Eternally Bound by Blood(Dark Bl)

Eric's muscles tensed, his fight-or-flight response kicking in. He wasn't sure what he could do, but he wasn't going to die cowering in a basement.

"What do you think you're going to do?" Eric's voice was sharper now, though fear still rippled beneath it. "Stake me? Kill me because of something I didn't even choose?"

The hunter's gaze hardened. "Yes," he said, his tone chillingly final. He gripped the stake with both hands now, ready to drive it through Eric's heart. "Better to end it now, before you turn into something worse."

Eric's breath quickened, his eyes darting around the basement, but there was no escape. His heart pounded in his ears as the hunter raised the stake. He was running out of time.

Eric felt a surge of defiance rise within him. He wasn't going to let this man—this stranger—decide his fate.

With a snarl, he lunged.

Eric's body collided with the hunter, but his inexperience was glaringly obvious. He had no idea how to use the newfound strength coursing through him. He expected the collision to throw the man off balance, but instead, the hunter twisted effortlessly, sidestepping Eric's attack with brutal efficiency.

Before Eric could regain his footing, the hunter's knee slammed into his stomach. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through his body, doubling him over. He gasped, trying to suck in air that wouldn't come fast enough.

The next blow came hard and fast—an elbow crashing down on the back of his neck, driving him to the ground. Eric's face hit the cold concrete, his head spinning as stars burst in his vision. He scrambled to push himself up, but the hunter was on him in an instant.

With cold precision, the hunter grabbed Eric by the hair, yanking his head back. "You're pathetic," he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. He slammed Eric's face into the floor again, the force rattling Eric's teeth. Blood trickled from his mouth, the taste metallic and bitter.

Eric groaned, his body sluggish and uncoordinated. This was nothing like the movies where vampires could take down entire armies with ease. He was faster, stronger than before—but he had no idea how to fight, how to harness the power inside him.

The hunter's boot crashed into his ribs, sending him skidding across the floor. Pain flared through his side, and Eric gasped, clutching his chest as he struggled to breathe. His thoughts were scattered, panic seeping into every corner of his mind. This wasn't supposed to happen—he was supposed to be *immortal*. How could he be losing like this?

The hunter circled him, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. "You don't even know how to use what you've become, do you?" He kicked Eric again, this time aiming for his side, and Eric let out a sharp cry as the impact sent waves of pain through his body.

"You thought you could fight me? Someone who's been doing this for years?" the hunter mocked, his voice cold and unfeeling. "You're just another job to me. A broken pet, bleeding out on the floor."

Eric's vision blurred as he tried to push himself up again, his limbs trembling beneath him. His whole body screamed in pain, each breath sharp and shallow. He could feel the blood dripping from his wounds, the heat of it spilling down his face and soaking his shirt.

But there was no time to think, no time to gather himself. The hunter grabbed Eric by the collar, yanking him to his knees. "I've killed creatures far worse than you," he hissed, his voice low with venom. His grip tightened, pulling Eric closer until their faces were mere inches apart. "I've even seen the devil himself."

There was a flicker of something dark in the hunter's eyes—fear, shame—quickly buried beneath layers of rage. "He looked into me, and for the first time, I felt real fear. I couldn't do anything then." His lips curled into a snarl, nostrils flaring. "But now? Now I have *you*. His weak little pet."

The words dripped with disgust, but beneath it, jealousy slithered in, bitter and undeniable. How had a fragile, pitiful creature like *this*—this sham of a vampire—been chosen to linger at the side of a being so powerful? It infuriated him.

The hunter's fist cracked against Eric's face with brutal precision, sending his head snapping back. Eric hit the floor hard, his senses spinning, the world around him dissolving into a haze of pain. He could feel his body shutting down, limbs sluggish, thoughts muddled. The sharp edge of a stake glinted in his blurred vision, held steady in the hunter's hand.

"Look at you," the hunter spat, raising the stake, hatred burning in his voice. "You're not even worth the effort."

Eric's heart pounded weakly in his chest as the hunter's hand tightened around the weapon, aiming it with cold intent. The tip hovered just above his heart—waiting, promising an end. And for a moment, Eric thought maybe this was it.

The hunter's smile twisted into something cruel and triumphant. "I'll avenge my teammates by taking it out on his pathetic little pet."

Just as Grayson prepared to deliver the final blow, a voice echoed from the doorway. "Grayson!"

Both men turned toward the entrance, where a tall, commanding figure stood silhouetted against the faint light. The air seemed to shift around her, heavy with an aura of quiet power. As she stepped forward, the dim light revealed more—her lithe frame encased in sleek leather armor that hugged her form, every piece designed for both beauty and battle. Long, dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, framing the intricately crafted mask that concealed her features, leaving only her striking eyes visible.

Those eyes—piercing and unrelenting—held an intensity that sent a chill through Eric's chest, as if he'd known them but that was impossible . A strange familiarity stirred within him, unsettling and magnetic. Her gaze locked onto Grayson, radiating authority and a cold fury that promised retribution, like a queen surveying an enemy before issuing a final sentence. Every movement she made was deliberate, graceful, and dangerous, as if violence was a second language she spoke fluently.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Grayson froze mid-step, the confident sneer on his face faltering into confusion. "I'm finishing what I started. This one's a threat. He's—"

"—a child of the night," she interrupted, striding forward, her eyes flickering to Eric on the ground. For a fleeting moment, shock rippled across her features as she took in his state—bloodied, broken, and barely conscious. The sight hit her harder than she expected, and her hand twitched, betraying the emotion she fought to suppress.

But just as quickly, the softness vanished, replaced by a mask of cold authority. She squared her shoulders, eyes narrowing on Grayson with an icy intensity. "You're supposed to bring him in alive, not leave him a mangled heap."

Eric blinked slowly, his vision swimming in and out of focus, but the cadence of her voice gave him a strange, distant comfort—something familiar, like a memory just out of reach. Pain clawed at every nerve, but her presence cut through the haze, anchoring him.

She stepped between him and Grayson, her posture rigid, the scent of leather and iron accompanying her movements. The tension in the room thickened, and for a moment, the only sound was the rasp of Eric's shallow breathing.

"Stand down, Grayson," she said, her tone sharp but carefully measured, like someone accustomed to command. "You know the witch's orders. He's to be delivered *alive.* Not half-dead."

Grayson's expression twisted, anger bubbling beneath the surface of his composed exterior. "He's an abomination. If we leave him alive, we'll regret it. You know what these things become."

"Then we deal with it *later.*" Her gaze remained locked on Grayson, her voice cold and unyielding. "He's not yours to destroy. The witch gave her orders. You defy her, and we both know what happens next."

Eric struggled to keep his eyes open, forcing his fogged mind to grasp at the words exchanged. There was something about her—something beyond her authority—that pulled at him, a sense that he knew her, though he couldn't place from where.

Grayson clenched his jaw, frustration radiating off him in waves. "Orders?" he hissed, barely containing his fury. "You think I give a damn about *her* orders? I finish this now, or he'll become a problem we can't control."

The woman didn't flinch, her expression carved in stone. "Try it," she challenged, her voice low with dangerous calm. "And see how long you last."

The two stood locked in a silent standoff, tension crackling in the air between them like the promise of a storm. Behind her mask, her eyes flicked briefly to Eric, the barest flicker of emotion slipping through before she buried it again. Whatever personal battle she fought beneath that mask, it was hidden beneath layers of steel.

Eric, still struggling to stay conscious, took in the scene. This woman was clearly formidable, someone with authority and a purpose. He tried to focus on her words, willing himself to understand the dynamics at play.

"You'll follow orders or face the consequences. Now stand down."

Grayson scowled, the fire in his eyes dimming but not extinguished. With a sharp, irritated grunt, he took a step back, raising his hands in reluctant surrender. "Fine," he muttered, voice laced with bitterness. "But this isn't over." He shot Eric a look that was pure venom, his lip curling with disgust. "You got lucky today, but I'll be watching you. Always."

Eric lay motionless on the cold concrete, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, every inch of his body throbbing with dull, persistent pain. The exchange between the two felt distant, like words carried on a gust of wind just out of reach. But he could sense it—the sheer force of authority radiating from the woman standing over him, a quiet but undeniable power that kept Grayson at bay.

Grayson's boots scuffed against the floor as he turned and stalked off, his silhouette stretching long and distorted in the dim light. Eric's eyes fluttered weakly, catching the fading outline of the hunter's retreating form. He wanted to say something, call out, but his lips wouldn't part—his body too broken, his will slipping beneath the crushing weight of exhaustion.

The pull of unconsciousness grew stronger, wrapping around him like a thick, suffocating fog. Pain still gnawed at him, but it felt distant now, like a memory slowly dissolving into the dark. His eyelids drooped, as heavy as iron, and the world began to blur at the edges.

"Stay with me."

Her voice was soft but firm, cutting through the haze like a light in the distance. There was a familiarity in it—a warmth that reached deep into him, stirring something buried in his soul.

Eric's breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as though he knew her, like her presence was an anchor to something lost . He tried to cling to that warmth, to stay tethered to the moment, but the darkness was relentless.

As his consciousness slipped further away, the last thing he heard was her voice again, this time gentler—soft, almost tender—like a lullaby whispered to a forgotten part of him.

"Eric…"

His name lingered in the air, a quiet echo that followed him into the depths of unconsciousness.