Chapter 67

The cold felt like the morning died in the night. I laid bare on the mahogany bed staring at the large gothic paintings in his room. I could feel tiny cold strings pierce feverishly into my skin's pores. Somehow how, in the cold, I found pleasure in its pain and devoured it like an alpha in his prime.

The paintings were another place of pleasure in itself. It was an old war story. It is the war of Henry the Broken on the island of a bleeding rose. It told a story of a werewolf who would overturn the sceptre of the witches in favour of his people. I whispered the wordings beneath the painting. Trying to sync a tune to what seemed like a war song.

"…and the crack on stone shall flow the blood of a curse" The words were written in what looked like blood.

"There's blood." He said from a distance. His deep coarse voice broke the silence in the room, and what seemed to be an ice-struck morning turned into a blazing forest in a split second. I punished myself and leaned against the headboard as I struggled not to stare as drops of water rolled down his chiselled abs into his hip pocket. I could feel his eyes, but I was scared to look up. I was frightened I would lose myself to his sleek, glassy eyes.

"There are written in blood", he repeated as he stroked his wet hair backwards and walked towards me. At this moment, he was staring moon at her as he fiercely walked towards me. My heart started to beat twice as fast with each step he made towards me. He unrobbed himself, revealing his entire body physique, and threw his robe around me.

"You are cold, El". He whispered.

"huh," I said as I gulped my throat and pulled my tongue back into my mouth. I hadn't realised my mouth was dry and most certainly that my breast was hanging out bare! I rushed the sheets to my chest and looked away. There was a brief silence before he stood to the giant drawers. Even his butt was perfect.

"The prophecy was written in blood. The white witch's blood". He paused to wear his underwear and pulled out baddy pants. Navy blue with darker shes of chequered prints. "the painting was inspired by the thousand-year-old war, but the writings appeared not long ago…two decades or so". He turned towards me. "It is a memorial and a prophesy" he turned towards me, kept a straight face for a second and turned to the cabinet on the left side of the room for his freshly rolled weeds.

"so the painting is more than just a story?"

"The painting was a war story until this happened". Eric said as he walked to me again, this time almost seductively. I clenched my throat as my heart raced again. Try not to let out the slightest expression of intense obsession as much as possible.

"look",. Eric's deep dead voice slices through my ears and into my heart. My neck tilted upwards gent;y, submitting to the chill movements of his hand. I had known Eric for as long as I remember, but this spark was new. He pointed at the painting, "Do you see the head on the throne?" I had always thought what he called 'the throne' was a witch's altar. A large stone with a dwarf rickey tre growing on top. The head of the witch was mounted on the sizeable crooked spike in the middle. "It has a missing ear". I looked as I could barely notice the ears since they were covered in with long platinum hair stained in blood and ash. "l can't see any ear," I said, still looking up to know if there was something that could give it away.

"Look closely; there's blood on her ear, her neck". I soon noticed that the blood on her cheekbone, drooling towards her neck, was only on the left side.

"it could be a brain bleed," I said, wishing I could unsay it. I noticed how abruptly he had looked at me. His countenance had changed, and he struggled to maintain the "love" aura in the room. I was competent to notice. "She maybe is losing an ear."

"She is." He said almost immediately. "Guess what. She had her two ears when she got beheaded". He looked at me. Right in the eyes. "now, the best part. is that the painting changed the same day we noticed the writing on the wall". He drew the smoke from the weed desperately, clenched his lip for a moment, and then released it into the room.

I was stunned and whispered, "And that happened not more than 2 decades ago?." The air grew dead, and the room began to shrink. Or at least it felt like it.

"exactly he said; the painting isn't just a war story. It's a prophesy. yet to be fulfilled". He stood up abruptly and went to the ashtray on the other side of the bed. "so the question is..."

"Who is the witch. On the painting?"

I sank into the bed, and my heart began to tighten with every heartbeat. The room was dark; the drapes were shut against the giant windows, but the room got darker. I tried screaming, but my throat felt like it was gagged with magic. Eric's figure was foggy from the distance he was. I struggled to breathe and keep afloat until I heard the muffled echoes of Eric calling my name.

"El, Eloise".

I could hear him call my name, but it felt like he was far away from me. I tried to respond, but it still felt like my throat was gagged. I immediately stopped hearing my name when I felt a gentle touch behind my left ear. I felt two fingers glide behind my ear, underneath my chin and then to my chest. I felt the sudden rush of life come back inside me.

"urrghhhhhhhh" I gasped.

"breathe, El, Breathe for me, breathe". He rushed me into his arms, and I broke. I hugged him tight as much as I could. It has never happened before. Tears flowed down my cheeks and onto his shoulder. I Was so vulnerable at that moment, and I didn't care. I was almost dead, and I don't know why. We held each other closely for a while then I released him. I sniffed quickly and brushed my wrist against my nostrils. I looked up and saw him staring into my eyes. His dark eyes were as glass and beautiful. Tears rolled down my eyes again, and I reached out to wipe it.

"What did you see?". He asked with a straight face. l had wanted to reply, but then it dawned on me.

A few minutes ago, he replied to my thoughts. "they're blood", he said. Eric is a werewolf, not a gorgon or a witch.

I rushed for the sheets again to my chest and made it to my clothes on the floor.

"what's up, El".

"it's Eloise," I said as I wore my blue pants and bolted downstairs. I didn't know what I was doing, but sitting there any second was not an option.

"Eric is a hybrid", I whispered to myself as I shut the giant door behind me.