10. CANADA 21st Century #6
“You and Aeneas are not fated souls as my beloved and I are. Your aura shows me that, as did Aric’s.
Still, you’ve done something few have managed.
Your souls are connected by true love. Your choice to love one another completely with everything you have, no secrets or deceptions, no walls or limitations, created this bond.
I say it’s just as powerful as mine is to Coriolanus, simply different.
You and Aeneas would make sublime immortals.
I would be proud to share my line’s blood with the two of you.
By making you an immortal, Cassian, I would have a chance to atone for my Maker’s blight on your many lives. ”
“I wish to initiate Aric’s becoming,” Coriolanus spoke emphatically. “Though Rufus wasn’t of my mortal blood, he was— is the son of my heart and soul. I raised him from a child. I would have him be of my immortal blood directly, if you have no objections, my love.”
“Like the time last year, I would never tell you what to do with your godly ichor. If this is your wish, I support it, as I will in all things, forever.”
Coriolanus rushed to Olympius, threw his arms around him, and lifted him into a joyful spin before pulling him into a deep, exuberant kiss. “By the gods, how I love this man!”
Magic ichor surged to the surface of Olympius’ skin, betraying not just his feelings for Coriolanus but the very real, evident heat of his arousal.
Cassian’s eyes went wide; he was genuinely stunned. “Olympius, are you blushing?”
Olympius ignored the ribbing and told Coriolanus to set him down.
“So, how would this work?” Cassian asked.
Olympius quickly explained to the Romani witch about the day and night gods, the Titans and the Olympians, the latter also known as the Secundae.
They were all forever frozen in time due to the flow of the ancient, mysterious blood in their veins.
He discussed the rules of immortals and the consequences of breaking them.
“All the other details and minutiae can wait. Coriolanus will drain Aric to the point of death and then fill him with his blood. The Becoming, as we call it, happens quickly. In only a few minutes, Aric will be an immortal, a night god. It’s rather a simple process, really.”
“I assume I’ll also be transformed by you, Olympius, in the same manner?”
“Yes, about that, Cassian,” Olympius began, his voice low and edged, “before we go any further, we need to talk about something.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” the Romani witch remarked, unease creeping into his voice.
“You need to understand what you are sacrificing for immortality. It’s easy to see what you are gaining, but when magic is involved, there’s always a cost. You already know this. For both you and Aeneas, the price of becoming immortal is the loss of your magic.”
Cassian nearly choked on his incredulity.
“My magic?” he questioned as he stood up and faced the immortals.
“I’m not giving up my magic! It’s who I am as a witch, as a Romani!
It runs in my blood, tied to the very soil of my homeland.
Even Hecate herself said so. Give up my magic? ! The idea is absurd!”
“Please, calm yourself, my friend,” Coriolanus said gently, raising a hand. “Let Olympius explain.”
“Fine, but you’re wasting your time driving down this avenue. Such a thing isn’t even possible.”
Cassian recoiled as if struck. The words blood and drinker echoed in his mind, clashing violently with everything he thought he understood about magic and immortality. He began to wonder if this whole immortality idea was just another trick of the Wheel of Destiny.
Olympius regarded the Romani witch with a calm, almost apologetic gaze.
“Cassian, you must understand. Coriolanus and I are not the same kind of immortal as Hecate.” He paced slowly, choosing each word with deliberate care “Our immortality is bound to the mortal realm through our godly ichor. Not metaphorically, but literally. We consume human blood to sustain ourselves, to replenish, to strengthen the magic threaded through our veins. It isn’t a choice.
It’s the nature of what we are as blood-drinkers. ”
Cassian said nothing, but his silence was taut with doubt and distress.
Olympius continued, his voice steady. “Yes, our blood all originates from the same ancient source, but time, magic, and fate have shaped it into many forms. My lineage is one. Hecate is another. As far as I know, she has only bestowed her gift of immortality three times. To Circe, Medea, and the mysterious Comte de Saint Germain. If there have been others, in distant lands, I cannot say.”
He paused, letting the distinction settle.
“Hers is a purity of magic, a form of immortality drawn directly from the power within her blood that refreshes her daily. Hecate is neither a day nor a night god, but something else entirely. Unique to herself. Mine, passed down from my Makers, is something more biological and also tied to the night, to the Shadow Realm. We are not the same. Do you understand?”
Cassian wanted to say he did not, but that would be a lie. Still, he remained silent, too afraid to admit the truth.
“What Olympius is saying, my friend,” Coriolanus interjected smoothly, “is that by joining our lineage, you will forfeit your ability to wield magic. The knowledge will remain, for it will always be part of you, but the Titan blood will act as a barrier, permanently cutting you off from its use.
“In its place, however, you’ll gain powers no less wondrous!
As a night god, you’ll wield dominion over darkness itself, including access to the enigmatic Shadow Realm.
Your body will become something far beyond mortal flesh, for what the legends and fictions say is true, only more so.
Unimaginable strength. You will be impossibly fast, and your flesh will be invulnerable to all but your own will and fang and claw.
Wounds that would destroy any mortal will heal as if they never were.
“Beyond the physical, you’ll awaken psychic gifts, like telepathy, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and more.
You will be able to fly at incredible speeds!
These powers will come to you as naturally as breath, woven into the very fabric of your immortal self.
No spells, rituals or incantations needed.
This is what it means to become a blood-drinker.
And more than all that, you’ll share eternity with Aeneas, united in one unchanging form.
Tell me, isn’t that trade more than worth the loss of your witchcraft? ”
“This isn’t just about power, Gian! It’s more than that. It’s my heritage, my identity. I—I need some time to think, to process this. I can’t, I mean, I don’t know what to do.”
For the second time that day, Cassian began to unravel.
Coriolanus pulled him into a quiet embrace, resting his chin atop his friend’s head. He wished he could choose for him, take away the burden, the pain that so often comes with impossible choices.
“Before anyone does anything here, we need to loop Aric in,” Olympius declared firmly. “He must make this decision with a full understanding of its implications. I will collect him. Rosedale, you said?”
Coriolanus nodded. Answering for Cassian, who was still reeling from the information he had just received, he silently mouthed a house number and street address.
“ You could have just sent that straight into my head, my immortal beloved. ”
Olympius, amused by Coriolanus’ eye-roll, gave an exaggerated sigh, conjured a door-sized portal of inky blackness, and stepped through without another psychic word given. A few moments later, he returned with Aric in tow.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Aric sprinted toward his husband as Coriolanus instinctively backed away. The two witches embraced, and Aric shot a daggered glare at the immortals.
“It’s okay, Cass. I’m here now.”
As the witches withdrew into their private world of psychic communion, Coriolanus walked over to Olympius and slipped an arm around him.
“This isn’t going well,” he whispered low enough that only an immortal’s ears could catch it.
“So, what do you think we should do? I opened this Pandora’s box, and I’m not sorry.
This is the right course of action. I just never thought losing the ability to cast a fucking spell would be such a deal-breaker, especially considering all the cool shit we can do.
No, that’s arrogant and dismissive. Cassian’s right, this is also about his heritage. What do you think, Hon?”
Silence.
“Hon?”
Coriolanus looked down and froze. Olympius’ expression was distant, yet his eyes narrowed, and his focus seemed intense. But on what? His head twitched slightly, his neck shifting as if locked in some silent debate with himself.
“Olympius, what the hell are you doing?” Coriolanus asked, a note of alarm creeping into his voice.
The Lord of the Night pulled away from his beloved and, without answering or even acknowledging him, walked into their bedroom again and shut the door.
What the fuck is going on in this place? Coriolanus was not amused.
“I’m fine, now,” Cassian said aloud. He kissed his husband and then sat back down on the couch. “We need to talk, Aric. Only, I don’t know how or where to begin.”
“I do,” Olympius declared, now out of the room and standing in front of the witches. No one, not even Coriolanus, saw the door open and close. “We need to speak with Aeneas, Cassian.”
The Romani witch shook with rage. “No! You can’t say that name in front of him!”
“Who the hell is Aeneas, Cass?” Aric questioned, his gaze moving between his husband and the immortal. “Seriously, what the hell is going on? I want some answers, dammit! Why is my husband in such a state? Who are you people?!”
Without warning, Olympius seized control of Aric’s mind; the witch’s body went slack, and his eyes glazed over.
“What the fu—”