Blood Oath

Chapter 7: Bloodbound

As Skylar was dragged away into the unknown without a knowledge of what was happening, the strange copper-haired boy with gray eyes was the last person she saw before plummeting into the darkness.

Now, the boy perambulated furiously, swerving in calculated directions, his head held high with confidence, his mind heavy with thoughts, and a troubled look on his face.

The day he had been dreading all his life had come.

The day he met her. His Aimatirí. His Bloodbound.

He had dreams of her before. Dreams he felt were strangely not his, but his at the same time. Their connection was strong and fated.

Previously, he had dreams of himself standing alone in a horrifying forest, the light that shone from the full moon. He would walk to a moonlit path, basking in the light.

He countlessly had the same dream until something strange occurred. He was no longer alone.

A terrified girl who had been aging over the years was now in his dreams. She was always on the run, looking back with ragged breaths. Her feet would always carry to the entrance of a temple left in ruins, before giving out.

The strange thing from his dreams was that as he followed her, he noticed that nothing was chasing her.

She was always running from herself.

And when she collapsed, a loud growl would escape her throat, every bone in her body would break as she transformed into a ghastly beast as dark as midnight, the size of a full-grown bear, red flames blazing in her eyes, and grotesque canines baring at him.

When that happened, he would drift into consciousness.

He vividly remembered the dreams that tormented him while he stopped before the steel gate of a colonial mansion, preparing himself to face another nightmare called reality.

Breathing heavily, he raised his right hand to hover over the golden-plated letter L encrusted into the gate, and without even touching it, a magical force erupted from his body, pushing the gate wide-open, allowing him to strut into the compound.

He made it to the stairwell leading to the doorway to hell, his home; when he spotted a woman and a man passionately sharing a kiss, and then the man discovered the boy watching them with a smug smile.

The pale-skinned man frightfully pulled away from his lover, one of the maids of the mansion. Wordlessly, she scurried away, leaving the two together.

Straightening his penguin suit with his eyes looking down at his shoes, the man pleaded desperately, “M-Michael. Please, don’t tell your father about this.”

Shrugging his shoulders and mouth, Michael proceeded to say, “Jaimie, even if I did, he’d be thrilled. He’s a generational s*****y kind of guy. You two in the hots for each other only gives him a chance to have more controllable puppets in the form of your children.”

“See you in hell!” He added with a salute, walking to the doorway and halting his strides when he reached.

“Ah, I can hear the screaming souls already.” He said unfazed.

Pushing past the doors, Michael swaggered into the place, the foyer ushering in a world of marble floors, sweeping staircases, and chandeliers that dripped light like crystal rain.

He paraded a pretentious smile with Jaimie lingering behind him. Just then, a formally dressed woman came from the dining room.

“Mom!” He feigned sheer cheer.

“The press moved the home interview to next week. We can put up the exhausting perfect family act another day. I can’t find Josephine anywhere.” She dismissed him, making his smile vanish immediately.

On cue, the man Michael loathed his whole life walked in with a full-body suit on, making Michael’s heart grow colder with a glare.

“You miss warlock training, encourage your sister’s disappearance, disrespect me countlessly in my house, and refuse to wear your binding ring. What has gotten into you?” His father’s voice cut through the air, authority radiating from him like heat, as he unfastened his cufflinks and tie.

The tension in the air could be sliced through with a knife.

“No reason. I just don’t need a slave because I’m power-hungry and weak.” Michael lashed out, taking several steps forward.

“Michael.” His mother cautioned, inserting herself between Michael and his father.

Tilting his head in her direction, Michael’s father hollered, “No!”

“He needs to learn his lesson the hard way. Don’t you agree, Jaimie?” He spoke to Jaimie this time, a sinister grin highlighting his dimple.

The dimpled devil then brought his right hand up, flashing a three-fingered ring forged from tarnished gold, like something from an ancient battlefield. Its rectangular frame wrapped around his hand like brass knuckles posing as a jewelry. Carved on it was the same marking Skylar saw on her wrist when Michael touched her.

By the wave of his hands, Jaimie clutched both sides of his head and suddenly dropped to his knees. His eyes turned from warm brown to a supernatural sky blue, as he released a bone-chilling scream; nothing compared to the mind-shattering, high-pitched sound only he could hear.

“Enough! Screw all of you.” Michael fumed in uncontrollable anger. His father’s hand hung low, making Jaimie’s screams stop as he staggered back up, struggling to regain his footing.

“I’m going to Aunt May’s.” He seethed, walking out.

“Don’t test me, boy.” His father warned with a knowing look at Jaimie.

“I can’t let you do that.” Jaimie faltered, stepping in front of Michael.

“Get out of the way. I don’t wanna use it on you, but I will if I have to.” Michael bluffed, knowing he didn’t have the liver to torture Jaimie like his father.

“Don’t, Jaimie.” The dimpled devil warned again, but Jaimie stumbled back, allowing Michael to leave.

Soon, Jaimie began to scream again. Michael fought the urge to look back as he stormed into the mansion’s garage, stealing the keys to his father’s most expensive Jeep and driving off.

As soon as the engine of the jeep roared to life, he took off, speeding like a maniac with a death wish. He angrily made each turn until he finally pulled up to the pavement before his Aunt’s house. Following that, he alighted from the Jeep, unbothered to lock it.

At the doorstep, he knocked on the door several times before it opened up to reveal an aging woman with salt-and-pepper hair.

“Michael?” She smiled, and at that moment, her mismatched eyes—one gray, the other brown—glowed with a warmth that could calm storms.

“I need a break from everyone.” He confessed, stepping into the bungalow.

With his arms wrapped around her sides, he kicked the door close, and they both walked in smiling.

In a single instant, Michael was overwhelmed by Skylar’s memories: years of torment, the rage she mirrored in the streets, a stolen freedom, meeting Jackson, and her parents’ betrayal.

He saw it all. From hurling her phone into a river to boarding a bus to Oregon, the night in the filthy motel.

He remembered their fateful meeting at the admissions office, the chilling remark Ava made about her dead roommate, the chaos of that party, and the terror that came after. He saw the red-haired girl, the dirty blonde boy whose arms she fell into; the cryptic encounter with the professor that followed. Then the word: Lycan. Then the time they shared at the police station. Then came the darkness.

“I’d strongly advise against that, Selene.”

“I think he’s dead.”

“Keep up the stroke patient act and keep her away from college.”

“She’s dead now though. Animal attack. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

“Hey. Are you alright?”

“You’re different.”

“Lycan…”

“Stay away from me.”

These conversations crashed into Michael’s mind, as Skylar’s pain became his. Gasping, he jolted awake, unsure when he’d fainted. He wasn’t at the door anymore but sprawled on his aunt’s couch.

Adjusting his posture, his stare met two different colors of eyes. But it wasn’t his aunt. It was a younger version of her, his sister.

“You’ve found your Bloodbound, haven’t you?” She accused.

Still dazed, he squinted his eyes asking, “Josephine?”

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Michael’s father stood in the study room, his suit jacket stripped off, murder in his eyes as he glowered at Jaimie.

“You’re useless. All you do is sleep with my maids. You’ve clearly forgotten why you’re here,” He spat harshly.

Jaimie’s fists were clenched so tight his claws pierced his palms, blood dripping to the floor. He looked wrecked; nose bleeding, jaw bruised, crimson-stained shirt, blood spots in his eyes, yet it still wasn’t enough.

Michael’s father grabbed him, their foreheads aggressively pressed together.

“Let me remind you.”

He twisted his ringed hand, the magic bursting from his palm caused Jaimie to scream like a madman.

The second he was released, Jaimie bolted, limping to the door, but barely making it.

Then the door opened.

Michael’s mother stepped in with a devilish grin.

“Leave the torturing for later, honey. We have wolves to hunt.”