Chapter 57: Tom’s Confession
The Dive’s flickering bulb cast jagged shadows across Tom’s face, his cigarette’s ember glowing red as he exhaled, smoke curling through the stale air. Sam stood rigid, claws glinting in the dimness, the bond pulsing faintly—Jake, distant, a heat he couldn’t shake—while Tom’s words—“I was wondering when you’d figure it out” (Chapter 56)—hung heavy, a taunt laced with truth. Seattle's charred remains loomed behind the boarded-up windows, the power vacuum (Chapter 51) a quiet witness to the disintegration of secrets—Lucian's offer (Chapter 55), Jake's silence (Chapter 54), the curse of the letter (Chapter 54)—and now Tom, the traitor who'd sold the Vipers (Chapter 41), patiently waited, a key Sam hadn't expected.
"Figure what out?" Sam growled, voice rough, advancing, the letter trembling in his paw—"born to be claimed" (Chapter 54)—its burden heavier with every breath. "My father, the bond, Jake—talk, Tom, or I'll rip it out of you." His claws out, the wolf growling, restless, the bond humming—Jake's presence, steady, a chain he'd chosen (Chapter 50) but now questioned with every lie uncovered.
Tom leaned back, his face twitching into a slight smirk, weary but alert, stubbing the cigarette against the table with a slow, deliberate grind. "Easy, kid," he growled, voice rough, low, his cold, once-warm eyes fixing on Sam's. "You're here 'cause you're lost—Jake won't talk, Lucian's got you spinning. I've got answers, but you ain't gonna like 'em." He paused, lighting another cigarette, the match's flare illuminating shadows on war scars (Chapter 46), a man spent by his own choices.
Sam's chest puffed, the bond slamming—Jake's silence in the club (Chapter 54), Lucian's order—"kill Jake" (Chapter 55)—battering in his brain. "Then tell me," he snarled, laying the letter out on the table, crest shining in the most dimmest light. "My dad told me this bond's a curse—said Jake betrayed him. Lucian claims he killed him. You were there—you knew both of them. What's true?
Tom exhaled smoke, grimacing as he read the letter, running his fingers over the crest—circle and claw (Chapter 51)—a flicker of memory on his face. "Daniel," he growled, voice dropping, then strengthening as he looked up. "Yeah, I knew him—your dad was a fighter, to the death dedicated. And Jake—" He paused, smirk disappearing, a glimmer of regret in his eyes. "Jake's been lying to you all these years, Sam.". That bond? Not destiny, some cosmic pull. It was planned—engineered, to the very blood in your veins.
Sam's breathing stopped, the bond burning—Jake, a weak heat, a trick?—the Dive's air thickening, Tom's words piercing like claws into his gut. "Designed?" he croaked, voice trembling, stepping back, the letter's threat—"not meant to be free" (Chapter 54)—taking on a sinister tone. "What are you saying?
Tom hunched forward, forearms on the table, his smoke swirling around him as he talked, low, soft, cutting. "You were meant to belong to Jake all along. He didn't blunder into that bargain—didn't just save you out of honor crap. You were designed for him, Sam—Clara's bloodline, Daniel's heritage, tainted by a pact Jake struck many years before your birth.". The bond was not accidental—one is a leash, and he fashioned it. He rapped the crest, glinting eyes. "This? The seal of that pact—old, vile, bound to power he craved. Daniel learned, tried to stop it—Jake did not take kindly to that.".
Sam’s world tilted, the bond pulsing—Jake’s claim (Chapter 48), his touch (Chapter 49)—a lie, not fate but design, a cage built before he’d drawn breath. His father’s vision flashed—sharp jaw, brown eyes, blood (Chapter 37)—and the letter’s plea—“don’t trust him” (Chapter 54)—rang true, Lucian’s accusation—“what Jake did” (Chapter 53)—sharpening into focus. “Made for him?” he whispered, claws digging into his palms, blood welling. “You’re saying I’m—what—a tool? A weapon?”
Tom nodded, smoke circling his lips, voice level, unrepentant. "More like a prize. Clara's blood—rare, potent—was the key. Jake saw it, wanted it—control, power, a bond no one could undo. Daniel fought it, wanted you free, but Jake… he had other plans. Stole you, bound you up, made certain you'd never escape." He leaned back, eyes serene. "Why do you suppose he's so quiet now? Guilt, maybe—or he knows you're too deep to escape."
Sam's heart tightened, the bond bursting—Jake, alive, waiting—a warmth he'd pursued (Chapter 50), loathed (Chapter 25), now a tie forged in deceit, not destiny. Lucian's temptation—kill Jake (Chapter 55)—suspended, a brutal escape from a lie lived, but Tom's serene slash cut deeper, a truth unhearable. "My father—" he started, voice shattering, "—did Jake kill him for this?
Tom's eyes flashed, shadow crossing his face, cigarette pausing in mid-drag. "I wasn't here when Daniel was killed," he said, the voice low and protective. "But I was around for the aftermath—blood, Jake's silence, the agreement made. Make your own image, kid. Jake never flinched—took you and ran with it." The smoke from the cigarette drifted through his eyes. "You belong to him now—always have."
Sam looked at Tom, the bond pounding—Jake, a lie, a beast—a heat he couldn't close out, the Dive's walls closing in, his father's teaching, Lucian's ritual, Tom's confession crashing. His claws trembled, the crest on the letter a sear on his heart, and his voice rasped, raw, accusatory. "And you knew?"
Tom's sneer faltered, eyes flashing—guilt, challenge—a weight pressing down as the cigarette burned away, the silence between them an admission in itself.
The world outside was quiet, oblivious to the storm brewing within Sam's chest. The truth had been torn asunder, a foundation broken beyond repair. The bond branded in his veins, a plague he could not wash away, and Jake—Jake waited. For Sam's return or his wrath, he did not know.
Sam clenched his fists, claws stabbing into the heel of his hands, but this time he welcomed the pain. It centered him. He turned to the door, leaving the letter on the table, the crest naught now. "If I was ever his," he breathed, more to himself than to Tom, "then let us see if he can do without me."
Tom didn't step in. The door slammed shut behind Sam, night swallowing him whole.