TAINTED BLOOD (Aro Volturi X Reader)

Understanding

The first sliver of dawn peeked through the heavy drapes, painting the room in soft, ethereal hues. Y/N stirred, a slow, languid movement that was more a response to the light than a conscious decision. Her head was nestled against Aro's chest, a comforting weight against the rise and fall of his breaths.

She listened, a strange tenderness blooming in her chest. The rhythm of his heart was slightly ragged, a whisper of vulnerability that pierced through the usual aura of untouchable power. The weakness, she realized, was still there, a lingering echo of the illness trying to defeat him.

Aro was sleeping next to her. of course, his kind never slept, but the Elves left medicine for him. Explaining it would let him recover.

Y/N gently traced the lines of his jaw with her fingers, her touch feather-light. A shiver ran through him, a soft, involuntary response that made her heart clench. He was still fragile, still recovering.

A wave of guilt washed over her. It was her fault, her actions that had spurred the events that led to his demise. She had been reckless, blinded by her own emotions, and had nearly cost him everything. The thought of losing him, of seeing the emptiness that would follow, was a chilling prospect.

Her species was why everything was falling apart

Y/N became curious.

She had never dared to breach Aro's mind without his permission. But desperation had driven her. The whispers of Aro's declining health had become a chilling symphony, and Y/N, had sought answers, a sliver of hope in the suffocating dread that clung like a shroud.

And now, here she was, a silent observer in the heart of his slumber.

She entered his mind scape. She was watching everything that unfolded yesterday with the healers.

She watched as a scene unfolded, a memory fragment from a recent encounter. Beside him, a healer, his face grim, spoke in hushed tones.

the healer's voice, a soft rasp in the echoing emptiness of Aro's mind, was laced with a sorrowful empathy. "The sickness... it is a part of you now. It will not leave. It will... linger."

Y/N's heart clenched. The weight of those words, the finality of the healer's pronouncements, crashed down on her. Aro, the immortal, the powerful, the seemingly invincible, was cursed with a sickness that would forever taint his existence.

Yes, he had always been sick. But she always thought there would be a cure.

Aro's mind, usually a fortress of unwavering control, flickered with a barely perceptible tremor. A ghost of fear, a flicker of vulnerability that Y/N had never witnessed before, briefly shattered the icy calm.

The scene faded, leaving Y/N alone in the vast, chilling landscape of Aro's mind. The implications of what she had witnessed were staggering. Aro, the one who had always seemed impervious to weakness, was mortal in a way no one could have imagined.

A chill, colder than any Volturi winter, settled into Y/N's own core.

As she slowly withdrew from the depths of Aro's mind.

Aro stirred, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal his deep clouded crimsons. A faint smile touched his lips, a ghost of a smile that held both relief and tenderness. "Good morning, my orchid," he murmured, his voice still a little hoarse.

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her, chasing away the lingering chill of fear. "Morning," she replied, her voice soft and laced with affection. "How are you feeling?"

He reached up, his hand gently cupping her cheek. "Much better, now that I'm awake and with you," he said, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. His gaze held hers, a depth of emotion she had rarely witnessed in his usually stoic eyes.