Eternally Bound by Blood(Dark Bl)

The witch stepped closer, her amusement fading into something more serious, more calculating. "The only hope we have," she said, her voice steady and firm, "is the man linked to Alaric—the vampire in the coffin."

Elias turned sharply, curiosity igniting within him. "You mean Eric, right? The hunters said they found his ID. Grayson suspects he was recently turned."

A knowing glint sparkled in the witch's eyes. "Correct. He's a fresh soul caught in the crossfire between the supernatural and humans. We can take advantage of that."

Elias frowned, crossing his arms. "How exactly?"

She gestured dismissively, as if the answer was obvious. "By training him. We'll use his bond with Alaric against him. There's power in their connection, and if we manipulate it…" Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Eric could become a weapon strong enough to subdue Alaric."

Elias's brow furrowed as he processed her words. "You want to turn Eric into our ally, to use him against Alaric?"

"Yes," the witch nodded, her excitement palpable. "Alaric is bound to Eric by a connection he doesn't even understand. If we cultivate that bond, Eric will become our greatest asset."

"But isn't that risky?" Elias countered, trying to temper his burgeoning excitement. "What if Eric refuses? What if he turns on us?"

The witch's gaze hardened. "If he refuses, we can use fear. He has no idea what he's capable of, and the bond with Alaric could compel him to follow orders. All we need is to instill enough doubt about Alaric's true nature."

Elias considered her words, the implications swirling in his mind. "But Eric will be discovering his powers. The last thing we need is for a newly turned vampire to realize he's stronger than we anticipated."

"True, but there's power in the unknown," the witch insisted. "Eric will be desperate to prove himself, especially if he believes Alaric is the reason for his suffering. With the right motivation, he'll become exactly what we need—he was only human until recently."

Elias felt a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through him. "And if we succeed, we can turn the tide. We can control Alaric completely."

"Exactly." The witch's smile widened, ambition glinting in her eyes. "With Eric's help, we can put Alaric in a position where he has no choice but to yield. It's a gamble, but it's our best chance."

Elias nodded, the idea solidifying in his mind. "What's the first step?"

The witch straightened, her posture brimming with determination. "First, we awaken Eric and have him feed from Alaric to deepen their bond. He needs to understand his potential. Then, we'll begin training him, showing him how to harness his powers. As he grows stronger, we'll plant seeds of doubt about Alaric, convincing him to turn against the monster."

Anticipation sparked in Elias's chest, tempered by an undercurrent of fear. "And while we do that, we must keep Alaric in check. If he realizes what we're planning…"

"Then we'll ensure he never does." Her voice was sharp, filled with conviction. "We'll keep him focused on his desires and twisted amusements. Alaric won't even see it coming."

Elias inhaled deeply, ready to plunge into this precarious plan. "Let's awaken Eric. It's time we set our plan into motion."

The witch nodded, her gaze narrowing. "Once we start, there's no turning back. We must be relentless—this is our only chance."

The witch's calculating smile deepened as she saw Elias's expression shift from skepticism to reluctant determination. "Then it's decided," she whispered, a wicked satisfaction in her voice. "We begin with Eric. One step at a time, Elias. Control him, and we control Alaric."

Elias nodded, the weight of the plan settling into his mind . A sense of inevitability wrapped around him. There was no turning back now. They would awaken Eric, bind him to Alaric, and tip the scales. The witch's magic could twist the bond between them into a weapon.

But in the shadows of Elias's thoughts, one unsettling truth remained: even the strongest chains could break. And Alaric—Alaric had never been a creature easily subdued.

___________

**Alaric's POV**

A shiver passed down Alaric's spine, the sensation subtle but undeniable, as if someone had whispered his name through the fabric of existence. The magic thrummed faintly in his veins—a pulse not his own, binding him tighter than the silver chains ever could.

A few hours had passed by but Alaric didn't even notice.The hunter's voice echoed in Alaric's mind, not in words, but in intent.

He thought he understood him. They all did. Foolish.

Alaric's darkened eyes scanned the cracked ceiling, as if searching for some distant solace in the fractures. But there was no salvation waiting for him here. Just the steady drip of time slipping away—moment by agonizing moment.

Alaric lay bound in a cold, dimly lit room, silver chains biting into his wrists and ankles. The iron ring around his neck weighed heavily, pressing down on his very existence, draining him inch by inch.

He didn't fight it. A part of him believed he belonged here. He deserved this, didn't he? The suffering, the helplessness—perhaps it was the only truth left for someone like him.

The dim room felt like a coffin, walls closing in and pressing against his soul. He didn't even have the energy to sneer. What would be the point? There was no audience, no grand performance left to play. The truth settled deep in his chest. He had let them capture him. He allowed the witch to ensnare him in her traps, because a part of him—no matter how small—still foolishly believed that Killian would come.

Even after all this time.

The thought twisted in his mind, sharp and bitter. Killian is gone, you idiot. The words echoed like a curse he'd whispered to himself a thousand times. Killian had been dead for millennia, so long that Alaric could no longer recall the exact moment he lost him. His features, his voice, his laugh—everything had faded into the fog of time. All that remained was his name and a feeling: a hollow ache, like an empty room he could never leave.

And still, even knowing it was impossible, Alaric had hoped. Maybe, just maybe... if he got caught, if he ended up at the mercy of the world again, Killian would come, like he always had. Killian had been his light, his savior, the one who made him believe—if only briefly—that he could be more than what he was. He wanted that back, to feel the warmth of being saved again—even if only for a moment.

But Killian wasn't coming. He never was.

The blackness in Alaric's eyes spread, swallowing the icy gray of his irises. It was the only visible sign of the sadness that gnawed at him from within, making him look otherworldly—an angel fallen too far, now more demon than divine. His bone-white skin glowed eerily in the dim light, making him resemble a ghost, a fragment of something once beautiful but now fractured beyond repair.

The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, filling the room with suffocating weight. Tears welled somewhere deep inside him, but they wouldn't fall. He couldn't cry. Not for Killian. Not for himself.

Because who would cry for a monster?

He closed his eyes against the tears that wouldn't come, against the crushing emptiness wrapped around his heart, refusing to let go. I deserve this, he thought, the words sinking into him like stones. I deserve every second of it. The pain, the chains, the cold—they were fitting, weren't they? He had been foolish to think otherwise.

Maybe he deserved to be forgotten, too.

He shifted slightly, the iron ring around his neck clinking softly as it pressed deeper into his skin. He felt it—the weight of the centuries pressing down on his shoulders, the accumulation of every sin, every misstep, every moment of weakness. All wrapped around him like a second skin. For a brief moment, he wondered what it might feel like to let it all go. To sink into the darkness and let it swallow him whole.

But the world didn't grant such mercies. Not to someone like him.

And so, he remained—bound, broken, waiting for something that would never come. His darkened eyes stared at the cracked ceiling above, unblinking, as if searching for a distant star that had long since burned out.

No one was coming to save him. Not this time.

Somewhere deep in the pit of his heart, Alaric knew the truth: he didn't deserve to be saved. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, the sound barely audible in the stillness. The sadness in his chest settled deeper, rooting itself like a parasite, feeding on every thought, every memory, every flicker of hope he'd ever had. Yet, even as despair threatened to swallow him, he held onto one last thought—a painful thread.

If Killian were still alive... would he have come?

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Alaric closed his eyes again, allowing the darkness to take him, if only for a little while. It was the closest thing to peace he'd ever known.

And maybe—just maybe—it was all he deserved.