"What do you mean I'm a fucking witch?" Kurt's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, exasperated at what Blaine just told him. "You're cute and all but I think you need a head scan. I've heard asinine thoughts are a symptom of brain tumors." Blaine sat at Kurt's side patiently, letting the pale man run through the motions. The motions, it seemed, consisted of Kurt throwing out barbed insults questioning Blaine's sanity. His face had settled into a passive slate of inscrutable calmness. He let Kurt express his emotions, his pale face reddening in shock and distress. It was as though finding out you're a witch was like coming to terms with the various stages of grief. Kurt seemed to have went from denial straight intro anger.
"Witches, werewolves and vampires oh my. What kind of twisted Wizards of Oz nonsense is this. You've gotta be out of your fucking mind." Kurt had gotten up, his tirade still in full effect. He stomped his feet toward the kitchen, wanting to put as much space as possible between him and Blaine. It didn't work. Kurt opened the cabinet that contained his various teas. He needed something to drink; something tangible to hold in his hands. Everything felt like it was out of his grip, slowly slipping through his incapable fingers. Choose chamomile, it will calm your nerves, so you think more clearly, the shadowed voice calmly whispered. Kurt screamed in frustration. His manicured nails turned white as his palms gripped the sides of his temples.
A sob tore through him as his entire body shook with rage. He didn't want what Blaine said to be true. But it is, Kurt. "Get out of my fucking head!" His nails dug into his ears, desperately wanting to scratch out the voice. His mind felt like it was caught in a tug of war between himself and some unknown entity; both parties intent on battling for complete control of his thoughts.
"Kurt." Blaine's voice was laced with caution. He slowly approached the pale man as if he were some frightened animal being backed into a corner. He kept his footsteps light and airy, not wanting to spook Kurt with any sudden movements. He just needed to get closer to him before it was too late.
Kurt opened his sea-stained eyes, tears clouding his vision. He looked down at Blaine, which befuddled Kurt's tired brain. Blaine was taller than Kurt by a good three or four inches. Blaine closed the distance between them before Kurt could look down.
When Kurt did, what he saw made his already shit day get even shittier. His dainty feet dangled lifelessly a few inches above the ground. He was levitating. The necklace around his neck illuminated the dimly lit room, it's light dancing with the shadows on the walls. His fair skin, pale as cream, positively gleamed. Elemental power crackled at the surface of his skin; immediately ready to be released on command. "What absolute madness." Another tear escaped, the finality of his predicament settling in his gut and on the kitchen floor. He tried to breathe but his lungs refused him the luxury.
Kurt's eyes rolled to back of his head. He fainted and the air underneath that suspended him above the ground was snuffed out with a resounding whoosh.
Blaine's strong arms caught Kurt's lithe body and broke his fall in the nick of time.
Blaine held Kurt close to his chest, hooking his arms under the smaller man's lean legs and his upper back. Bridal style. Even though the circumstances weren't ideal, Blaine relished being so close to the smaller man. The way Kurt's body melted into his stoked a scalding fire that burned deep within his soul. He listened for the other man's pulse, his enhanced hearing detecting it easily. Steady, just a tad irregular from stress.
He felt compelled to sneak a sniff, his aquiline nose settling into the base of Kurt's throat. His scent was strongest there. Blaine's nostrils flared as Kurt's delicious smell of honeysuckle and roses surrounded his senses. It immediately relaxed him, his body shuddering in satisfaction. He withdrew, albeit reluctantly, away from the pale man's facial vicinity.
Blaine jostled Kurt's weight as he pushed Kurt's bedroom door open. He pulled the duvet down and he gingerly placed the other man on the mattress. He covered Kurt, who seemed to stir in distress the moment he left Blaine's arms. His eyelids flickered rapidly. He was dreaming. "Blaine...something is coming. I need you." Kurt said amid sleep. Apparently, he was dreaming about Blaine. Blaine tried to suppress the protective streak that surged through him, but his chest puffed out instinctually.
It felt second-nature to want to protect Kurt. It didn't seem to matter that Blaine only knew the other man for a few days. He knew his purpose in life was to safe-guard the man that was currently passed out on the bed. He was so thin and willowy. His porcelain-like flesh looked delicate; like it could be easily tarnished with ease. But Blaine knew that there was more than meets the eye. Immense power lurked beneath Kurt's fragile surface.
The witch he met years ago had made sure of that.
Blaine sat alone in the all too familiar cave that was shrouded deep within the wilderness. The only thing keeping him company was the crackle of flames from the makeshift hearth that settled in the center of the dirt floor. The flames danced with the still night air, shadows spawning and fanning across the limestone walls. Blaine liked to imagine them in shapes and objects, creating stories to help pass the time. No such shapes manifested themselves. Not tonight. The air stung with mystery; Blaine's nostrils attuned themselves to the possibility of change at any moment. It wasn't time. Not yet anyway.
Blaine watched the embers of the fire flick themselves up into the air. They suspended themselves for moment, letting their sparks settle before grasping towards the clouds. They almost made it but never quite reached their destination. The ambitious sparks extinguishing themselves into mere wisps of smoke. They reminded Blaine of himself. Purposeful; a life of aspiration waiting to be fulfilled only to be snuffed out before it was his time.
He pushed his overgrown curls out of his dirt stained face and sighed. When had his life gotten so lonely? So completely out of his grasp? He was abandoned. A wolf without his pack. It made Blaine despise himself for revealing his truths. They should have been locked away in box for safe keeping, away from prying eyes. A box that he, and he alone, had the key to unlock.
As he continued to look at the fire, their flames reflecting in his gaze, he couldn't help but feel like he was an effigy; waiting to be sacrificially burned for something greater. An unfortunate means to an unfortunate end.
A pair of twigs snapped in the distance. Blaine's golden orbs searched out the sound.
"Lower your hackles, wolf." A sultry, feminine voice drawled out. Her Spanish accent was as thick as it was alluring. The last word was curt and reluctant; like she would rather be anywhere but here in this very moment and place. It was risky to come here alone. Blaine sniffed, his nostrils widening. A witch, he determined.
"You shouldn't be so deep in werewolf territory, witch." Blaine reciprocated the intruder's venom in earnest. The witches eyes sparkled with mischief; she had another one-liner ready to be released, just resting on the tip of her barbed tongue.
"Werewolf territory...interesting words for a wolf without a pack." Her red painted lips curled into a salacious smirk. Blaine's throat grumbled, his patience wearing dangerously thin.
"You shouldn't speak on matters you know nothing about. Although witches seldom do. Always meddling in other creature's private affairs. No wonder why you're always being hunted." The witch's wrinkled eyes steeled, her gnarled hands swiping at the air. A gust of wind, which felt nothing at all like a gentle breeze, slapped Blaine across the face. It left a wake of red that rapidly bloomed across his cheek.
"Never underestimate a witch with spectral sight. We see through your guarded secrets of the past and future and all that falls in between. In grave detail, mind you." She paused, her hands clasping together, lips settling into a hard line. "I know why your pack abandoned you, young alpha. To come clean of your inner most desires only to be cast aside and hung out to dry, alone. You didn't deserve it. I felt your fear and all your self-loathing. So much pain. So much hurt."
"What do you want, witch?" Blaine breathed harshly. This woman didn't know jack shit and Blaine was not in the mood for her parlor tricks. He wanted to be left alone. To watch the flames as he always did in tormented solitude. He didn't want to think about his father's decision to outcast his own son from the pack. It unstitched a wound that never quite healed properly. A wound that was left to fester with nothing but anguish to nurse it. The sinewy, tender flesh of hurt continually coming apart at their seams. Blaine's chest ached.
"You're destined for great things, little wolf. Things that will save us all. Human and creature alike. The shadows and fires tell me so." Her black eyes softened as sincerity bled through them. "But you are merely one half to the reflexive puzzle that's constantly in motion. The fates have not yet settled, and they bristle in impatience."
"I have no time nor desire for your half-baked prophecies of honor and heroism. Find another victim and let me live out my meager life in peace." Blaine's tone was rough and guarded, a manifestation of life devoid social interaction rearing its ugly head.
"No time? My dear, it appears you have nothing but time." She gestured to the empty cave. She was right. "Let me show you your fate. Only but a glimpse is all I can conjure. Then you can decide for yourself." Her fingernails tapped at a leather bag that was slouched over her frail shoulder.
Blaine thought about it for moment. He didn't trust witches as far he could throw them. Yet, he had nothing of substance to live for. The vague idea of a heroic prophecies gave him something to latch on to; to fulfill some semblance of purpose. Purpose that had been ceremonially stripped away by his father. All that he truly wanted was a small sliver of redemption. That would be just enough to get him by. Reluctantly, he nodded. He turned and motioned for the witch to follow. Her aged joints complied with his request as she staggered after him.
"Do what you must. But mark my words, if this is a witch's trick...I will end you." Blaine was serious. Living alone and being estranged from a pack did awful things to a lone werewolf's psyche. It left him unhinged and prone to extremism.
"Very well. If you must know, I'm the last of an ancient and powerful line of witches. They don't make them like me anymore. I have no need for idle trickery and illusions. I'm a dealer in the business of fate. And a damn good one, too." She unbuckled the silver straps of her bag and unsheathed a handful of candles, salt, and colored ash. She quickly carved out a pentagram with the candles and salt, leaving the ashes aside for later use. "Close your eyes. Channel your hopelessness and fear. That is where your true strength lays." Blaine obliged, thinking deeply of his self-perceived shortcomings. He heard the witch chant in an unfamiliar language, the air crackling with energy. The wind swirled around his ankles, fawning under the whim of the witch. The witch sprinkled the colored ashes amongst Blaine's meager fire. Light danced in front of Blaine's closed eyelids. "You may open your eyes. Peer into the flames. They will show you what you need to know."
Blaine obliged and snuck a tentative glance at the small tendrils of flame. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary beside the blaze burning blue from the ash. But they soon started to lift themselves up, the lines of flame stretching out into visions; like still shots from a movie. The fire and smoke etched themselves into the forging of a picture.
Blaine gasped. He saw himself first. Then another person began to fold themselves into the vision. He was smaller, paler in comparison to Blaine's dark olive complexion. His features were intricately feminine; like a prized doll that everyone wanted but ultimately no one could have. Both men embraced each other, their golden and cerulean eyes locked together in a heated embrace.
What he saw next, for some reason, shocked and frightened him. The fair boy, the one with the chestnut hair and full pink lips, was running from something. Cuts and bruises eclipsed his beautiful face. The sight angered Blaine deeply, his protective instincts engaging. The boy stopped and turned, his face setting into a visage of frigid ice. He was brave for facing whatever had been chasing him. The beautiful boy raised his hands and pure elemental energy erupted from his palms. He was some sort of witch, Blaine presumed. Similar scenes played out before him, each one more terrifying and each one weighing the boy down. He couldn't fight whatever was stalking him alone. Something vile and wicked was looming on the outskirts of the vision, its form obscured by the shadows of uncertainty. The boy needed someone to protect him. To guard him. And that someone was Blaine.
The fires stopped abruptly, Blaine had made his decision
"You have made the determination, little wolf. I'm glad." They looked at each other, resolution dawning between the two of them. "The shadows and fires tell me you must protect him at all costs. Something primeval is stirring. Something evil and diabolical. It will evade its prison and take the world, as we know it, with its escape. He's important. He's the one they've been waiting for. He is the only one who can stop it."
"I feel protective of him. Why is that?"
The witch smiled, secrets dancing in her blackened eyes. "I'm afraid it's not my tale to tell. You will find out in due time. Until then, I need you to find the witch boy. His name is Kurt and his powers have been boxed away deep inside him. It is up to you and me to find the key." The witch packed her things back into her bag, her breath ragged from channeling the vision. When she was done, she clasped her aged hands around Blaine's bearded jaw, her face unflinchingly solemn. "You must bring him to me in one-piece, little wolf. I have much to teach him as you have much to teach each other. Promise me." Her nails gripped tighter, signifying her seriousness. Her eyes were desperate; as rabid as Blaine surely looked to the outside observer. He couldn't deny her. He couldn't deny Kurt.
"I promise."
Blaine blinked away the memory that led him to where he was in this precise moment. Kurt was restless, his thin body tossing and turning in distress. Kurt was surrounded by the color white; white on his walls, white on his carpet, and white on the bedding. It made him look like an angel. My angel, Blaine thought. Blaine brushed his fingers through the smaller man's chestnut hair in an attempt to calm him. He used his thumb to smooth out the other man's furrowed brow, just as Kurt did to Blaine in the library. Kurt was still asleep when he mumbled, "hmm, Blaine. Need...more. Lay with me." His arms limply reached out for the wolf that stood at his bedside.
Blaine obliged, hesitantly settling onto the other side of the bed. Kurt cuddled into his side, his head resting on Blaine's muscled chest. He sighed in content, his left hand gripping Blaine's waist.
The wolf in Blaine practically purred in gratification. He had finally found his Kurt and he would not be letting him out of his sight anytime soon.
Blaine placed a gentle kiss, light as air, on top of Kurt's head.
Blaine's last thoughts that flooded his mind before he drifted into sleep was of the honeysuckle-laced scent that was explicitly Kurt.
AN: Whew, that took a lot out of me. The plot thickens even more. I'm really proud of this chapter. Especially how I wrote the flashback. Probably the best I've ever written. I felt like Blaine needed a bit of backstory. Btw, the old witch is Santana. Next chapter: Kurt comes to terms with being a witch. Then the journey of reaching Santana begins. But it won't nearly be that easy. As always, favs and reviews keep me going. I welcome any critiques (positive or negative) with open arms. 3