Eternally Bound by Blood(Dark Bl)

Eric's eyes shot open, rage flaring within him . His muscles tensed, his breath came fast, but something was wrong—terribly wrong. The confined space pressed down on him, cold and suffocating. Panic clawed at his mind as he reached out, hands scraping against a hard surface above him.

A coffin.

The realization struck him. He pressed his palms against the smooth wood, pushing hard until it gave with a groaning creak. The lid shifted, the stale air flooding his senses as he forced it open.

Eric sat up, disoriented, anger still simmering beneath the surface. He blinked into the dim light surrounding him, trying to get his bearings. The room was cold, barren, the faint scent of iron lingering in the air.

Why was he so angry? The emotion gnawed at him, demanding release, though he couldn't quite pinpoint what had triggered it. His memories were a blur, tangled threads he couldn't fully grasp. There had been a hunter... and a woman. A woman in a mask.

His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. The details evaded him, just out of reach, but the sensations remained—the adrenaline, the confusion, the overwhelming urge to run. And then... nothing. Darkness.

Eric swung his legs over the edge of the coffin, planting his bare feet on the cold floor. .

Who was she? And why had she been with the hunters?

His chest tightened with the weight of questions, none of which had answers. But one thing was certain: whoever had done this to him had made a mistake.

Eric wasn't going to lie down and accept this.

With each step forward, his anger sharpened, giving him focus. He didn't know where he was, but he'd figure it out. And when he did, he'd find the hunter and the masked woman.

Eric's feet dragged slightly as he moved across the cold concrete floor, his senses on high alert. The room was barren, sterile in a way that unsettled him. It reminded him of those clinical spaces he'd seen in old documentaries—rooms designed not for comfort, but for observation. Every surface gleamed with a dull, metallic sheen under the faint overhead lights, and the lingering scent of antiseptic stung his nose.

His fingers trailed along the nearest wall, touching cool steel counters cluttered with strange tools—scalpels, syringes, and vials filled with murky liquids. Something about the place screamed lab, though it was unlike any medical facility he'd ever seen. The air carried a faint tang of chemicals, mixed with the metallic bite of old blood. He knew without a doubt that experiments had been conducted here.

At the far side of the room, his gaze landed on the enormous glass pane set into the wall. It spanned nearly floor to ceiling, smooth and seamless, with nothing behind it but an oppressive black void. The sight of it made his stomach churn—not that he needed confirmation, but every nerve in his body told him it was a two-way mirror.

Eric took a few slow steps toward the glass, his reflection staring back with an unsettling stillness. His features were sharp and striking, the kind that once captured attention without effort. Messy black curls framed his face, wild and untamed, giving him a roguish charm that hinted at both danger and allure. His dark brown eyes, now laced with a subtle red hue. Thick brows gave his expression a brooding intensity, amplifying the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the precise angle of his jaw. His pale skin, smooth but devoid of warmth, made him appear almost statuesque, a beauty that teetered between captivating and unsettling. As his lip curled slightly, exposing the gleam of his fangs, the air around him seemed to shift—his handsomeness now edged with a predatory sharpness, as if inviting admiration just before the kill.

He placed a hand flat against the cold surface of the mirror, leaning in close. Behind the reflection, it was impossible to tell what might be watching him—or who.They're there, he thought grimly. Silent. Waiting. Studying.

"I know you're watching," he whispered, his voice cutting through the silence.

He dragged his fingers down the glass slowly, leaving smudges along its pristine surface. The sound of his sharpened nails scraping the glass was sharp, unsettling in the otherwise quiet room.

He didn't expect a response, but the idea that someone might be staring at him, silently taking notes, made his blood boil. The anger from earlier rose again, hotter this time, threatening to overwhelm him. His fists clenched at his sides as he imagined faceless scientists jotting down his every move, as if he were some specimen.

Eric forced himself to step back, taking in the rest of the room. He spotted several metal tables, some stacked with strange restraints and leather straps. Others held glass containers filled with floating organic matter—organs, perhaps, or the remnants of creatures long dead. A strange coldness ran through him, as he realized some of those things might've been *people* once. Or creatures like him.

Eric continued to circle the room slowly, looking for any clue as to how he got here—or more importantly, how to get out. There were no doors in sight, no windows apart from the mirror, just more empty shelves and surgical instruments. His sense of time felt warped, as though he'd been trapped in this place for longer than he knew.

He stopped beside one of the metal tables and picked up a scalpel. The weight of it in his hand felt reassuring—something solid in an otherwise surreal nightmare. He turned it over, watching the dull light glint off the blade. It was sharp enough to cut through skin, though that didn't matter much now that his own flesh healed almost instantly.

With a grim smile, Eric pressed the scalpel lightly against the pad of his thumb. The blade bit into his skin, and he watched the wound seal itself in an instant, leaving only a thin smear of blood behind. The sight should have frightened him—but instead, it thrilled him. He was something more now. Something dangerous.

The anger that had burned so fiercely moments ago simmered into a cold, focused resolve. If these people—whoever they were—thought they could break him, they were in for a rude awakening.

Eric's gaze drifted back toward the mirror. He stared at his reflection, unblinking, a dark smile creeping across his lips.

"I'll find you," he whispered ,his voice laced with venom. "And when I do, I'll tear this place apart."

For a moment, he closed his eyes and tried to remember how he got here—what had happened before everything went dark. But the memories slipped through his grasp, fragments scattering before he could make sense of them. The only thing he felt with any certainty was anger. It simmered beneath his skin, warming the coldness in his veins, familiar and grounding.

The door hissed open, and Eric flinched at the sudden intrusion. A man stepped inside, his silhouette carving sharp edges against the pale walls. His presence dragged in an oppressive weight.

Elias moved with the same unsettling grace he always did, like a panther slipping through shadows—fluid, silent, and dangerous. A jagged scar ran from just above his left brow, cutting through his eye and dragging down to his jawline, giving his face a permanent look of severity, as if life had tried to mark him but only made him more formidable. His amber eyes glimmered, filled with an almost lazy amusement, the kind that made you feel small without him saying a word.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. The faint scent of leather and gunpowder followed him, mixing with the coldness he seemed to carry from endless nights spent hunting creatures that shouldn't exist. His presence didn't just unsettle—it grated, a quiet reminder that this man thrived in places others feared to tread.

Eric's stomach churned as he locked eyes with him, a strange hatred clawing at his insides. It was immediate and fierce, as if something buried deep within him recoiled at the mere sight of Elias. He couldn't explain it—as though the man standing before him wasn't just dangerous but wrong on a level Eric didn't understand.

Grinding his teeth, Eric glared. "Where the hell am I?"

Elias cocked his head slightly, the scar pulling with the movement, making his smirk even sharper. "You don't remember?" His voice was smooth but edged with mockery, like he was savoring every second of Eric's confusion. It was the kind of tone that made Eric's fists curl, as if daring him to strike first—just to see what would happen.

With a slow motion, Elias pushed himself off the frame and stepped closer to Eric, each stride confident and predatory. The air seemed to thicken between them as he closed the distance, his eyes narrowing as he studied Eric with a deep intensity.

Elias stopped just a few feet away, his gaze unwavering. "You should be grateful," he said, his voice smooth but laced with disdain. "Alaric chose you for a reason." The bitterness in his tone hinted at resentment, the unspoken truth that Eric's presence was a decision made by a leader Elias didn't fully respect.

There was a tension in the air, a silent struggle for dominance. Elias knew how vital Eric was to their cause, despite his own distaste for the man chosen by Alaric. He had no choice but to accept him, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Don't play games with me." Eric's voice was low, dangerous.

Elias sighed theatrically, stepping further into the room. "Still full of fire, I see. That's good. Would've been boring if you came broken after what Grayson did to you ."

Something shifted in Eric—like a wire snapping inside his mind.

"I swear, if you—"

"Relax," Elias interrupted smoothly, holding up a hand. "You'll understand soon enough. But you're not ready yet."

Eric clenched his teeth, every nerve screaming to lash out, but there was something unsettling in Elias's calm. It wasn't just arrogance. It was certainty.

Then the door swung open again, and a woman stepped inside, her face hidden behind a blank white mask. Eric froze, his anger momentarily overshadowed by unease. The mask was devoid of expression, yet it felt... wrong.

"Who is she?" Eric demanded, his gaze flicking between Elias and the woman.

Elias's grin widened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he turned to leave, his footsteps slow and deliberate. "I'll leave you two to get reacquainted," he called over his shoulder. "Try not to kill each other."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Eric alone with the woman. The silence that followed was heavier than before, thick with something unspoken.

Eric stared at the mask, his heart pounding in his chest. Something told him this was just the beginning—and whatever came next, it wouldn't be easy to walk away from.