Chapter 37: Visions of the Past
The gentle light of the cabin flickered as Sam stared at his shaking hands, the fading beat of the bond a dull ache in his chest. Ethan's hand was over his heart, beckoning him to step beyond the hurt, to sever the link to Jake finally. But the air grew heavy, thick with something beyond the lantern's glow—a hum, a whisper, tugging at the edges of Sam's mind. His vision blurred, the walls of the cabin warping, and a burning stab sliced through his skull, sending him plummeting to his knees on a choked gasp.
"Sam!" Ethan's voice was distant, muffled, as he seized Sam's shoulders, shaking him. "What's happening? Stay with me!
Sam couldn't answer, his breath hitching as agony became onslaught—a flood of images, sounds, sensations not his own. The bond wasn't just breaking—it was unraveling, peeling back strata of memory long entombed in its blood-soaked roots. His hands shredded the floor, splinters punching through his palms, and the world dropped out, superseded by a vision clear and vivid as the now.
He was in a basement—stone walls, damp air, the metallic smell of blood thick in his nostrils. Torches threw ragged shadows, and three people stood in a circle. Sam's heart missed a beat as he saw who they were—Jake, younger, his dark hair wild, golden eyes ablaze with something fierce, untested. Beside him, a man with Sam's own face—strong jaw, brown eyes, a face he had seen only in ancient photographs—his father, alive, struggling, his hands red-stained. And a woman—Clara, his mother—her silver-blonde hair pulled back, her eyes intent but tortured, a knife gripped in her trembling hand.
"This is the only way," Clara said, voice low but determined, slicing through the silence. She pulled the blade across her palm, blood welling, and held it out. "For him—for Sam. They'll come for us otherwise."
Sam's father shook his head, stepping forward, voice rough. "No, Clara—we can run. We don't need this. He doesn't need this."
"They'll come for us," Jake cut in, low and level, his eyes on Clara's blood. "The packs, the Cobras—they all know what you are, what he'll become. This covenant—it's safeguard. For us all." He held out his own hand, unfinching as Clara's blade cut into his flesh, their blood mingling as it dripped down onto the stone.
Sam's breath hitched, the image pulling him closer, an unseen observer of a scene he'd never known. His father paused, jaw tight, then accepted the knife, slicing his palm with a grimace. "If it will keep him safe," he ground out, voice breaking, "but I don't trust you, Jake. Not with this."
Jake's mouth twisted, a faint sneer, but his eyes were glacial. "You don't have to. It's done.
Clara began to chant, words Sam didn't recognize—old, throaty, full of power. The blood on the stone ignited, a red flame pulsing in time with Sam's heartbeat, and the air thickened, magic weaving the pact into being. Sam felt it—the creation of the bond, a thread tying Jake to him, even then, a shadow cast over a child yet unborn. Then the vision shifted, a rift in the memory, and Sam saw something else—Clara faltering, her spell failing, her gaze meeting Jake's.
"You can stop this," she whispered, voice trembling, a plea. "Before it's sealed—let him go, Jake. Let him go free."
Jake's hand clenched into a fist, blood dripping faster, his eyes blazing—to Clara, to Sam's father, then down at the gleaming ring. A choice hovered there, unspoken and tense, the chance to deny the bond, to let Sam go unbond. Sam's heart pounding, pleaded with Jake to say no, to stop it before it began. But Jake's jaw locked, his voice a growl. "No. He's ours—mine. It's the only way.
The light blazed, blinding, and the deal struck, a jolt that snapped Sam back into the cabin. He screamed, doubling forward, Ethan's arms closing around him as he very nearly fell out of the chair. The agony was gone, replaced by a hollow ache, the bond a faint whisper now, its beginnings stripped naked in the vision's merciless light.
"Sam—who was it?" Ethan's voice was urgent, his green eyes scouring Sam's face, hands steadying him.
Sam's breathing shook, his hands still shaking as he grasped Ethan's arms. "The pact," he rasped, voice rough. "When they formed it—my parents, Jake—they did. My mom—she cut her hand, my dad too, and Jake… he agreed. They bound me to him—before I was even born."
Ethan's eyebrows furrowed, his grip tightening. "Why? For what?
Sam's head reeled, the recollection looping—Clara's pleading, his father's doubt, Jake's choice. "Protection, they said to me—from the packs, the Cobras. My mom was. different, something rare. They thought it would protect me. But Jake—" He cut off, throat closing, the truth of it breaking over him. "She gave him the opportunity to stop it, Ethan. Before it was done—he could've said no. He could've let me go. But he didn't.".
Ethan's eyes blackened, a growl rumbling low. "He chose it. He wanted you bound to him—why?"
Sam glanced at his hands, the dried blood on them a reminder of the red glow of the pact. Jake's words echoed in his ears—"He's mine"—and the possessiveness in his golden eyes after Nick's death seared itself into his brain. The bond's weakening had torn open this reality—Jake hadn't just agreed to the pact; he'd demanded it, wouldn't let it escape. But why? Power, as Mary had stated? Control, as Sam had long suspected? Or something else, something twisted in the flame of their bond?
"I don't know," Sam whispered, his voice trembling, the cabin walls closing in around him. "But he wanted this—wanted me. And now." He trailed off, the faint pulse of the bond a question he couldn't answer. Jake had wanted him bound, wanted him to become this—feral, bloodied, a killer. But why?