Chapter 8: Blood Oath Between Brothers
The echo of the kneeling court’s allegiance faded, leaving only the soft, erratic drip of gore from the dais and the shallow breaths of the living. The weight of the moment settled, thick and syrupy. Cassian sat on the throne, his posture regal yet strangely vacant, as if he were listening to the echoes of his own heartbeat in the vast, silent hall.
With a slight, almost weary gesture, he dismissed the Elders and the Guard. “Leave us. Secure the perimeter. Inform the Court of the transition. We will hold full council at midnight.” His voice was calm, devoid of triumph, only a deep-seated exhaustion. The ancient vampires rose, bowing once more before filing out, their robes whispering against the obsidian. Captain Vorghan was the last to go, his sharp eyes scanning Adrian, Mercedes, and Kael with a new, calculating respect before he turned on his heel.
The massive, splintered doorway stood open to the dark corridors beyond.
Once they were alone, Cassian let out a long, controlled breath. The rigid line of his shoulders softened by a fraction. He looked at Adrian, then at Mercedes and Kael who stood flanking him, a united front painted in various shades of blood and grime.
“Balthazar and Darius will be here soon,” Cassian said, his tone shifting into something more familiar, more brotherly. “Riding hard from the Eastern Marches once they felt the… rupture.”
Adrian managed a smirk, wiping a streak of black ichor from his jaw. “Well, now our brothers can breathe easy, now that father is gone.”
“We all will,” Cassian agreed, but his gaze was anchored on Adrian, intense and unwavering. “But I want you to make me an oath. Right now.” He pushed himself up from the throne, descending the dais steps until he stood level with them on the blood-slicked floor. “I plan to leave you in your position as a warrior. My warrior. But with a special mission.”
Adrian’s amber-red eyes narrowed, but he gave a single, sharp nod. “Tell me the oath you want and the mission, and you’ll have whatever you ask for.”
Kael shifted uneasily beside Mercedes, sensing the gravity coiling in the air. Mercedes herself was still, her shotgun held loosely, her gray-green eyes watching the exchange with quiet understanding.
Cassian’s voice dropped, not with conspiracy, but with a profound, grim sincerity. “I want you to make a blood oath, accompanied by Mercedes’ magic. Swear that if I ever become like our father, you will kill me without hesitation.”
The words hung in the humming silence of the hall. Adrian’s perpetual smirk vanished, wiped clean as if by a hard wind. He stared at his brother, his older brother who had just ripped out a king’s heart and taken his throne, and saw not a monarch, but a man already haunted by the specter of the crown. The thought—the image of turning his own power against Cassian—lanced through him with a physical pain. His heart clenched, a tight, cold fist in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second, swallowing against a dry throat. When he opened them, the resolve there was hard, and terrible, and absolute.
He nodded again.
He looked at Mercedes. She understood. The magic of a nahual could bind a promise to the soul, make it more than words. She gave a slow, solemn nod of her own.
Without another word, Adrian drew a silver dagger from his belt. The metal gleamed in the candlelight. He turned his hand palm-up and drew the blade across it in one clean, swift motion. A line of deep crimson welled up instantly.
Cassian watched, then produced his own knife—a simpler, utilitarian blade. He mirrored the action, slicing his own pale palm. Their blood, one a vibrant red, the other darker, almost black, dripped onto the polished obsidian at their feet.
They clasped hands, a tight, desperate grip. Blood met blood, slick and warm between their pressed skin. It was not a handshake of equals, nor of king and subject. It was the grip of brothers clinging to a raft in a raging sea.
Mercedes stepped forward. She laid her shotgun carefully on the ground. Then she placed both her hands over theirs, enveloping their joined fists. Her floral tattoos began to glow, not the fierce emerald of combat, but a softer, steadier gold, like sunlight through leaves. A low hum emanated from her, a vibration that traveled up their arms. The air smelled of ozone and warm earth.
“Swear it,” Cassian whispered, his eyes locked on Adrian’s.
Adrian’s voice, when it came, was raw, stripped of all its customary mockery. It was a bare, broken thing, and utterly true. “I swear by my blood, by the bond between us, and by every scar we share… if you ever become a tyrant like him, if that corruption ever takes root in you… I myself will kill you. I swear it.”
The golden light from Mercedes’ hands flared, brilliant and blinding for a single heartbeat. It seared their skin where it touched, not with pain, but with a profound, indelible permanence. Then it faded, sinking into their flesh, leaving behind only a faint, shimmering resonance where their hands were joined.
The oath was sealed.
Adrian pulled his hand back as if burned, flexing his fingers. A thin, golden line now traced the cut on his palm, a permanent scar of promise. He could feel it, a whisper of magic tied directly to his core, to Cassian’s. A kill-switch woven into the fabric of their bond.
Cassian looked at his own marked palm, then up at his brother. The ghost of a sad, grateful smile touched his lips. “Thank you.”
The golden light from their bound hands faded completely, leaving only the coppery scent of blood and a new, intimate weight in the air between the brothers. Cassian flexed his fingers, staring at the thin, luminous scar now etched across his palm. Adrian did the same, the permanent mark feeling both like a chain and a strange kind of freedom.
Adrian let out a long, theatrical sigh that cut through the residual solemnity. He wiped his still-damp palm on his ruined silk trousers. “So,” he said, his familiar smirk creeping back onto his face, a mask sliding into a comfortable place. “Since you’re clearly not giving me a vacation after all… this, what’s the actual mission?”
Cassian laughed softly, the sound warm and real in the cold hall. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and began to meticulously clean his own hands. “The human government has opened a police department dedicated to paranormal affairs. A special branch. They want to maintain control and solve any issues that arise.”
“Sounds bureaucratic,” Adrian muttered, already looking bored.
“They have a mandate,” Cassian continued, folding the bloodied cloth. “To intervene in cases of a vampire consuming blood from too many victims, a werewolf hunting humans for fun… and they want to include mediating conflicts between races, like the ongoing dispute between the Oceanids and the River Nymphs over the coastal estuaries.”
Adrian whistled, a low, appreciative sound. “Wow. That’s a huge undertaking. Ambitious idiots. What do you want me to do? Go laugh at their flowcharts?”
“I want you to be the vampire representative in the department,” Cassian said, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Our official liaison.”
Adrian raised a pierced eyebrow. “You want me? The bastard? The one who just helped splatter a king across his own throne? To be a vampire detective and a diplomat?”
“Well, yes,” Cassian said, a genuine smile breaking through. “Since you’re always getting into trouble, now you’ll be professionally licensed to solve it. Think of it as redirecting your talents.”
A loud, sharp laugh burst from Adrian. He shook his head, platinum hair swaying. “Okay. Fine. Absolutely hilarious. I accept. This will be a disaster. I’ll need business cards.”
Cassian’s gaze then shifted to Mercedes, who was listening while quietly checking the integrity of her shotgun’s enchantments. “The department wants you too, Mercedes. They’ve heard of the famous nahual who always helps those who seek her out, no questions asked. They need that skillset.”
Mercedes didn’t look up from her weapon. “I’ll think about it,” she said, her voice flat. “My family and I were hunted for a long time. By humans, by other factions. Besides, we’re rejected by some communities that still see nahuals as monsters, as bad luck. Working for the humans feels like a pretty big leap.”
“I understand,” Cassian replied, his compassion evident. “The offer stands. No pressure.”
A moment of silence passed, filled only by the distant drip of water in the cavernous dark. Then Mercedes’ head snapped up, her gray-green eyes going wide with a sudden, mundane horror that seemed absurd after everything. “Oh, shit!” she blurted out.
Everyone turned to her. Kael stepped closer. “What?”
“I don’t have a home!” she exclaimed, gesturing vaguely as if to the world outside. “My apartment! It’s gone. It blew up! Because of the sentinel, and the chase… I’m literally homeless.”
Before Kael or her brothers could speak, Adrian shrugged, his teardrop necklace catching the light. “So come live with me in the city. My place is huge, obnoxiously secure, and has a view that’ll make you weep. Consider it operational housing.”
Miguel, who had been looming protectively nearby, immediately stiffened. “Absolutely not,” he growled, stepping forward. “No. Mercedes won’t be doing that. That is not happening.”
Mercedes turned her sharp gaze on her older brother. She placed a hand on her hip. “After the state you left my last place in? The broken door, the sulfur stains on the ceiling, the petrified coyote in the broom closet? You don’t get a vote. This is the least you can do.” She looked back at Adrian, a slow, reluctant smile tugging at her full lips. “I’ll need my own bathroom. And a window that opens.”
“Deal,” Adrian said, his amber eyes glinting.