Chapter Eleven

Temptation

"Oh, God," Anya moaned, her head pounding as she rolled over. She coughed suddenly, as grass got into her mouth. She groaned and sat up, realizing she had passed out on the front lawn last night.

She hadn't even been sober enough to make it into the house.

Connor was going to murder her. He was going to rip her intestines out and strangle her with them. She hadn't told him where she was, she ignored him, she starved him for twenty four hours, and she was out all night. She was so dead.

Brushing the dirt and grass off of her clothes, Anya rubbed the back of her neck as she made her way to the door. She tried to turn the door knob, but it was locked. Of course.

She sighed and groped for her keys in her pocket, but they were missing. She then resorted to pounding on the door, which did nothing good for her hangover. "Connor, let me in!"

She was still pounding on the door when it opened suddenly, causing her to stumble forward. She grabbed onto the doorway at the last second, maintaining her balance. Anya looked up and met Connor's angry gaze. She took a deep breath to prepare herself for what was going to come next.

"Where were you?" He hissed, grabbing her wrist and throwing her into the house. Anya stumbled backward and her shoulder collided with the wall painfully.

She stifled a groan as she straightened quickly. "Out," she replied vaguely, her brother narrowing his eyes as she spoke.

He took a step towards her menacingly, and Anya flinched back against the wall. Anger and rage were practically radiating off of Connor, and she couldn't help but be scared.

Connor's nose wrinkled as he looked at her, disgust clear on his face. "Are you hungover?" he demanded to know, his hands curling into fists the closer he got to his sister.

She shook her head slowly, flinching at the pain in her head it caused. "Connor, I swear-"

She gasped as her brother's nails dug into her shoulders. "Don't lie to me!" he screamed at her, and Anya couldn't look away from him out of plain fear.

He pushed her backwards into the wall, her head smacking against the surface when she made contact. For a few seconds her vision blurred, and Anya slumped against the wall. She rubbed her head and righted herself as Connor went off again, angrily pacing the room to keep from striking her again.

"You were gone for fifteen hours," he said slowly, through gritted teeth. "Fifteen hours, I had to starve, all because you were feeling extra pathetic and decided to get wasted."

She took a deep, slow breath. "I'm sorry, Connor-" she said earnestly, pleading almost.

"If you were really sorry, Anya," he cut her off bitingly, glaring at her with enough heat to burn a hole in the wall behind her. "You would've had enough class to actually make it into the house, not pass out on the grass like a trashy party girl."

Anya tried her best not to flinch. "I just found out mom killed dad," she said in a low voice. "Cut me some slack, alright?"

This only made Connor angrier. "Cut you some slack?" He roared, and she shrank back away from him. "You're not the one dying, Anya! I am! And yet, I still have to take care of my stupid little sister because she's too immature to do it herself."

She couldn't look at him. His cruel words hurt more than his physical actions had. "I'm sorry," she repeated again, this time in a quiet whisper.

"It's gotten worse, while you were out pitying yourself," Connor snapped, but his glare softened as he thought about his situation. "The blood wears off pretty fast. The pain is back, and it feels like something is eating me from the inside out."

"I'll fix it," Anya said quickly, desperate to make him forgive her. "Here," she said, offering her wrist. "Maybe drinking it right from the source makes a difference."

Connor eyed her peace offering, and she saw the hunger in her brother's eyes for a second before he blurred over to her and sunk his fangs into her skin.

Anya bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making any sounds of pain. It would only anger Connor even more. She stood there and let her brother feed from her without making a sound. It was only when she started to feel light headed did she tug her arm gently away from him.

"That's enough, Connor," she said softly. He ignored her at first, but when she tugged again, harder this time, he pulled away from her and put distance between them, as if she disgusted him.

Her blood covered his mouth and lips, and it was a little unnerving to see her own blood on her brother's face. "Feeling better?" she asked kindly, shoulders tense as she watched Connor carefully.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed at his little sister. "Grow up, Anya," he told her in a low tone. "Because I can't take care of you anymore."

Anya closed her eyes as Connor stormed away. With each passing day, he was more and more cruel to her, calling her insulting and hurtful things.

And with each passing day, she believed him even more than she had before.

~LIP~

Later that afternoon, Anya was in her bedroom nursing her third cup of coffee. The caffeine made her feel better. She was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a Grimoire resting on her stomach. She was supposed to be looking for a spell that might make the effects of her blood last longer, but Anya's mind was still reeling from everything.

She had been looking for a spell in hopes it might make Connor forgive her faster, but she couldn't focus. She was trying to distract herself from the fact that her family history was twisted and dark and murderous. Not to forget that Kol somehow tied in with all of it. It made her head pound uncomfortably, but that might've been her hangover.

It didn't matter anyway. She knew the only answers she could find would be in the one Grimoire she promised herself to never open ever again.

One time. She would use dark magic one time and never do it again. But dark magic wasn't just something you did on the side. You didn't just do it every now and then. You threw yourself into dark magic, you let it envelope you. You let it take you for everything you have because it was that addicting.

Anya had never heard of a witch who had only dabbled in dark magic every now and then. She was sure one didn't exist. No one had that much self-control to say no to it after letting it in. Anya thought she'd been different, though. She convinced herself she would be.

She had hidden the Grimoire under a floorboard, as if it would make the temptation to ever use it again go away if she didn't see it. With the family drama taking up most of her time, thoughts, and energy, she hadn't had much time to think about what had changed inside of her when she cast that spell. Now, though, the silence in the room only made the temptation worse.

It was like the dark magic was in her blood. She could almost feel it urging her to give in, to allow herself the power and the protection and self-destruction that came with that type of magic. It was as if the magic was tangible, an actual living thing. It was as if it was in the room with her, pulling her closer to the book that was just three feet below her.

She could almost hear it calling her. Anya, give in, Anya. You're not that strong. You can't resist. You'll give in. Eventually. You always do.

Anya's eyes opened and she took a deep breath. Just one time. She'd use it one time and then never again.

But she felt good, using dark magic. She felt in control, a feeling she desperately needed, given the circumstances.

Would it really hurt, doing it just one more time? To see if there was anything that could help Connor? She wouldn't even have to cast another spell. It couldn't hurt, just looking, just one more time.

"No," Anya exclaimed, blinking wildly as she gripped her hands in fists.

It was like she was at war with herself, like the magic had taken up half of her, and she had to fight it to gain control again.

If anything, it was more proof that she shouldn't go anywhere near dark magic again.

Anya rolled off of her bed then, and made a beeline for the door. If she put distance between her and the Grimoire, then maybe the temptation would go away. She'd reclaim her strength if she gave herself the time to.

But distance only made the heart grow fonder.

~LIP~

"Connor, you can't stay mad at me forever."

She frowned at her brother as he blatantly ignored her. Anya sighed and watched her brother reread research he had already read a thousand times. She was stretched out on the couch, trying her best to clear her mind from thoughts of black magic.

"I said I'm sorry," she continued. "What more do you want from me?"

Connor didn't respond, and Anya groaned ran a hand over her face. "Please, Connor, can we just move on from this?" she pleaded.

"No," he answered in a gruff voice. "Because I don't forgive you, Anya. Now, will you go do actual work and leave me alone?"

Anya bit her lip. Connor had always held grudges for the longest time, and his curse had made him that much more irritable. He'd only forgive her on his own time. He was too stubborn to do anything else.

She almost told him about her inner struggle against dark magic. Almost. But she knew, deep in her heart, Connor would urge her to give in. He'd tell her that curing him would be easier if they were using all their resources. He'd want her to become a dark witch. And she knew, if he pushed her hard enough, she'd give in eventually.

So, instead of saying anything, Anya stood up and made her way back to her room. She paused when she reached the hallway. There was something she had to tell him, though. About their parents.

"Kol knew," she stated bluntly, without looking at him.

Connor looked up at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"He knew that our father was a vampire, that mom killed him," she explained.

"Did… he turn him?" Connor asked in a low voice, indicating that, contrary to Anya's prior belief, he had no idea who turned their dad.

She shook her head. "No, he said he didn't. And I believe him. Kol wouldn't lie to me about something like that. He'd gloat about it, rub it in my face." Anya sighed again. "That's not all, though."

Connor raised an eyebrow, his attention still on his little sister. "What else is there?"

"He knows who did," she said. "And, I think, I can get him to tell me who did, eventually." It was a lot of pressure to put on herself, but maybe if she got him drunk enough, the words would just start falling out of his mouth. "That is, if you want to know, I mean."

Connor nodded slowly. "Do it," he said simply, already turning his back on her.

But Anya wasn't done. "They… the originals, I mean, they have history with our family, Connor," she said slowly, a little afraid of his reaction. "Both Kol and his sister Rebekah knew that I wasn't only a witch but a Lewis witch just by the family sigil on my charm bracelet."

In a blink of an eye, Connor was standing a few inches in front of her, an angry look on his face. "They know you're a witch?" he said in a dangerously low voice. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

She shook her head slowly. "I didn't- I just sort of forgot-" she stuttered out.

"Here's a suggestion, Anya," he snapped, grabbing her wrist that had the bracelet on it in a painfully tight grip. "If people keep figuring out your identity just by a stupid bracelet- take it off."

He ripped it off of her wrist and threw it across the room. She heard the charms jingle as they hit the wall. She watched it happen with a sad expression. Connor let go off her wrist and stalked back to the table he was working at.

"Thanks Anya," he said sarcastically without looking at her. "For making this a lot more complicated. Really."

Without saying anything, Anya retreated back to her room, her wrist still aching.

Only one thing would make Connor stop yelling at her, hurting her, treating her like she was a dumb child.

If she gave into dark magic and cured him of his curse.

Every inch of morality she had left screamed at her not to do it. The consequences would be too great on her.

But it was a sacrifice she'd have to make, to fix her brother.

~LIP~

A/N: I really should've gotten this out earlier, sorry.

Thank you to: Lady Syndra, Lovely Rain Dancer, and SkullKey4758 for reviewing!

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