Dark!Sorcerer!EnglandXReader p.15 ~ Brushstroke

                Walking to the front door you shut it.  Someone needed to explain this to you, and for that, you nominated Arthur. 

 

    “What was that?” You asked taking the rag off the coffee table that had had ice wrapped in it.  A few pieces remained, and the rag was wet and cold.  You sat next to Arthur, who instinctually pulled away from you.  Moving the rag over his cheek, you wiped the oozing blood from the side of his face. 

     

    “It was a demon,” Arthur said, wincing from the cold contact on his skin.  “Those were the walking dead in the cemetery.  They’re going to keep coming until I get my Great-Great Grandfather’s book and I can read a spell aloud.”

     

    You nodded, not losing contact with the gash over his eye that was a purple mess.  “I only wish I knew where they went.” You said with regret.  Something was off, and you could feel it, and it would be a good idea to keep those books tucked away until you knew what this feeling was.  “I’m sure we’ll find them.”

     

    Arthur grinned.  You were falling quicker than snow in December, or so he thought.  “I can’t guarantee that they won’t be back tonight.”  He reflected on the threat made by the demon, knowing that if Ivan felt that he would stray, they would send more.  But demons, without the help of a portal, only had a few moments on this plane.  Although a few minutes is all it would take to drag Arthur to the bowels of Hell, and it would be as if he never existed.  And not many sorcerers or witches could stay alive long enough to open one, or they would be picked off by the dead before they had the first line uttered.

     

    Pulling the bandages and antiseptic off the table, you scoffed.  “Seems like a good thing I didn’t put these away yet.”  Unwrapping the bandage around his hand, you were surprised the see the wound was nearly healed, even if Allistor’s bite had only happened this morning.  “Quick healer?”

     

    “Always have been,” he whispered.    

     

    “What made them come after you? And me, for that matter?”  You cleaned his wounds; the heat from your hands radiated and made him shiver with anticipation.

     

    “It’s a tragic story, love.  My Great-Great Grandfather was a powerful sorcerer, one skilled in magic like no other.  There wasn’t a spell he couldn’t perform, nor a witch or warlock that could match him.”  He watched you tucked the large bandage around the wound on his arm and move away from him. 

     

    You had heard this story before, but you stayed seated and quietly listened.  What had thought was spun tale of your granny’s, was turning out to be true. 

     

    “His brother was infected first,” he sounded so heartfelt now, like it happened to him.  “It was his second oldest brother.  He was skilled in the dark arts, even before his soul was taken by the demon.  Even knowing the arts so well, he had never been tempted to dabble in the side of evil.  When the demon came to his brother, he told him that he would have power unlike any other.”  Arthur took a long and heated breath.  “His brother didn’t falter.  The demon, on the other hand, wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

     

    You hadn’t heard this part and you leaned forward intent with learning more.

     

    “He infected him, and the demon he placed inside him, was slowly driving him mad.  His brother tried everything to stop the hold of evil.  He was afraid to tell his friends and family, even his lovely young wife.  He turned to the only other person that he hoped could help him.  And the only way that person could help was to kill him.  But that demon, inside him, needed a place to go.  It seemed that the sorcerer, so skilled in magic, wasn’t strong enough to fight it off.  The promise of power and riches tainted him and he made a pack with the devil himself.” 

     

    “Then what is the curse?”

     

     “That thing, the devil he sold himself too, wants the ones with power.” 

     

    “You’ve got power?”  You asked, unsure of what he meant exactly by the word he used.

     

    “Not that I know of…” he shrugged, “…but, before my father died, he told me about the book.  They might be the only way to save myself.  The demon hadn’t showed, or at least to my knowledge, but he came for my father, and he said that he’d be coming for me next.”

     

    “His name was Arthur, too, your Great-Great Grandfather?”

     

    “Aye, I inherited his name sake and the curse that has followed my family.”

     

    You held his gaze.  You couldn’t read him, yet he seemed like an opened book.  He could see it around you, although you thought he was trying to mentally battle you.  It was the soft glow that cloaked you in impossible magic.  You were trying to read him, even if you didn’t know what you did.  Like any good witch, you had learned that, but never knew you had the power.  Unlike a simple mortal, a person with the ability could change their aura and mask the truth. A witch knew how to play those cards when dealt, and this hand was a full house. 

     

    It zapped you, like a static charge. Your (e/c) eyes widen, and your brows rose.  “Well, Arthur, it seems that we were meant to meet?”

     

    He scoffed and grinned. “Meant to meet or not, putting you in this type of danger is the last thing on my to-do list.” 

     

    A snickered burst forth, and another.   The laughter wasn’t hysteria, but true mirth. Arthur could feel his own lips twitch in response.  You found amusement here.  He then knew what Ivan had meant. 

     

    Your stare collided with his and your laughter died, sharp and quick. 

     

    You looked away, arching your back, and rolled your shoulders, like stretching out a kink.  The movements pulled the light fabric of your shirt tight across your chest.  He could see the outline of your lacy bra etching its pattern in the cloth.  His watch dropped to your hands that moved to your lap and folded. 

     

    Ivan had warned him.

     

    “I feel tired, and…” you stood for the sofa.  “…and I think…” you glanced at the clock on the wall and scowled.  It was close to four in the morning.  “I’ll show you to your room.”  You exhaled sharply, worrying what might happen if you were to let him stay here.  Nonetheless, if you had let him leave, only heaven knew what would happen. 

     

    You spotted your bag handle, from behind the sofa.  Snagging it, you pulled it free and held it close to your body.  It would be tucked away safely in your room, until you knew what was really going on. 

     

    He followed you up the stairs, your hand running up the banister.  You glanced over your shoulder at the man that stared right back at you.  You were nervous, and with good reason, you couldn’t send him away.  Even if you had given him the choice, you would have begged that he stay.

     

    Because this man had just saved you from a demon. 

     

    A demon. Something you thought never existed, but for stories told by your granny, was in your front yard.  Although faint memories of things that hid in the shadows of the yard in younger years sat in your mind.  Little creatures that crawled up the walls and tucked themselves into closets had once been a fear.  They had been real; at least your younger self had believed it.  Now bigger versions, that were just as real, were here.   

     

    You sighed.  Standing in the middle of the hallway, you pushed on the door that hadn’t been used in years.  Later, you would find another time to ask your questions.  Your mind was exhausted and so was your body, once the bolt of energy wore off, you wanted sleep.  Arthur knew the real reason, using spells you weren’t accustomed too, drained you.  That is why your granny, no doubt, had taught you that spell before you went to bed.  After reciting it, you would pass out and be none the wiser.

     

    Standing outside the door, you ran your hand over the wall inside until you found the light switch.  The dusty room filled with light and you dared to look inside. 

     

    “I’m sorry, love.” Arthur finally said, once you stepped inside, accosted by the musty smell.  “The last thing I wanted to do was get you involved with a demon tonight.” Part of that was the truth.  Arthur wanted you for himself first. 

     

    He looked around the room with faded yellow wallpaper.  The dresser was covered in thick grime along with the headboards of the two single beds.  No pictures on the walls of this room, so this was the first time he had the pleasure of seeing it.  It was nothing special, just one of the rooms Lucinda had used when she fostered orphaned children. 

     

    “I’m right across the hall,” you muttered, avoiding eye contact with him.  “So, if you need anything, just knock.”

     

    Shutting the door, he heard your bedroom door quietly close.  He pulled the stain shirt over his head, and carefully folded it. 

     

    “I need…” he sat on the bed, holding onto the shirt, looking at the small droplets of dried blood.  The bed squeaked as he shifted his weight. 

     

    The bed next to him groaned and creaked, and he looked over his shoulder.  “Ivan.”

     

    “Don’t think about a protection spell, Arthur.  It would only hurt you in the long run.”  Ivan said, his long legs stretched out as he lounged on the bed that looked like it might snap from his weight. 

     

    “So, your friend told me that the fates…”

     

    “…changed their minds.  Fate is always fleeting. Each moment a new path is made.”  Ivan smirked grimly in acknowledgement, looking over at the bare-chested man.  “She’s strong, Arthur.  She rambled off a simple spell, but kept that demon away.”

     

    “I know.”

     

    “Well, since the fates have told me that your loyalty lies with your master,” his lips turned upward.  “I’ll let you play this little game of yours.”

     

    “So kind of you,” Arthur snarled lowly and unlaced his boots that were a size to big.  “I’ll have that gateway open for you and your chums soon enough, and I’ll have what I want.” 

     

    “You haven’t lost sight,” Ivan lifted his hand in the air and chuckled.  “And, Arthur, maybe you could conjure yourself some better clothes?  Clothes make the man, no? Entice the young lady in the process?  It will make it easier for her to fall into place.”  Snapping his fingers, he was gone.   

     

    Arthur hissed in anger. “Yes, master…”