Blood of Immortals | Chapter 11

Chapter 11

To perform the blood spell, the caster must offer their blood to Hades, god of the underworld, by cutting a vein in their left wrist with a silver knife. After Hades blesses the blood, it must be consumed by the afflicted within an hour-any delay, and the spell loses its potency.

Only gods are permitted to perform the blood spell. If violated, the cost of the spell must be repaid in equal value.

I was certain I performed the blood spell that day. But here's the question that's been nagging me ever since: Why didn't I die?

There are only three possibilities:

1. I messed it up. Maybe I botched the chants, cut the wrong vein, or Hades just looked at my blood and thought, Nah, not worth my time.

2. I fainted before completing the spell. Perhaps, I dreamed the whole thing, and the spell was never finished. Because of blood loss or the extreme pain, maybe?

3. I actually performed the spell, saved Ruse, and... oh, I don't know... maybe I'm a god? Which, let's be real, is about as likely as me becoming Queen of Wolves tomorrow.

Whatever happened, one thing is certain: I slit my wrist, my blood dripped into a cup, and now there's a scar on my wrist that loves to remind me of that day.

Ruse survived, though they say the Royal Priestess also treated her. So, did I save her, or did the Priestess do it? I don't know, and it's driving me insane.

After my last fight with Alaric, I decided to avoid him for a while. It hurt too much to face him. He didn't trust me-not when I needed him the most.

I gave him everything: my trust, my loyalty, my heart. And what did I get in return? Silence. He didn't visit me when I was in the hospital. He left the pack without a word. I had to sneak into his office like some petty thief just to talk to him.

And yet... I still love him. Ugh. How pathetic is that?

"Aroa," Martina called, snapping me out of my thoughts as I scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen.

"Martina," I greeted, setting a plate on the drying rack.

"Ruse wants you to cook her meals," she said, sounding half-apologetic. "She said you know her taste best."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, she wanted me to cook. Maybe it was her way of apologizing? Still, I wasn't about to let her off that easily. I wanted to tell Martina to do it herself, but instead, I sighed and grabbed a pan.

Once I finished cooking, Martina helped me plate the food. Apparently, when you're serving a Royal, presentation matters. Who knew? She left shortly after, leaving me to deliver the meal alone.

Ruse greeted me with a bright smile when I entered her room. I placed the food on her table, arranging it just as Martina had shown me. I was about to slip away when she stopped me.

"Aroa, wait!"

"Oh no," I muttered under my breath.

"Come sit with me," she said, patting the seat beside her.

"Please..." Her voice softened, and despite my better judgment, I gave in and sat down.

"These look delicious," she said, her eyes lighting up as she picked up a spoon. "Let's try this one." She pointed to the tomato soup-her favorite.

I watched as she took a sip. A smile tugged at her lips, but before she could say anything, she dropped the spoon and began coughing violently.

"Ruse?" I asked, panic rising in my chest. "Ruse, are you okay?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she clutched her stomach, gagging before vomiting blood-dark, nearly black blood.

Wolfsbane.

The realization hit me like a slap. Someone had poisoned her.

"Call the healer!" I shouted, cradling her trembling body.

"She's poisoned the princess!" a servant screamed, pointing an accusatory finger at me.

"What? No, I didn't!" I snapped.

But they weren't listening. Warriors stormed into the room, yanking me away from Ruse as the Alpha, Luna, and Alaric entered.

"What's going on here?" the Alpha growled his voice like thunder.

"She poisoned the princess!" one of the servants cried.

"No, I didn't!" I protested, my voice breaking. I looked at Alaric, silently pleading for him to believe me, but he wouldn't even meet my eyes.

"Call the healer, now!" the Luna commanded, her voice sharp with authority.

"And take this traitor to the dungeons," the Alpha ordered coldly.

----

I lost track of how many days I'd been in the dungeons. Time blurred into an endless cycle of pain and darkness.

They beat me until I couldn't stand.

They broke my ribs with their boots.

They pulled out my nails one by one.

They hammered my fingers and knees until they swelled and turned blue.

Each time I passed out, it felt like a blessing - an escape from the agony. But no matter what they did, I never confessed to a crime I didn't commit. I was innocent. And I clung to the hope that Alaric, my Alaric, would prove it for me.

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