Her Immortal Destiny

Business

Wyatt POV

I sat at a small, rickety table in a musty, rundown bar, swirling the little whisky left in my glass. Finally, the creature I am meeting arrives, his footsteps echoing on the creaky wooden floor as he takes a seat across from me.

"Interesting meeting location," he remarks, his voice tinged with a hint of disdain. "My manor would have been far more suitable."

I chuckle, "I'm not one for creepy old manors. I much prefer a bar with a good selection of booze, over the stench of blood and decay." I replied.

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further. "Very well, did you finish my request?" he asks.

I can't help but laugh. "Would I be sitting here if I didn't?" I retort, placing a bag on the table.

"These are the seven vials of highly concentrated undetectable wolfsbane, as well as seven potions to conceal your scent from the werewolves," I explain, as he reaches out to take them. However, I quickly place my hand on top of the bag.

"p*****t first," I demand, my voice firm. He sighs, clearly annoyed, and slips me an envelope. I take a moment to examine it. Opening it up, I glance at the money, but that's not what catches my interest. I turn the envelope around, and a small ring falls onto the table.

Inspecting it closely, I feel the coolness of the silver band against my fingertips. To the average person, and even some witches, it may appear as a simple piece of jewelry. However, this unassuming ring holds a hidden secret. It houses a plethora of ancient spells, passed down through a bloodline of immortal witches who were exterminated for practicing black magic. The ring was believed to be destroyed, but my research and investigation led me to its current location—a pure blood vampire.

"It is real," I say, removing my hand from the bag and allowing him to take it.

"And here I thought your kind was responsible for maintaining balance," he remarks.

I laugh again. "That's exactly what I am doing. But I might as well conduct business and make a living for myself as well," I reply.

In all honesty, I was sick of this supposed duty forced upon my kind. Being told that we are born and granted power for one reason only - to maintain balance. But whatever, I'll do it. However, I'm going to do it my way.

There was no need for me to be a moral protector in this dark realm. It was much easier to accomplish what I wanted by working for all of them. My reputation as a powerful warlock had allowed me to forge alliances with those high up the chain in the vampire and werewolf communities. Through these connections, I gained access to precious information needed for my task.

And now, this one ring that clung to my finger would grant me access to spells once thought lost. Spells that I could use to track and monitor the one I am supposed to protect - the one born with special blood. This blood had the power to turn humans into hunters, grant werewolves immortality, and provide vampires with extra strength and power.

My mission was clear. I had to ensure that this child was not destroyed by the other immortal witches. For now, I was to simply observe and gather information on them.

My bloodline, my ancestry, was responsible for the creation of this curse. A curse that many believed started to threaten the delicate balance of the supernatural world. Through visions granted to the head of our family, it was believed that this disturbance was always destined to be. My family firmly believes that things must deteriorate before they can improve, even if it means jeopardizing the delicate balance.

It is believed that a new cursed child will arise, one destined to bring an end to the corrupt rulers and assist in the ascent of a just king who will uphold peace and equilibrium. It is my solemn duty to ensure the protection of this cursed child, to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. The present child, held captive by the reigning werewolf king, is not the prophesied one. I have thoroughly confirmed this through my careful observations. For now, my task is to ensure that the other witches do not gain possession of them and to permanently halt the curse. The life of the current child must be extinguished in a manner that allows another child to be born when the time is right.

Once the vampire leaves, satisfied with his exchange, I walk up to the bar. As much as I wish to depart and find a more suitable establishment for my refined tastes, this small location is conveniently situated next to the inn where I am destined to reside for an extended period. With the ring securely in my possession, my focus now shifts to accessing the spells it holds, delving deeper into the mysteries surrounding the cursed child. Many of these spells require proximity, necessitating my stay right under the noses of the werewolves.

"Whisky, or better yet, just give me a bottle," I command the bartender as he approaches me. His weary eyes meet mine, and he mutters under his breath, "Your kind only causes trouble here." Curiosity piqued, I inquired, "And what, pray tell, is my kind?" He hesitates for a moment before responding, "Not human. You always come stirring up trouble." With a dismissive wave of my hand, I brush off his words as he places the bottle and a glass before me. Counting out the appropriate p*****t, I hand it to him before returning to my table.

Being on the border of werewolf territory, especially the domain of the wolf king, has its advantages. Human bars like this one attract a myriad of vampires and werewolves, their presence heightened under the influence. It is in these moments of vulnerability that information tends to seep out. Since my tasks for the day are complete, I decide to bask in this invaluable opportunity to gather knowledge.

As I sit back and relax, the dimly lit bar gradually fills with patrons. The air becomes livelier, resonating with the chatter and laughter of the crowd. I watch the bartender, his weary expressions revealing his complaints about trouble.

Pouring a glass of whisky, I take a deep swig, feeling the warmth spread through my body. Amongst the humans, a few werewolves now stand at the bar, their presence unknown to most. Efforts to prevent panic involve erasing the memories of those who discover the truth, but not everyone can be erased. Some must know the truth and become protectors when needed—the hunters.

The bartender, however, is clearly not a hunter. Sensing this, I decide to let him slide. After all, being on the border of a merciless werewolf king's territory, he may be safer knowing the truth. Suddenly, a werewolf from the bar turns towards me, locking eyes. I recognize him as a warrior for the king. He approaches my table and takes a seat.

"Wyatt, what brings you to this rundown town? I heard rumors of your presence, and I'm glad they're true," he asks. "You know my business always comes with confidentiality. If you're seeking information, you won't get any. But if you need my help, I'm all ears," I reply.

"The king is actually in need of your assistance," he responded with a hint of excitement in his voice. I was instantly intrigued, my curiosity piqued. "What would the wolf king need of me?" I asked, my mind racing with possibilities. "I'm only a warrior sent with a message, but if you want to learn more, allow me to accompany you to his grand estate tomorrow," he proposed.

I furrowed my brow, contemplating his offer. "You know me well enough to know that those who want me come to me. I don't care if he is a king; if he requires my services, he will come here. I am staying at the inn across the way, the only one in this area, in room 16," I firmly stated, my voice tinged with a touch of defiance.

He chuckled condescendingly. "You must think very highly of yourself to demand that the mighty wolf king come to you," he scoffed. My eyes narrowed, a fire ignited within me. "If he needs my assistance, I believe he will. I am known for being the best in many ways, and I have a reputation to uphold. I will not break my ways just because one claims to be far more superior than others. If he wants me, he comes to me. It's as simple as that," I declared.

"Your either brave or very stupid," he growls, his voice laced with a hint of danger. As he rises, I can feel the tension in the air. He walks over to the group he arrived with, leaving me to my observations.

I take another swig from the bottle of whisky. The room is alive with activity - patrons coming and going, the atmosphere shifting as the night progresses. The patrons, fueled by alcohol, begin to act like fools, their voices booming and their antics drawing attention. Some attempt to impress the scarce women in the establishment, but it's clear this place doesn't attract many.

The remaining werewolves start to feel the effects, their rowdiness growing with each passing moment. I watch as a human man accidentally spills his ale on a werewolf warrior's attire. I sigh, knowing the inevitable outcome. Without hesitation, the werewolf grabs the human and slams him against a wall. It's a stark reminder of the vast difference in strength between humans and shifters. Although I prefer to be an observer, I can't help but intervene tonight.

Before I even take a step, a woman at the far end of the bar stands up, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Quiet it down, can't you see I'm trying to drink in peace?" she complains. The werewolf looks at her and lets out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Mind your own business, woman," he growls, taking a step closer to the human. Some of the patrons start scurrying out of the bar, sensing trouble.

"Can't even have one night, can I? Never just a day of peace," the woman mutters under her breath. With a swift motion, she grabs her drink and flings it at the werewolf, causing a cascade of liquid to splash onto him.

His anger simmers, bubbling like a teapot about to scream. "There, I fixed it. Wet dog suits you," she says, drawing his attention. Her words hang in the air, and I can't tear my eyes away from her. Raven black hair cascades down her body, a silky veil. Her emerald green eyes, bright like precious gems, captivate me even from a distance. Clad in perfectly tailored garments that accentuate her curves, it's evident they were custom-made for her. Snapping out of my daze, I inch closer. It's time for me to intervene.

I watch intently as she whispers something under her breath, then slams her hand into the werewolf. He hurtles backward, crashing through a window and landing on the ground. The other wolves rush to aid their fallen comrade, avoiding whatever she had just done. Undeterred, she nonchalantly takes her seat again, demanding a drink as if nothing had happened. She's a witch, no doubt, and one that intrigues me immensely.

I approach the bar, placing my empty bottle not far from her. "Another, and two glasses," I request. The bartender eyes me, well aware that my consumption far exceeds that of a mere human. He slides the bottle and glasses my way. Gathering my courage, I invite her to join me. "Come sit with me," I say, my voice laced with anticipation.

"What makes you think I will?" she challenges, her eyes meeting mine. I've never felt so captivated before, and it seems she shares the sentiment.

"You're a witch," she mutters.

"Warlock sounds better," I smirk.