is it love? Mystery Spell- Love and War

Chapter 16: Peru with my Professor (2/2)

The next day we were both hard at work in the ruins of Machu Picchu. Sebastian had a theory that the ruins were once used for sacred rituals by witches, but we'll obviously be publishing the 'human' friendly version of our findings. I'm busily cross-examining the runes and making notes of the mystic energy I can feel coming from this place and the locations of the points. So far, his theory is proving correct. I can definitely feel the power resonating from these areas, it makes my own magic grow stronger with each passing moment, I can feel the energy swirling within me.

We take a break for a late lunch before going inside an underground temple. The atmosphere in here isn't as warm and inviting as it was outside. The air is much colder and I shiver.

"Sebastian, I think we should leave," I say as he climbs over a crumbling wall.

I had brought the Artemis with me and I feel it grow hot in my grip and vibrate. That's when I felt it; malevolent energy.

"Sebastian! We need to leave, now!" I cry.

"Why?" is all he manages to ask before 6 large hell-hounds appear from behind the ruins.

The Artemis vibrated firmly in my hand, drawing on my magic before transforming into a bow. I didn't have time to think as they launched their attack, I could only act. I concentrated my energy into the bow and magical energy in the shape of an arrow appeared in the bow. I took aim and the dog that was charging towards me and let go. The dog disintegrated. I fired another arrow and another and 2 more disappeared. I turned to Sebastian to make sure he was okay, but he wasn't there. In his place was a large black wolf that was wrestling with the final dog, the other 2 nowhere in sight. I took aim at the hellhound and fired one last arrow and the dog disappeared.

The wolf turned to me and slowly, it reverted back to the figure of Sebastian. Sebastian. He was a werewolf. I took a step back and stared at him as he stood to face me. I tried to run to clear my head but he caught me by the waist.

"No!" he cried, almost pleading, "Ophelia, don't go! I can explain everything, I swear!"

I could feel myself panic. I'd made love to a man who was a werewolf; the most possessive supernatural of them all. The Osborne's warned me about them, once they find their mate, they mate for life or it'll break them. What have I done? Am I know the mate of a werewolf? 

He won't let go of my waist as I struggle and eventually he forces me to the ground and pins me there until I stop struggling. His eyes are filled with sadness as he looks at me.

"Yes, I'm a werewolf, Ophelia," he stated, almost choking on his words, "yes, what they say about us mating for life is true, but I'll only be to you what you want me to be, but I can't be apart from you now. If you want me as a lover, that is what I'll be, as nothing more than a protector, so be it. Just please...please, don't shut me out. I need you now. My existence depends on it."

I don't know what to say. I care about this man. No doubt about it. But I'm only 18. Am I ready for this kind of responsibility? Maybe I'm thinking too much. This man...is amazing...we care for each other, that much is apparent. Maybe I should just take each day as it comes? He let's go of my arms and I cup his face with my hands gently, making him look at me. I smile gently and pull him in for a kiss. He helps me up and we continue our investigation until it's too dark to continue.

That night, as we made love once again, I had the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt light and I moaned louder. I pulled him closer to me in the dim lighting by the fire. We were both naked except for a few thin sheets of blanket wrapped around us to keep the night chill away. I rolled us over so that  I was on top and ground my hips up and down, causing him to gasp. I began to experiment with the sensations. I moved them in a figure 8 pattern and he arched his back and groaned with pleasure, I switched up the pace and movements, experimenting with different sensations and reactions I could get from my lover. He sat up so that he could hold me and kiss my lips. He tasted salty from the sweat and sweet from the fruit we'd been eating. His natural woody scent mingled with the smell of sweat and sex in the air and I groaned loudly into our kiss. I felt him stiffen and contract with the movements of our bodies and my lower half began to tense up. I was about to cum, and based on the pulsing of his dick, so was he. We climaxed and settled down onto the bed. I fell asleep in his arms once again as he gently stroked my hair.

I woke up in what looked to be a large, old-fashioned manor. I could hear a piano playing in the distance. The walls were lined with beautiful oil paintings, many of which consisted of a beautiful young woman with dark hair and emerald eyes. She was dressed simply but elegantly. I followed the music up the grand staircase to a music room, where a tall, thin man was painting, the woman from the paintings was playing the piano and two young boys who looked like miniature versions of Peter, but with grey eyes instead of green, were playing with paints. The woman seemed to be heavily pregnant, and the man was painting the scene of this leaving family.

I recognized the piano playing as Peter's, only, happier...Was this his family? The picture changed. The two other boys were older, and there was a toddler that looked just like Peter, playing among them in the garden. The two older boys were doting on him, while the mother and father looked on, smiling kindly. This happy image was replaced to an image of a much older Peter, standing in front of an elegantly dressed, petite blonde girl with graceful curves, an angelic face and bright blue eyes. They were both blushing furiously in their secret little alcove of the manor. I could hear the sounds of a party downstairs. Upon closer inspection of the girl, I saw an engagement ring on her finger. Peter was clearly in love with this girl. Was this Elizabeth?

The scenes flashed forward to a wedding between this girl and a much older, wealthier, and powerful looking man, while Peter looked on from the pews of the church, absolutely devastated. I saw him, sad, playing mournfully at his piano. He auditioned for a music school in Germany, and there were countless scenes of him playing in front of vast audiences. He slowly regained his life, he began to smile more. He tried to impress someone, a mentor he admired, but he failed. The next day he received a letter from Romania informing him that his whole family had passed away due to consumption. Devasted, heartbroken and full of despair, I witnessed him drag himself to a high bridge overlooking a pathway down below. He was about to jump when Victor Bartholy appeared before him. The image faded to black.

What I saw next was very different from what I saw before. It was a family home in Rome. A young Nicolae was being introduced to a beautiful girl. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself other than listen to their parents hash out the engagement details. The next image was of a beautifully extravagant wedding. the next image was one of happiness. It was a ball. A renaissance ball. Among the guests, I saw Nicolae. He was dancing with a beautiful young woman with dark hair. His wife. She was pregnant, but that didn't stop them both from having the fun. I could tell just by looking at them how in love they were. The scene faded to reveal a heartbroken Nicolae, sat beside a bed in which his wife lay, dead, with their unborn child still in her womb. He rises slowly from his seat and steps towards the open window. He's about to fall forward when Victor Bartholy appears in the room from the shadows and stops him. The image, once again, faded to black.

The last image was, again, different from the last. It showed a young Drogo, begging on the streets of Germany. The next, of him stealing bread from a baker as part of a gang. Running in and out of brothels seducing the workers for laughs. He eventually ends up in jail, beaten and abused by the jailers and other inmates. Once he's free a few years later, he stands at the top of a tower, about to throw himself into the ravine below, before Victor Bartholy appears and stops him.

I wake up for real this time. I'm crying. The brothers have been through so much pain. What about Lorie? Was her story so sad? I concentrate on her image as I go back to sleep.

The image that opens before my eyes is of a very young Lorie, living in a Victorian baby farm. She's malnourished, beaten, abused and used for a number of unspeakable horrors that made me feel sick to my stomach. The brothers all came along and adopted her, and for a while she was happy. She was growing up in a healthy environment until Victor discovered her, and forced the transformation upon her. He took great pleasure out of the fact that she could never grow up.

I woke up early that morning, reflecting on what I saw in silence as I made our breakfast. I knew the Bartholy's had a tragic past, but this really takes the cake. Now that I knew, I understood them all a lot better now. Their frustration was understandable, but it was no excuse to keep secrets from me or to distance themselves from me. I was going to fight, one way or another.