powerful that even I can’t handle. Still on her revenge.

She cursed my wife to die over and over again in every lifetime.

She cursed my wife when it was her greed that ruined her and killed her son.

Even though she cursed my wife, I was also returning that curse every twenty years. My sons and my daughter work for it every twenty years as we bury their mother over and over again.

I waited and waited. Maybe hours had passed. I headed to my wife’s room. Red lights, and she’s sleeping, cuddled to Ophelia. My daughter doesn't really sleep, but she sounded like snoring next to her mother.

I tilted my head and crossed my arms. They sleep the same.

“Mamá…” Ophelia, in her five-year-old form, snuggled up to Alexandria.

I carefully lifted the sheet to check on her ankle. It had a clean bandage now for the support. I caressed her hair as she mumbled something in her sleep and hugged Ophelia like she was some kind of doll.

I wanted to print this moment right in my head and never forget it. But then, there’s a Polaroid by the bedside and so I reached it and snapped a photo of them. I smiled, and Ophelia woke up, glaring at me. She waved her hand at me, waving me to get out, and she smiled and hugged Alexandria.

My spoiled little one is already taking my wife away from me.

I should be jealous. Damn, I am jealous that my wife is cuddling with my daughter and not me.

I shouldn’t be jealous. Ophelia is our daughter.

But I don’t want to just stay away. I want her. And I’ll have her.