Iris: Child of prophecy

Thirty eight.

"That's not very helpful," I shook my head. "So you love me now until I die and you come back with another mate?"

"And what makes you think you're not the last?" he asked.

"Unless you know something I don't, that's wishful thinking." I frowned.

"Babe, the only reason I keep coming back is because of the curse on me from the father of both our mothers, remember he cursed me while I was still in my mother's womb. To be alone, my mother always finds a way to prevent that from happening." He said, walking towards me. "Every reincarnation, I was destined to kill my mother's sister, Mother West. But I could never even come close, so I'm reincarnated to be alone, to suffer. Mother always ensures I'm not alone. But this time I'm not the only one destined to end the life and tyranny of Mother west. You have that destiny as well. I believe if we succeed, I won't have a reason to come back anymore." He gave me a weak smile of assurance.

It made me mad. I was full of an inexplicable sense of rage. "If?! Damn you Malik!" I yelled.

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What now? What did I say wrong?" He asked.

"Everything about this is wrong, look I understand that you can't change your past, nor can you be sorry for it. But I just can't get over this intense anger I feel, so get out!" I pointed to the stairs he carried me down.

"Iris," his voice came out firm, but his eyes betrayed the command. He was silently pleading. His pride refused him the liberty to do it with words.

I held his eyes for a moment, the dark blue irises stained with electric blue hues. It surprised me sometimes how balanced he was with his wolf. Now, after realizing that even his wolf's side was pleading along with his humanity, I almost caved in and let him hold me. But unlike him, my wolf was in no way close to controlling my emotions and decisions the way it was for other werewolves. I could sense Malik and the need to be close to him. It was way worse now that we were mated. Everything aroused me. It was a wonder how he managed to control himself. It couldn't be easy.

A small voice in my head told me he has had more than sufficient practice in his past lives. It made me all the more confident in kicking him out.

"Just go, I have to check these jars. If I'm ever to get rid of this devastating headache you've dropped on me, so please just leave." I looked away, afraid my will would break. He got up and walked out without saying another word. I bit back the tears that threatened to fall, wiping the one that had already stained my face with the back of my hand.

I wiped my palms on the sweats I wore and set to work. I started with the jars on the shelf closest to me. It was funny all the strange things I saw in the jars.

Over the years, people had become more and more knowledgeable about magic and witches, but it was still so funny and sad the things they were willing to believe stopped magic or hurt witches. But then again, fear is really a nasty thing. Malik was wise to ask me first because if he had gone against witches with these things, I don't even want to think of the consequences.

Most of the stuff here was crap, anyway. I found some herbs that would be helpful though: beetroot, which helps when someone is under the influence of a hallucination spell, but a weak one.

Then some mistletoe: if I can remember that Poppy's poison, she can't pass anywhere that has mistletoe dust around it. She detests the plant.

As I made my way to the next shelf, I came to a screeching halt. Something was off about this area. The entire room had always felt off but this... There was something here that was strong and full of magic. Natural magic, the kind that feels preternatural. As I made my way closer, I had to cover my nose. The air smelled pungent, and it burned my lungs.

Still, amidst all the warning signals flashing, I was curious as to what it could be that was causing me to react in such a vicious way. It wasn't normal, I could tell from the irritating magic that rolled off it.

I went through the jars on the shelf in haste because I was holding my breath. In an instant, I threw down like three jars on instinct when I touched one and it burned my palm. I hissed as the pain pinched into my skin, but it was not even close to what awaited me. Immediately, the jars broke. I saw what was causing my discomfort, and I immediately regretted shoving the jars down. I tried to get away, but it was too late and I was already exposed.

There are two people that mother warned us about. They possessed a power that frightened even mother, the mage king, and his earthy magic, magic that seemed pure and innocent to the world. It was pungent and toxic to us witches. Then the catholic priest, a kind and frail-looking man possessed a power that surpassed all the rest. I didn't understand how he got the power, nor did I really care. We learned a long time to stay away from him and his followers, the Christians. But even though I was not faced with the Catholic priest, the mage king's magic burned thick and strong.

In that little piece of paper laid a talisman that gripped my magic in an attempt to tear it out of me. A few moments later, I fell to the ground as convulsions seized me. I seized and roamed at my mouth as the spell on the talisman wafted with a burning sensation through my nose, scraping and tearing my magic away. It desperately tried to cling on, making it harder on my body. Through all this I was conscious, with every chunk torn off me, my body replaced it and even as I continued to seize, biting down on my tongue, I couldn't cut it because it healed as soon as it was injured so I couldn't really die.

So I lay there in agony as I continued to fight for my life. Each time I think that nothing could be more painful. Each time I fall into these instances that keep ensuring I fall into such pain that makes it hard for me to even exist.

I tried to scream for help, but my teeth were chattering non-stop. I just shut my eyes, feeling moisture down the sides of my head, praying that someone would come and save me because I didn't know how much more of the pain I could take.