CHAPTER. 13
957 Words
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Chapter 13 — The Blood Oath
The wind howled through the ruins like a song of mourning, low and ancient. Selene stood frozen beneath the shattered archway, her breath caught in her throat. Valerian's hand still gripped hers—tight, trembling—not in fear, but in memory. The vision they’d just shared lingered between them like smoke: her standing beneath a moonlit tree, whispering words into parchment that was never meant to reach its destination.
The letter.
She now knew what it was. Or rather, what it had been. A curse. A promise. A bond.
Valerian turned to her slowly, as if waking from a dream. "It was you," he said, voice quiet and reverent. "The letter… it was never meant to be sent. But it was meant to bind."
Selene didn’t know how to respond. Her heart was thudding so hard she could barely hear herself think. "I wrote it in another life. Or... was that this one?" Her head swam with confusion. "I don’t understand, Valerian. How is any of this real?"
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped deeper into the ruins, where the moonlight spilled like silver blood over forgotten stones. His voice was hollow when he finally spoke. "There is a magic older than memory, older than fate. You and I… we were never meant to be separated. The letter was an invocation. A blood oath written in sorrow and sealed by time."
Selene followed him, her fingers brushing over carved names worn down by centuries. “And now?”
Valerian’s eyes met hers—dark, ancient, storm-wild. “Now the oath is waking. And so are they.”
A chill wrapped around her spine. “They?”
“The ones who tore us apart.”
He extended his hand, not for her to take this time—but to summon the blood-bound mark that now glowed on the inside of her wrist. The same mark shimmered faintly on his own skin. The curse had awakened it. Their bond was real. Tangible.
“I don’t know how to fight something I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to understand it to survive it,” he replied, stepping closer, brushing a thumb beneath her jawline. “But you do have to trust me.”
There it was again—the pull, the ache, the memory she hadn’t lived but somehow remembered. A garden. A farewell kiss. A dagger. A letter with trembling ink.
“I want to,” she said, and meant it.
But trust was only the beginning.
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They rode into the Ashenwood before sunrise, the thick, ghostly forest that separated the ruins from the kingdom’s borders. Shadows swayed between the gnarled trees, whispering Selene’s name in languages she didn’t know but somehow understood.
“Don’t answer them,” Valerian warned, keeping a hand close to the hilt of his blade. “They feed on memory. They’ll try to pull yours apart.”
“I thought vampires didn’t fear shadows,” she murmured.
“We don’t,” he said. “But you’re not a vampire. And I’m not just afraid for myself.”
Something stirred ahead. A ripple in the trees. Valerian leapt forward just as a figure lunged from the mist—cloaked in black, face hidden, blade drawn. Selene screamed his name as metal clashed, sparks flying between the trunks. The assassin moved fast, but Valerian was faster—his sword a blur, his eyes glowing silver in the dim light.
Another figure emerged from behind Selene.
Before she could react, a dagger kissed her throat.
“Move and she dies,” a voice hissed—female, sharp, cruel.
Valerian froze.
“Let her go,” he said, lowering his weapon.
The woman laughed. “You always were sentimental, Valerian. Even after all these centuries. She smells of prophecy.”
“She has nothing to do with your war.”
“She is the war.”
The blade pressed deeper. Selene’s skin prickled with warmth—her blood.
Then everything happened at once.
The mark on her wrist burned.
The forest howled.
And Selene... let go.
A light exploded from within her—not fire, not magic, but something older, something sacred. The assassin behind her screamed and crumbled into ash before she hit the ground. Valerian didn’t wait. He drove his sword through the other attacker’s chest, his roar echoing like thunder.
And then it was quiet again.
Selene dropped to her knees, shaking. “What… was that?”
Valerian knelt beside her, astonished. “The blood oath answered you.”
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Later, they found shelter in an abandoned chapel just beyond the wood. It was crumbling, overtaken by ivy, but it was safe—for now.
Selene stared at her reflection in a cracked mirror. Her eyes were still glowing faintly. Her mark pulsed with heat.
“Why didn’t you tell me I had power?” she asked.
Valerian leaned against the wall, exhausted but watchful. “Because I didn’t know it would awaken so soon.”
She turned to him. “You said this was a curse.”
“It was. Until you chose to feel something other than pain. That made it a gift.”
She laughed, bitter. “That’s poetic.”
He stepped forward. “No, it’s prophecy. And it means you don’t have much time.”
“Time for what?”
Valerian looked up at the stained glass above them—moonlight filtering through fractured color. “To finish what we started. To rewrite the letter… and send it.”
Selene’s breath caught. “To who?”
He met her gaze, fierce and full of sorrow. “To the king who cursed us. My father.”
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