The Curse Of The Alpha

5

"Wow...This place is insane," I breathe, overwhelmed by the sheer size of it.

We pass by many gaping archways that reveal room after room. Some are sittings rooms, other recreational rooms and at some point we pass a grand dining hall.

Sire doesn't pause to examine them, though. We keep walking until we hit wooden double doors that he pushes open.

"I expected many of my Pack members to live here with me, while the war raged. So it's rather large," he comments, leading us down a winding set of stairs.

The lighting is limited to small torches set against the wall that alight as we pass by.

More magic, I presume.

"Yeah...yeah it is." Even these stairs are large, leading us down into the ground below the house.

Eventually we reach the bottom. Sire waves his hands, more lighting cast a deep gilded glow over a large, expansive place.

"This is the most important place, however," he tells me, motioning over it.

My mouth dries. What is this place?

Set in the centre of the room is a massive pool. The water is clear, although the light turns it a magical orange colour. It's shallow, with an even shallower bench around the outside of it, meant for lounging on.

"What is it?" I ask tentatively, mesmerised by the sight.

Water trickles from a space in the wall, disturbing the tranquillity of the water's surface. It's the only sound in here.

"A meditative pool. It's where other's with magic can come and replenish their strength with the magic that enchants it," he explains.

"Where does the magic come from?"

"An old spell."

I know there is more to elaborate on. He's electing not to delve into it though, likely to protect my fragile composure. This is a lot to take in...

"My friend has scraps of witch blood, as she says, and she doesn't need to do anything like this." At least not what she has told me, although there are many strange witch traditions she has divulged to me.

"What do you mean scraps?"

"Oh...Well, there aren't any full witches anymore. They were all killed around the time you were cursed."

From what Hazel told me, it's because witches were allied with Sire's Pack, his people, and none other. They were seen as a threat at the time, although nowadays what's left of them are integrated into our current Pack.

Too little too late though, I say.

"But some still exist?" He asks. The hopeful spark twists at something into my stomach, in my heart.

"Some. My friend knows more than me."

He smiles tightly. "I will have to speak to her."

"Just don't kill her..." I warn. I doubt he would, but I don't know him, and I can't be certain that a mere friendship of mine would mean anything to him.

His eyes widen, both disgusted and surprised I would even mention such a thing.

"I would never kill another with magic. It's forbidden," he says softly, as if the thought makes him sick.

I stare at him for a long moment as the information he has fed me starts to click into place. Hazel never told me this straight up, but I think I know what I failed to consider before.

"So your magic-"

"My great grandmother was a witch. At the time it was the most horrdenous act to occur, so when I came along, people didn't know whether to fear me or respect me," he admits gravelly.