Blood Oath

Chapter 8: Beneath The Surface

Darkness.

It was more than just a word to me. It was a feeling. One that constantly consumed my world in a crushing embrace.

All my life, I was in the dark, trapped in a battle with myself, where externally, choice was nothing but a joke.

What was even funnier was hallucinating the freedom that followed crossing the border to Oregon.

Now, I was conscious again, pitifully suffocating from my choices and the black bag placed over my head.

As the world stopped to hold its breath, I struggled to catch mine, not a move made as I blinked awake, struck with the kind of delirium that made heads spin, caused frenzied thoughts, and stirred hysteria.

Awake, my ears perked up, catching the whispers of two oddly familiar male voices.

Out of the silence, the first voice came in an annoyed tone, “Oh, what have you done?”

“Look, she was going to the police station to confess. Luckily, Shawn was there. If he’d intercepted her any later, we’d all be in trouble.” Then came the deeper voice of the obviously older man.

“So, you had to kidnap her?” The first male to speak spoke again, this time with intense disbelief.

“No. I just.. took her against her own will.” The manlier voice tried to justify his actions, and if I weren’t so irate, he would have sounded exceedingly ridiculous to me.

Soon, they started going back and forth in a tiring argument, each of them exchanging their opinions, the first male’s voice descending before the deeper voice of the other male broke through.

“What do you think k********g is?”

“I had no choice!”

“So, you just took her, put her in a cheap-ass chair with chains that look like they’ve been around since the Stone Age?”

“It was sudden. I didn’t have time to prepare.”

At this point, their dispute was one step forward and two steps back, because they were going nowhere with it, while I drowned in exhaustion, unexplainable physical pain coursing through me, and mind-bending frustration that left me helplessly chained to a rickety chair.

“Without Wolfsbane in her system, she’s gonna break free in seconds.”

Wolfsbane?

“You know, for a guy who claims to be a wolf hunter, you come off as someone who hasn’t done much wolf-hunting.” The much younger male criticised openly.

“You’re one to talk. There’s Wolfsbane in her system, but not enough to keep a wolf like her out for too long. Let’s just get this done. She should be awake now, listening to all your nonsense.”

The more they spoke, the nearer their voices crept—each word sounding its way into my ears, laced with a haunting familiarity that made my blood boil hotter with every moment that unraveled.

As the footsteps thudded closer, louder, heavier, I struggled in the chair, writhing like something feral, spitting venomous curses into the air. But before the next word could tear from my throat, I was interrupted, “Let me go, you sons of—...”

The bag was yanked off my head.

Air hit me like a wave—I gasped sharply, my head dropped forward, pounding like a war drum. I sucked in breath after breath, blurred vision swimming with white spots, my skull a riot of headaches.

Then I flung my head up, already angry. And that’s when I heard a voice that became even more familiar.

“Hey, Skylar!”

My gaze shifted upward as I witnessed him. Of all people.

In the poorly lit studio apartment, Jackson stood smiling before me, plunging me into a storm of seething anger.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He spoke smugly.

“You,” I hissed—no, snarled at him. My voice had no trace of fear. Just raw, unfiltered rage.

I was a storm waiting to break loose.

Realizing this, he took a step back. The wisest decision he had made so far.

“Let. Me. Go.”

These words dangerously slipped out through gritted teeth, every syllable slow and sharp as my jaw clenched with unrestrained ire.

“We can’t exactly do that... yet.”

When Jackson walked back cautiously and a complete sentence had spilled out of my mouth, the deeper voice came again, and the owner of that voice finally emerged from the shadows, taking steps toward me to reveal Professor Adam modeling an unreadable look.

For the second time, shock seized my tongue in an unrelenting chokehold, leaving me speechless at the man before me. In a split second, the gaping shock gave way to the naturally menacing look I’d worn since Jackson’s reveal.

“Your real identity has been misplaced. We should’ve ripped the Band-Aid off on this one ages ago.” He said, walking toward me, missing his characteristic coat, glasses and hat.

In his hands was an old book that looked like it had been written when historic wars were the present. Its pages were a fading brown, dwindling away like Shakespearean manuscripts—only this looked like it was older than time itself.

I analyzed the pages he turned toward me. The writing was in a language I had never grown to learn. It was ancient, foreign, and cryptic.

His finger landed on a much larger scribble. The image was clear. It was a grotesque wolf with unnaturally extended canines, eyes wild with something unholy.

His eyes flickered to mine, then back down to the book.

I mirrored his gaze... until he bored into my eyes, searching for something deeper, something hidden in a pool of fury.

And just then, the strangest question left his mouth, “Have you ever encountered one of these before?”

I stayed silent, giving him a look that lit a fire in every furious bone of his body. With a sharp snap, he slammed the book shut in my face, exhaling hard through his nose.

His head whipped left to right, restless and unsettled, a palm over his mouth, as he held back something far more dangerous than words.

“Skylar, this is important. Did you notice anything different about the night at the party?” Jackson came at me with a question stranger than the one Professor Adam had asked.

At the mention of the party, I sank into disturbing memories. The party? What if they had something to do with Anna’s disappearance?

The thought sent aches crashing through me, but the panic was short-lived. I realized if they kidn*pped me, they could’ve taken Anna too. Or worse.

Murder.

Rage now wrapped itself around me. My hands clenched the wooden chair. My focus was on Jackson, who stood before me. Though he was careful not to reveal any emotion other than the cold look he sported, I didn’t miss the glimpse of fear in his eyes.

“Has a mark appeared on your body yet?” He interrogated, but I was too blinded, deafened and driven by rage to pay him any attention.

“I’m done listening to you.” I seethed, making him and the Professor step back, but not quickly enough.

I was ballistic now. The chains shattered beneath my strength. In a blur, I lunged at Jackson, grabbing him by the neck. Despite his height, I lifted him clean off the floor.

“Don’t do this.” Now mid-air, he choked out, thrashing defenselessly in my grip.

Seeing him like this, something human cracked through my rage. I tossed him aside. But I was still burning, still clueless. I could explain the snap of the chains; they were cheap and old. But lifting a grown man like a toy? Throwing him like nothing?

At the moment, I wasn’t looking for explanations. I was too enraged.

This reminded me of Anna.

Anna.

Her name alone sent me into another fit of rage. I turned and smashed the chair into pieces. Grabbing a sharp splinter, I furiously marched toward Professor Adam.

There was no time to think. I didn’t know why I held it like a murder weapon or why I was walking to him.

All I knew was anger. Anger that consumed me whole. I wasn’t after getting answers or getting even.

But getting blood on my hands.

“Skylar, we don’t wanna hurt you. Okay? Drop the stick.” He warned, but I wasn’t convinced.

“Make me.” I couldn’t see it, but I felt a vicious smile play at the corners of my lips as I continued to charge at him.

He paused. Amused. “Quite an anger you have. Did you get it from Nora?”

I was too stunned to move now.

Nora? My mother? How did he—

Barely finishing that thought, an unexpected pain hit me.

A needle jabbed into my neck. Like the one at the station. But this time, I stayed conscious long enough to stagger front, eyes locked on Jackson. The syringe hit the floor.

This didn’t feel like anesthesia.

“Let’s try this again,” Jackson muttered.

I groaned, clutching my neck. Stumbling back, Professor Adam caught me.

And before the darkness swallowed me again, I whispered, “Why?”

“We can’t let you hurt anyone else.” He responded softly.

Then, my eyes shut close and everything went black again.