Page 88 of Claimed By Fur and Fangs

“Yes. Tell us.”

The old woman handed us a wooden bowl filled with a dark, tar-like liquid. I exchanged a glance with Amelia, feeling the ancient power in the substance, knowing it would change everything.

“Drink,” the witch commanded, her voice firm yet calm.

Amelia hesitated but then followed my lead. We both took a sip, the taste harsh, like nothing I had ever known.

“Oh my … it burns so much…” Amelia lamented.

At that moment, everything around me shifted.

The world around us seemed to dissolve, and I found myself standing in the hall of a house I knew all too well.

“This is my house, but this was the interior design I had years ago.”

The memories came flooding back as I looked around: the grand wooden staircase, the dark, polished floors, the paintings of my family that lined the walls.

“This is where Alma and I lived, this is where our love blossomed.”

“I think we went back in time…” Amelia muttered.

And then I saw her—Alma. She was standing in the living room, moving with the grace I remembered, but something was off. Her expression was tense, like she was hiding something.

“Alma…” I called out to her, desperate, but she didn’t hear me. It was like I wasn’t even there. My heart twisted in my chest. I stepped forward, reaching out for her, but she passed right through me, unaware of my presence.

Amelia stood beside me, her eyes wide with shock.

"Aidan, they can’t see us. We can only watch."

We walked into the living room, and my younger self stood there, face red with frustration, arguing with Alma. He was demanding answers, his voice shaking with emotion.

"Where do you go every night, Alma?" I could hear my younger self asking, his voice strained. "Why can’t you tell me?"

Alma looked away; guilt written all over her face.

"I can’t, Aidan. There are things I’m not ready to tell you yet."

He stormed out, angry, while Alma stood there, filled with regret. I wanted to scream at her, but I was powerless to change anything.

What’s going on?I thought as the scene shifted, and now it was later that night.

Alma was sitting alone in the living room, her eyes tired and distant. The door creaked open, and Vera entered.

"I just wanted to check on you, Alma, do you need my help with anything?" Vera said, her voice sweet but laced with something darker. She stepped closer, and Alma looked up, startled.

"I don’t need your help, Vera," Alma said, her voice tight. "I know about your evil plans"

From the shadows, Lancelot emerged, his face hard and eyes cold, silently watching Alma like a predator.

Vera smiled, but it was vile, twisted.

"You won’t stop me, Alma," she said, her voice almost mocking. "You’ve already failed. You think you’re the hero here, but you’re nothing."

Alma stood up, her fists clenching.

"I’ll stop you. I will stop both of you. If anything happens to me, Aidan will know the truth. He’ll know what you’re hiding."

Vera’s smile turned darker, more sinister.

---