Good Little Witch

Part 5

"I'm displeased."
Vromme shifts nervously at the words, keeping his hands clenched tightly behind his back as he watches his great uncle.
Ailfrid sits in the red cushioned chair by the fire, the only light in the dark library. He looks deep in thought, no doubt pondering on how to get the runaway witch.
Vromme doesn't want her back.
He's the youngest of the family, her mother had died giving him immortality. He doesn't want to go anywhere near the vengeful witch, not after what she'd done to Druce.
He agrees she needs to die, that her place as matriarch of her family needs to be passed on to her sisters.
The oldest of the two is already pregnant with one of the Mikaelsons sons, she should be ready to bare soon. Hopefully her elder sister will be dead by then and she can take her place as the coven leader, be trained to perform the immortality spell.
Otherwise...
It's not good when Ailfrid is displeased.
"I've called the Lange's, Uncle." Vromme speaks softly, afraid he'd shatter the unnatural calm of the room. "The sibling will be here soon to discuss terms."
"Mhm."
Er.
The shifter siblings have a quarrel with the demon you've taken up residence with, apparently one very powerful, though Vromme has never heard of him. His uncle is wary, thoughtful, and it's quite unnerving.
"Vromme."
"Yes, Uncle?" The young Mikaelson straightens immediately, clenching his sweaty hands.
"This demon, we do not want to cross him."
"Why not?"
"He's old, older then even I," Ailfrid grunts, not taking his eyes from the fire, watching as it consumes the thin logs in crackling bursts. "His family is large and influential; they would destroy us if we brought harm to him."
Vromme chills at the words; destroy the family? Impossible! No one is strong enough to do such a thing!
"The Lange's must be the one to kill (Y/N). We must have no part in it." Ailfrid slowly shakes his head. "It would be the end of our family. I don't know how much of her power she had conquered, if she controls this demon yet or not. He may not even realize he is being controlled if he is underestimating her."
"Uncle..."
"If the Lange's cannot kill the witch, we must back off," Ailfrid decides, nodding his head, thick white brows drawing over ancient eyes of cerulean. "Bide our time."
"But Duglas is already twenty-five, Uncle! He needs the ---."
"I know what he needs," Ailfrid snaps, the younger Mikaelson instantly quieting. "Do you think I don't understand this could be the end of our family either way!? Without those damned books she stole, the magic is worthless! Those bitches will be good for nothing but lying on their backs without it!" Ailfrid rises angrily. "We need those books, and then we need her death. It doesn't matter in which order it comes."
"Do we have to give her a swift death?" Vromme grumbles. "After all she's done to our family?"
"It doesn't have to be swift, Vromme, just so long as she does not blood. And there are plenty of ways to hurt a woman without making her bleed."
~~~~~
You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head.
"No way!"
"Just try it!"
"Nooo! Gross!"
"It's actually good for you, an recipe from the old country."
"It looks that way!"
Angelo sighs in exasperation, setting down the food he'd had prepared for you, an old family recipe that's supposed to help fertility.
Not that you know that.
But he has plans.
Your body would look so tantalizing with a little demon growing inside of it....
Well, first he has to get you to remove whatever spell you worked against conception, and that's going to require a few more years of work before he has that much influence over you.
But when he does...
"Angelo?"
"Hmm?" His eyes lift from your stomach and to your face, finding you're frowning.
"Somethings wrong."
What?
He frowns, straightening from his seat at the dining room table, his senses flaring out immediately.
"I sense nothing."
"Shh!" You hiss, your hair standing on end. You hesitate, then slowly rise to your feet, your fingers tingling.
You know someone is close, someone who shouldn't be --- how could Angelo not sense them?
"Someone's here," you say softly, Angelo already at your side, his hand closing around your shoulder; he believes you unconditionally, he can feel your alarm.
But why can't he sense them?
Hellhounds appear around the two of you, almost out of thin air. You lean uneasily into Angelo, your eyes going to the stone archway.
Angelo can hear shuffling now; although the person may be cloaked from his senses, they are not stealthy.
He sighs, then motions his hand, two of the hellhounds skulking forward.
You stare at them curiously, seeing the veins in their skin light up a bright red as their hair stands on end, making them seem twice the normal size.
You find it strange they don't bother your allergies, but they are spawns of hell, and they don't shed.
You don't believe.
Or maybe Angelo just keeps the castle very clean?
The hellhounds slip out of the dining room, and Angelo listens, able to sense them as they prowl through the first level of the castle.
You flinch as you hear a scream, and Angelo smirks, leaning back on his heels.
"They always underestimate the hounds," he sighs, shrugging his broad shoulders. You frown up at him, crossing your arms.
"Don't you want to know who it is?"
"Not really."
"Angelo, if it's someone who's an enemy ---."
"better to have them dead, yes? And no, I really don't care who it is. If they're foolish enough to break into my castle and think they can threaten me, then they can die. No one is strong enough to kill me, and if they are, well, the consequences will be worse for them."
"You're overly confident."
"It's a perk."
You shake your head, watching as more hellhounds leave the room, shrieks of alarm and pain suddenly coming from all directions.
It makes you sick.
Angelo beams.
He loves a good massacre!
Too bad there's never enough time to bring out the whips and chains.
Or the branding irons, now those are his favorite.
But it's frowned upon to brand your servants or slaves these days, it's not like how it used to be, when they were your property and you could do whatever you wanted with them.
Pity.
He misses those days.
He'd always likes putting the worst brands on the palest of skins, they always stood out the best.
Anywho.
He snaps his fingers, and you sit slowly, quickly reaching for the glass of wine and draining it. Angelo absently lifts the bottle, filling your glass back up as he waits.
Finally, the screaming all seems to fade, except for one. Your head turns to the archway as a hellhound trots inside, the leg of a man clamped in his teeth as he struggles and thrashes behind the beast. There's a trail of blood behind him, and you can't imagine what the rest of the castle looks like.
Angelo tilts his head.
What's this?
The hellhound drops the man's leg at the silent command, sitting down obediently, ears perked.
The man is gasping, his face creased in pain as he reaches for his torn leg, his blood already pooling beneath him.
"Well that's your own fault for coming here uninvited," Angelo clucks from beside your chair, standing over you rather protectively. "Now who are you?"
See? He kept one alive.
The man's bloodshot eyes rise to where the two of you are, the wine glass still to your lips. He recognizes you instantly, it's easy with your red hair, and he's too afraid to look at the demon.
"You," he rasps, his breathing labored. "Witch!"
You frown. "Are you insulting me or...?"
"Do your little eyeball thing," Angelo nudges you, honestly just wanting to see it again. "That way we don't have to listen to him talk."
"Do you know how badly that tires me?"
Angelo actually pouts.
"You act like a child to be such a powerful demon, Angelo."
"What's your point?"
Ugh, you couldn't even insult him anymore.
You swivel, looking at the pitiful man, feeling pity for him.
"Don't make me hurt you," you say, not threatening him, genuinely reluctant to have to perform a spell on him. "Just tell us why you're here."
Angelos hand closes around your shoulder, uniting the two of you. The bleeding man shifts uneasily, dragging himself back a small bit.
"We --- we was hired."
"To get the witch?" Angelo asks.
"N-no. To get some books."
"Books?"
"My books!" You gasp, practically throwing yourself to your feet. You make a mad dash out of the room, and Angelo sighs, motioning his hounds to go with you.
"Who hired you?" Angelo asks, squatting in front of the man.
"The --- the shifters."
Lange, Angelo supposes.
"To get books?"
"Yes. Magic books or something. With funny symbols on the front."
Ah.
Your spellbooks.
Angelo isn't stupid.
His enemies are joining.
Predictable.
He stiffens, suddenly feeling a punching feeling in his gut before screams erupt upstairs.
No!
Red!
He rises, worry slicing through him as he rushes for the archway, twitching his hand. The man manages a gargled scream as the hounds teeth close around his throat.
~~~~~
Now could you be so foolish!? How could you think the books would be safe at your side!?
You'd gotten too comfortable, too relaxed --- they can't take your books!
Your bedroom door slams open as you near it, and you skitter to a stop in the ransacked room, your windows busted open, glass shimmering all over the floor. You look around, but your messenger bag is missing, not hanging on its usual peg by the door.
"No!" You cry in distress, clenching your hands in your hair in panic. They can't take your books! You need them! They're yours!
They've taken everything else from you, why did they have to take those too!?
You'll kill them!
All of them!
You turn in alarm as you hear glass crunch behind you, but you're too slow to defend yourself as the shifter pounces.
You scream more in surprise then anything else, feeling the shifters talons dig into your shoulders as you both go crashing onto the floor. There's a pain in your stomach you don't immediately acknowledge, too focused on keeping the snapping jaws of a bear from your throat.
Your hands are tight around its muzzle, but the bear is hundreds of pounds heavier then you, crushing you, the sharp sting of glass biting into your skin starting to register as you feel your body tingle.
Oh right.
You can do things.
Your eyes flare red as your magic surfaces.
The bear roars as its forced back, rolling across the floor, brown fur becoming stained with red droplets as slivers of glass stab it's coat.
You scramble backwards, only then taking the time to look down.
Uh oh.
There's a rather large shard of window stuck in your stomach, your blood soaking the front of your sweater, your body still tingling. You can't feel the pain yet, for which you're grateful, although your arms are starting to shake, and you're suddenly light headed.
Your vision has funny spots, and though you're trying to move, your body isn't responding. It's dark in the corners, blurry, but you can see the shifter slowly standing, a slim dark haired man, tribal tattoos covering his red skin.
And suddenly you're staring up at the ceiling, your ears buzzing.
What's happening?
~~~~~
Angelos hands close around the shifters head, snapping his neck in frustration, the hounds finishing off the remaining one.
He can feel your pain, he needs to get to you, but there's shifters all over his castle, more and more of them coming through broken windows and open doors.
It's like he has ham bones or something hung everywhere, drawing them like flies.
He back hands a woman as she nears, bones immediately snapping at the force.
"Uccidili tutti," he mutters to his hounds, taking off up the stairs, needing to get to you. The more pain his hounds inflict, the more he absorbs, the stronger he feels.
He's in your room in seconds, freezing when he sees you in the floor, a man leaning over you, checking your pulse.
The man only hears a hiss before he dies, his neck snapping between Angelos hand like a pretzel stick.
"Red," he gasps, kneeling beside you, feeling glass crunch beneath his shoes.
How the hell did this happen!?
"Red!" He demands, his hand closing around your chin, rolling your head.
Your eyes are glassy and vacant, but your heart is still beating, you're not gone. He hesitates, looking down at your wound.
He's not a healer.
If he pulls the glass out of you, you might bleed out, the damage might be worse. He could feed you his blood, but there's no telling what the effects would be.
Plus you don't need that kind of insight into his body, that much control.
So what can he do!?
His hands hover, the sounds of fighting dying off throughout the castle.
Shit!
Angelos heart hammers against his chest, and he just looks down at you, uncertain what to do. If he takes too long, you die.
If he heals you with his blood, he could die.
Bad options.
He doesn't know ----.
Wait.
Ah!
He might know what to do!
Angelo doesn't know how blood witch healing works, if it's instantaneous or not, or if you have to cast some spell.
But his father would.
"Father," the word hisses out between his teeth as Angelo calls out to his father, using his power to let the elder demon know he's in dire need.
Angelos not sure if he'll come, he knows he's not a favorite, not like Ghost or Christopher.
After killing two of his brothers, Angelo knows he's on the shit list. But his brothers had betrayed him, wronged him, he couldn't let that go; it isn't like he'd just started off his day with the plan to murder his siblings!
Either way, his father had barely had anything to do with him, as if he actually cares about his sons. Christopher has basically raised the last two sons their father has helped create.
Horror obviously didn't turn out well.
"Father," Angelo's voice is strained, nearly pleading as he leans over you, brushing your hair from your still face.
You're so pale, and your veins are starting to appear through your skin, thin streaks of blue. The shifters poisoned you somehow, and Angelo has no way of knowing what it is, what sort of antidote to give you.
He feels helpless, a feeling he's never experienced before.
He doesn't like it.
"Hold in there, Red," Angelo whispers, the tips of his dark hair brushing your cheek. "Just hold on for me, little witch. I won't let you die, I swear upon my own life."
"How touching."
Angelo stiffens, twisting around to stare at his father, David.
His father is tall, his blonde hair a remnant of the 80's, all body and stiffness. His eyes are circled in heavy makeup, his ears jingling with their many piercings. He looks like he stepped out of an 80's movie, not quite ready to let go of the Era despite its been nearly forty years ago.
"Father." Angelo straightens, his chest pinching painfully. "Help me."
"Help you?" His father arches one detailed brow. His eyes are drawn to you, a pale corpse in front of his son, your blood red hair the brightest thing about you. Your torso is stained with blood, he can barely hear your heart beating it's so weak. "What do you want, Angelo?"
"My witch," Angelo's voice is strained, he's starting to feel the stirrings of panic in his gut. "My witch!"
"Is this the one Christopher is upset over?" David glides forward curiously, getting a good look at you. "She's nearly dead."
"So fix her!" Angelo seems to have lost all his remnants of calm, he suddenly feels like part of him is breaking --- what is happening to him!?
His chest is to tight it's painful to breathe, his throat swells until he's choking, his fingers clench against damp palms.
He doesn't want you to die, he has too much use for you yet! This isn't supposed to happen, he has plans! If you're to die, you should go out with a bang, not --- like this!
David gingerly kneels beside you, leaning down to sniff. He can tell which poison it is, quite a potent one. You should already be dead.
"Can you help her?" Angelo demands, his black eyes nervous. "She's poisoned and she's bleeding ---."
"I can try to help her." His father interrupts, curious. "But why should I?"
Out of all of his sons, Angelo turned out the most unpleasant, unsurprisingly. He's never cared for another creature in his life, his selfish ways have caused the death of thousands of people, including his own brothers, and he's still rebelling at every turn.
David is, quite frankly, tired of him.
But this certainly puts a twist on things! Angelo has never asked for help before, he's never cared if one of his pets died --- he's never cared if anyone died.
And yet to ask his father, not his brothers, not Christopher, for help....
It's going to be interesting.
Why should his father help? Angelo doesn't know, he has no answer to that. He hesitates, then looks down, his hand reaching for yours.
"I need her to live." He finally says.
"What for? According to your brother, she's brought you more grief then pleasure. Don't panic so, we've time to chat. Her blood magic buffers the poison, makes it harder for it to reach her heart. She has a few more minutes." David chuckles, seeing the look in Angelos eyes.
"She's --- she's powerful." His son finally manages, a lame excuse David isn't satisfied with.
"I can sense that."
"She's unlike any other creature on this earth." Angelo finally says, finding his words as his eyes light on your face. "The pain she can inflict, the way she gives it.... it's a taste I've never had before. She kills so effortlessly, so.... perfectly."
Right.
David props his chin on his hand, gazing at his son as he speaks of you in reverence. He's in awe of you, that's clear, and very possessive. He knows Angelo let you hurt Richard, the second youngest son, to prove a point, David is sure.
Angelos mother had been very kinky in bed, David's not surprised her son turned out to be the way he is.
Ah well.
Good old Lauretta.
She'd been amazing at splits.
"Father, can you help her or not?"
"Hmm?" David's pulled from his reverie, casting his dark eyes at the dying red head. "Oh, yes. The witch. Perhaps I can help her."
"Then do so!" Angelo demands. "Stop wasting time!"
David frowns, silencing Angelo from another word.
"If I can save your precious blood witch, I will ask a favor in return, son."
Angelo grits his teeth, unsurprised. Demons did nothing out of the kindness of their hearts.
"Whatever you want," Angelo mumbles, causing his father to smirk.
Good.
You might be a good asset after all. Look at what you've done to his most volatile son in just a few short weeks!
His father leans forward, his hand clamping around your jaw and forcing your gray lips to part. His eyes flare an unnatural blue as he inhales deeply, his lips hovering inches above yours.
Angelo watches, his body rigid, as a white substance slowly starts to seep from your lips, twisting in the air, the light reflecting off its liquid form.
Angelo needs to learn that trick.
For future reference.
David slowly leans up, a thick stream of poison following him, your body shuddering against the floor. Angelos hands close around your shoulders, holding you still as his father rises to his feet, the white liquid finally leaving your Body and curling into the air.
The elder demon sighs, and closes his lips, the poison giving one more angry twist in the air before raining onto the floor.
Angelo has never felt so relieved in his existence.
"Red?" He demands, leaning over you immediately, cupping your face between his hands.
"She's unconscious; you might want to remove the glass from her stomach so she can heal."
Oh.
Right.
Angelo hesitates, then looks down. "Will it hurt her worse to remove it?"
"No more then you and I. Blood witches are closer to the demonic spectrum, they heal like we do. Her magic will not allow her to die."
That's relieving.
Angelo nods, reaching gingerly for the piece of glass in your stomach. He frowns, feeling it bite into his own flesh as he pulls it out with a jerk, his own blood running down the blade.
You gasp, your eyes flying open where they had closed, a bright crimson as you immediately start to move.
"No," Angelo presses on your shoulders, forcing you to lie back, your eyes glazed. Your fingers clench in his sleeves.
"M-my b-books ----!"
"Don't worry about your books," Angelo mutters, placing his hand against your wound, making you whimper as he applies pressure. "Fuck the stupid books."
David tilts his head curiously.
Is Angelo aware the hand he presses against your wound is covered in his own blood?
Oh this is going to be interesting!
"Angelo?"
"What?"
David kneels, looking at you a moment before at his son again. "Have you ingested the witch's blood?"
Angelo hesitates, but that's all the affirmation his father needs.
David sighs.
His poor, poor son.
He has no idea what trouble he's brewing for himself, but his father feels no inclination to warn him.
Angelo gets on his nerves too badly, a little suffering for the haughty, bitter demon would do him some good.
"She'll be weak and in pain for a few days, but she should be fine." Angelos father tells him, sounding bored. "Just keep coddling her like you do."
"I don't coddle."
"Of course."
Angelo grits his teeth; he fucking hates how his father does that, that cool disapproval --- Ghost does it as well and it irks Angelo to no end.
Damned energy demons.
"I'm going to be gone for the next few weeks." His father says as he stands once more, sure no more poison lingers in your veins. "You won't be able to call for me in your next crisis."
"I'm rarely call for you, Father."
"I rather like it that way, Angelo."
Angelo twitches.
David doesn't say another word, just leaves the ransacked room, humming under his breath as he heads for the portal.
Fucking wonderful.
Angelo sighs, cradling your face between his bloodstained palms, your skin already knitting itself back together. Your wound is just an angry red line on your abdomen, your sweater ruined and sticking to your skin.
He needs to get you new clothes, a bath probably --- some rest.
His own stomach aches with your pain, and although he feeds from it, he doesn't enjoy it. Its like eating a food you detest but have no choice in consuming.
The thought of you hurting bothers him, he doesn't like it. If anyone is to pain you, it is to be him!
Damned shifters!
Damned humans!
Angelo will kill all of them, take them out one by one, hunt them down for the rest of their existence until there's not a single drop of their bloodline left!
If they wanted a war, they surely have one.
"Come, let's get you to bed," Angelo murmurs, gently slipping his arms beneath you and curling you to his chest. You fade in and out of unconsciousness, hanging limply in his grasp as he slowly stands.
He glanced around your trashed room, his stomach knotting.
You can't sleep in here.
But he also doesn't want to leave you in a guest room, not with your enemies now attacking you at his home. No, you'll need to be somewhere he can watch over you more often.
You'll sleep in his room from now on.
~~~~~
You ache, your bones feel heavy and hard to lift, and it's all you can do to keep your eyes open.
It's awful.
You can't understand why you hadnt sensed the shifter, how he'd managed to get the jump on you and stab you before you fully registered what was going on.
Had it been your panic? Your anguish over the loss of your spell books?
How had you even survived?
Your brain can't make sense of anything.
Angelo watches you shift restlessly in his bed, his face troubled. You've healed up fine, you've been awake a few times, but you're still weak, just as his father said.
And your books... you keep mumbling about them in your sleep. Only two of the three were stolen, apparently. The two you've been using for research have been in your bag, the other one is hidden magically where no one can find it; Angelo knows it's beneath the floorboards of your room. He built the castle, he knows all of the little nooks and hiding spots within every wall and floor.
Plus he checked to make sure it was there for you.
But the other two --- you seem more in pain over those then even your own injury.
Angelo has to find them for you.
He figures five million dollars is a large enough sum to interest all the bounty hunters in the region, and already he's had confirmations that his people are searching with all their might.
How hard can it be to find some books?
If he has to get out and do it himself, he won't be pleased. Especially if the Mikaelsons have them; he will drop a bomb on them if necessary.
It's not like it's difficult to get one.
He would have left them alone, honestly. If you had let the subject matter drop, he never would have done anything about them.
But now....
To attack him in his home, to enlist others in such a brazen venture... did anyone think they'd actually succeed?
Sure, they had the books, but without the witch they're quite useless.
So why kill you?
It troubles Angelo.
He knows you have sisters, so would they be able to use the books upon your death? He's not quite up to date with witch hierarchy.
Are you technically your covens leader?
Shouldn't they be protecting you?
Even demons have a mild instinct to protect their own.
Mild, but not nonexistent.
He might protect his brothers should their lives be in danger.
It depends on how sentimental he feels that day.
It's not like his father won't simply have more sons as time goes on.
What a depressing thought.
Angelo sighs, leaning against his doorway. He can't just stand and watch over you constantly, he has a business to run. Yet he's reluctant to let you out of his sight, what if they come for you again?
He frowns, and after a few seconds three hell hounds enter the room, their ears perked and alert. All hell hounds can take on the form of a dog, resembling that of a doberman in color and stature. It's only when told that they change forms, either appearing human or returning to looking like an actual hound of hell.
These three are Angelos favorites, they always follow commands without question. They each go to sit at the sides and end of your bed, planting themselves there firmly.