Chapter 60

The black van drove wildly down the highway, driving through the patches of black ice as Eric stepped down on the accelerator.

He coughed weakly, his face pale, he had lost so much blood, he could barely breathe well.

One hand held the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had turned white, while the other hand rested on the re vial that sat between his thighs like it was a live grenade.

The vial was covered with a thin layer of red wax, cracked from the cold, and he could feel the liquid slosh with every pit hole the van hit, each tiny movement felt like a reminder that one wrong bounce could shatter everything.

There was only one dose.

One chance.

The words kept on replaying in his head, over and over again.

Tyler was zip-tied in the back of the van, his wrists and ankles tied with heavy-duty plastic cuffs Eric had taken from the cabin’s emergency kit.

Duct tape sealed his mouth, but blood still poured out from the shoulder wound, soaking the carpet in a dark, spreading stain.

Every few seconds Tyler would hit his head against the metal floor, it was a deliberate, rhythmic move, he moved like a trapped animal testing the bars.

The sound got on Eric’s nerves, but he ignored it, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

The speedometer needle had pushed past 82 meters per hour.

The road had become a blur of frosted pine trunks and white ground, the world had reduced to a tunnel of survival.

His face hurt badly where Tyler’s claws had opened it, four deep gashes running from left temple to jaw, the skin split open and flapping with each pothole the van ran into.

Blood dripped steadily into his left eye, it was warm and sticky, he kept on wiping it away with the sleeve of his shirt, smearing it across his cheek like war paint.

The pain was constant, it was like a hot ache that matched with his heartbeat, but it kept him awake, and kept him moving.

His ribs were worse, they had been cracked in at least two places from the earlier fight, every breath he took felt like a knife twist.

He tasted blood in his mouth from biting his tongue during a sharp turn.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder for the third time. Gabe’s name showing in the caller ID.

Eric put his thumb on the speaker, his voice rough.

“Talk fast.” He muttered.

“Eric, thank God, talk to me.” Gabe said.

“Where are you right now? Are you on your way back to the mill?, ” Gabe asked, his voice cracking with static and emotion.

“It’s bad Eric.” He continued.

“Ariana’s condition is critical and the Medics are scrambling, but, ”

“I’ve got the antidote,” Eric cut in, words tumbling out over the loud engine.

“It’s just one via that was all I could find.” He said.

“I’m ten minutes away.” He continued.

“Tell them to prep an IV line, push it straight in.” He said.

“No delays.” He added.

There was silence on the line for a second, then Gabe’s exhale, it was shaky.

“Copy.” He whispered.

“The team’s en route now, ETA fifteen from compound. Are you hurt? Your voice, ” He whispered.

“I’m fine, I only sustained a minor injury.” He lied, as he looked down at his cracked ribs and his face which was torn open.

“On the good side, Tyler is alive, he’s tied in the back, bleeding but breathing.” He said.

“I didn’t shoot him yet because I thought we might need leverage.” He said.

“Jesus Christ, Eric.” Gabe said, shocked by the news.

“Hold on, just hold on. Don’t do anything stupid.” He said.

“Would I have spared his life if I wanted to do something stupid?” Eric asked as he killed the call with a jab of his thumb, the phone clattering back into the cupholder.

Just then the van hit a deep pothole; the vial jumped an inch.

Eric immediately slammed his palm over it, his heart jumping into his throat for a second.

Don’t drop it. Don’t you fucking drop it.

He released his foot off the gas for a second, steadying, then accelerated again.

He had no time to waste, he had to get to Ariana as fast as he could.

He hoped she was alright, he whispered a prayer under his breath as he drove, praying she was okay.

The mill was just ahead, he could see it through the windshield, a feeling of relief and anxiety passed through his heart at once, he felt anxious, was she okay?

Different questions passed through his head as he drove towards the mill.

Two pack trucks were parked just out front of the mill, the headlights were left on and it was bright in the darkening sky.

The mill’s doors were wide open, a few medics running about.

Gabe stood at the front of the mill, his face pale as snow, he was holding the baby Eli in a sling against his chest, while shouting instructions to some medics.

Eric brought the van to a stop in a spray of gravel, and jumped out before it fully stopped.

“Where is she?” He asked, the words came out like he was barking desperately.

Gabe pointed with a trembling hand.

“Inside. Medics are with her.” He said.

“Eric, she’s… she’s bad. Real bad.” He stammered, looking at Eric with worry.

Eric shook his head as he ran inside.

The mill door banged open under his shoulder.

The smell hit him first, blood thick and coppery, then that horrible wolfsbane’s smell, and then smoke.

Ariana lay on a blue bed in the center, medics working frantically around her.

IV line in her arm dripping fluids, her oxygen mask shaking weakly with each breath she took, her monitors beeping loudly.

Her lips were blue, her skin was grayish, her eyes were closed as she fought for breath.

One medic, a young woman with blood on her gloves, looked up.

“Pulse thread, forty-two bpm. BP is sixty over thirty and dropping.”

“We’re losing her fast.”

Eric dropped to his knees beside the bed, and opened the vial with shaking fingers.

The wax cracked under his thumbnail.

“Antidote.” He managed to say.

The medic took it without question, she quickly drew the clear liquid into a syringe with professional speed, and pushed it into the IV port.

The antidote slowly trickled into the line.

Eric took Ariana’s hand, which was already cold and limp, her fingers stained with dried blood.

“Come on, baby.” He whispered.

“Fight.” He whispered.

“You hear me?” He muttered.

“Fight for us.” He whispered, his voice broke, tears blurring his vision.

Minutes crawled like hours.

Ariana’s breathing didn’t improve, instead it became even more shallow, and weaker under the mask.

The heart monitor beeped slowly, not improving.
Beep… beep…… beep…

Eric’s hand wrapped around hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

The medic shook his head sadly.

“The antidote is circulating.” He muttered.

“But the damage… her liver enzymes are through the roof, the kidneys are failing.” He paused and looked up at Eric.

“Her organs are shutting down one by one.” He muttered.

Eric slowly shook his head, refusing to accept the nonsense the doctor was saying.

“Shut up!” He growled.

“Do something. Anything.” He barked.

“Transfusion, dialysis, do whatever it takes.” He shouted.

“We are,” the medic said gently.

“We already stabilized the fluids, we put the pressors on to reduce the blood pressure, we are doing everything we can and now it’s up to her to fight.” The doctor said and paused.

“That’s it. The wolfsbane’s too deep, only she can fight it now, it’s in her hands.” He said.

Gabe stepped inside, his face looked mournful as he looked at Eric.

“Is Tyler secure?” He asked, trying to change the topic.

Eric nodded silently.

“Yes.” He managed to say.

“In the van.” He said.

“He’s tied tight.” He said.

“He’s wounded but still strong enough to keep talking shit.” He added.

Gabe nodded to a burly hunter outside.

“Bring him in.” He said.

“Be careful, he’s the most dangerous Where you’d ever meet.” He added.

Two men dragged Tyler through the door, he was still tied , his face was swollen purple, his eyes filled with pain and hate.

He had dried blood all over his shoulder.

He saw Ariana lying unconscious and immediately began to laugh, the gag, making his laughter sound like a muffled, wet sound.

Eric stood slowly, his fists clenched.

“Remove the tape.” He whispered, trying to control his anger.

The hunter ripped it off.

Tyler spat blood onto the floor.

“Too late, hero.” He muttered laughing hysterically.

“Look at her, she’s gone.” He whispered mockingly.

“White as a corpse already.” He whispered and smiled.

“And your pack is next. I’ll burn it all when I heal.” He whispered.

“Bastard!”Eric shouted as he punched him hard, right hook to the jaw.

Tyler’s head snapped back, more blood spraying.

Gabe grabbed Eric’s arm, pulling him off.

“Enough! We need him alive, for answers, for trial.” He said.

Eric shook his head as he looked at Tyler.

“That bastard is responsible for countless deaths, including Ariana, Jasmine and Liam.” He shouted.

“I know! That’s why you have to calm down!” Gabe said, holding him back.

Eric looked away.

“He dies when she does.” He muttered under his breath.

“That’s the deal.”

Meanwhile,

The cabin smelled of thick woodsmoke, dried leaves were bundled on the walls, they all looked sharper, smelled metallic, and looked like old blood baked into the pine floorboards over decades.

A single oil lamp burned on a scarred oak table in the center, Mara had explained to her not to get too close to the flame as it was an eternal flame and if she got burned, it would give her an eternal scar.

Mara moved like a ghost around the space, arranging out items with the calm precision of someone making morning coffee, a mason jar filled with dark, scary liquid that moved like oil, a shallow silver bowl designed with symbols that Clara didn’t recognize, a bone handle knife with a blade that looked blunt and rusted from age, and a faded Polaroid of a dead man, his eyes closed, his face looking peaceful, was placed on the table, next to a big brown book that looked like a photo album.

Clara stood in the doorway, her shotgun held across her chest like a shield, the weight of it feeling heavy in her trembling hands but it also made her feel safer

The warmth inside was a shock after the freezing trek, but it did nothing to change the cold in her body.

“How does it work?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“How does it work exactly, I need to know.” She quickly added.

Mara didn’t look up at first, he just arranged the knife just so.

“You give me your soul and I give you his.” She whispered.

“Simple as making tea.” She said her voice was raspy, and sounded older than it did earlier.

Clara felt her throat get tighter, the words sticking in her head.

“I want Liam back.” She whispered.

“My Liam.” She added.

“The one who laughed at my bad jokes.” She continued.

“The one who fixed the truck with duct tape and prayers. Not… not something else. Not a monster.” She said.

Mara’s milky eyes looked up at her, pinning Clara in place.

“Black magic doesn’t give you exactly what you lost, child.” She rasped.

lYou get the body, flesh, bone, the face you loved, but the soul’s… negotiable.” She continued.

“It might be him, warm and whole, or it might be hungry, twisted by the dark it crawled through.” She said.

“Are you willing to gamble on that?” She asked.

Clara looked down at her feet, the shotgun’s bottom digging into her palm.

Liam’s face flashed in her memory again, those golden eyes crinkling in a crooked smile, the way he always used to kiss her forehead after a nightmare and whisper

“I’ve got you.”

And their mate bond, even though it had been severed by death, it still ached and felt like he was right there.

“I’ll take the risk,” she said, her voice cracking but steadying.

“I have to.” She added.

Mara nodded once, no judgment in her gaze.

“Then take off your clothes to the waist and on the table.” She said.

“We start with blood, yours to bind, his to call.” She added, and continued digging through her stuff.

Clara hesitated, the shotgun suddenly felt heavy as lead in her hands.

She set it down resting against the wall, and took off her hoodie and inner wear in slow motion.

The air raised goosebumps on her skin, the symbols Mara had mentioned feeling like brands already.

She lay on the table, the wood was rough and splintered against her spine, she held her breath and silently stared up at the ceiling beams, which had turned dark with age and soot.

Mara dipped two fingers into the mason jar, the liquid was cold and sticky as it touched Clara’s chest.

She drew symbols in deliberate strokes, circles, crosses, runes that burned faintly where they touched.

“This binds you,” Mara murmured.

“When he breathes again, you stop.” She whispered.

“Soul for a soul.” She added.

“No take backs, no second thoughts.” She whispered.

Clara closed her eyes, Liam’s memory flooding her, the first time he had shifted in front of her, he had been playful and proud, the quiet mornings with coffee on the porch.

She nodded, tears rolling down her cheek.

Mara began to chant low inhuman words in a language older than anything Clara had ever imagined.

The oil lamp began to blink wildly, as shadows began leaping in the background.

The room began to grow warmer and warmer in an unnatural way.

The chanting grew louder, Mara’s voice rising in intensity, the words vibrating in Clara’s bones.

The symbols on her chest felt hotter now and they burned.

Mara’s gnarled hand pressed flat between her breasts, steadying her, the bone-handled knife was a few feet above.

“Last chance,” Mara said, her eyes glowing red in the dark room.

“Say the words, or I stop.” She hissed.

Clara shook her head, her voice cracking as she screamed.

“I give my soul for Liam’s.” She screamed.

“Let him live. Please.” She cried.

Mara shook her head as she sliced, shallow but deliberate, a three-inch cut across Clara’s chest.

Pain exploded, it felt bright and white, but Clara bit it back.

Blood filled immediately, running in warm circles into the silver bowl.

Mara dipped a finger, drew a final symbol on Clara’s forehead, it was wet, sticky, and sealing.

Just then the lamp went out with a whooshing sound.

Darkness filled the cabin.

Then a wind, that was cold, and unnatural, began howling through cracks that weren’t there, all around the room.

The Polaroid on the table fluttered as if alive; the dead man’s eyes flew open in the photo, staring.

Mara whispered, voice reverent.

“It’s begun.” She cried.

“The veil to the other side has been opened, and a spirit has been released!”

The wind died as suddenly as it came.

The oil lamp relit itself with a soft pop, the flame was steady again.

Mara stepped back, wiping her hands on a rag.

“It’s done.” She whispered.

“The binding holds.” She said.

“He’ll wake at moonrise, body first, soul second.” She continued, looking at Clara with pity.

“ You’ll feel it starting, your soul leaving like breath from a punctured lung.” She muttered.

“When his heart beat returns, yours leaves.”

Clara sat up slowly, blood shilling on her chest in dark lines.

The pain was dull now, but it was still there.

“Where? How?” She asked.

“His grave,” Mara said.

“Midnight sharp.” She continued.

“Bring a shovel, salt, and this Polaroid and dig him up, pour the rest of this, ” she handed a small vial of the dark liquid “over the body, speak his name three times and then wait.” She said.

Clara dressed with trembling hands, her hoodie sticking to her chest where the fresh cut was.

She picked up the shotgun, the weight felt familiar.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice small.

Mara’s eyes were sad, and tired.

“Don’t thank me yet, child.” She said, sounding tired.

“Some doors, once opened, devour everything.” She whispered.

Meanwhile

Eric screamed as Ariana flatlined without warning.

The monitor screamed, a high, piercing wail that echoed off the wall.
The Medics ripped open her shirt, and the defibrillator paddles were placed on her chest.

“Clear!” The doctor shouted.

Her body jerked with shock, limp.

No response.

“Again, charging, clear!”

Nothing.

The line stayed flat.

Eric shoved the medics aside, dropped to his knees, started compressions, hard, fast, counting under his breath.

“One, two, three, come on, Ariana.

“Fight.”

“ You promised me forever.” He said, his voice broke on the words, tears mixing with blood on his face.

Gabe’s hand settled on his shoulder, it felt heavy.

“Eric, she
’s, ”

“No.” He kept pumping, ignoring the pain he felt as his ribs cracked under the force.

Third shock.

“Clear!”

The line shook once, it was weak, then it steadied, beeping slowly but there.

The medic exhaled shakily.

“She’s back.

“But it’s barely, he is thirty-eight, and still managing to hold.” The doctor said,

Eric collapsed beside her, his forehead on her cold hand, as he began to cry.

“Don’t you dare leave me.” He cried.

“Not now.”