Chapter 7: The Blood Pact
The path to the high cabin was longer than Mério remembered, each step weighed down by fatigue and the chilling certainty that Silas’s eyes were still on them. Scarlett moved like a ghost beside him, her hand tight in his, every rustle in the undergrowth making her flinch. The normal sounds of the forest had become threats.
“Almost there, Scar,” Mério murmured, his voice a low comfort. “My brothers helped me build it. No one knows it’s here but us.”
But when the cabin came into view through a break in the pines, smoke was curling from its stone chimney. Mério stopped dead, pulling Scarlett behind him. “Someone’s home.”
The door creaked open before they could retreat. A woman with worry lines etching her face and Scarlett’s same sharp silver eyes stood framed in the doorway. Vanilla. She held a cast-iron skillet like a weapon, but her expression melted into relieved exhaustion when she saw them.
“Took you two long enough,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ve been boiling water for tea for an hour, thinking I’d have to throw it in someone’s face.”
Scarlett sprinted the last few yards, collapsing into her sister’s arms. The tension streamed out of her in a shuddering sigh. Mério followed, his large presence filling the small porch.
Inside, the cabin was exactly as he’d left it, but Vanilla had added her touches: bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters, and a stack of leather-bound journals sat on the rough-hewn table next to a trio of steaming mugs. The warmth from the fireplace baked into their bones, a stark contrast to the tower’s chill.
“Silas locked you in the watchtower,” Vanilla stated, pushing a mug into Mério’s hands. It wasn’t a question. “The whole village is whispering. They say you’re dead, Mério. Silas is saying the beast escaped, that it’s more cunning than they thought.”
“I’m not dead,” Mério said, sipping the tea. It was strong and bitter.
“I can see that, you big oaf.” Vanilla managed a shaky smile. “But how? I’ve read everything, every scrap of folklore about our… condition. No one survives a full moon locked in with one of us. Not like that.”
Scarlett looked at the floor, the shame returning in a hot wave. Mério just shrugged. “It was still Scar.”
Vanilla stared at him, then at her sister, her eyes widening with dawning comprehension. She didn’t ask for details. She didn’t need to. The way Mério looked at Scarlett, with a possession that went deeper than skin, told her everything.
“Oh,” Vanilla breathed. She stood up and began pacing in front of the fire, her fingers tracing the spines of the journals. “That changes everything. It might even be the key.”
“The key to what?” Scarlett asked, wrapping her hands around her mug for warmth.
“To stopping this,” Vanilla said, turning to face them. Her eyes were alight with a fervent energy. “For years, I’ve been digging, Scar. Not just into how to survive the curse, but how to break it. Or, well, not break it. Bend it. Make it yours.”
She pulled a particularly ancient-looking book from the stack, its pages brittle and brown. “I found this in a collector’s shop three towns over. It’s not like the others. It doesn’t talk about silver or wolfsbane. It talks about fusion. About the wolf not being a separate thing, but a part of you that’s been… silenced during the day. The forced transformation, the loss of control, it’s because you’re at war with yourself.”
Scarlett leaned forward, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest for the first time in years. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying there might be a way to end the war. An old ritual. It wouldn’t take the wolf away—it would weave it into you, permanently. You’d have its strength, its senses, all the time. But you’d keep your mind. No more blackouts. No more being a prisoner to the moon.”
The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire. The idea was so immense it seemed to suck the air out of the cabin.
“What’s the catch?” Scarlett asked, her voice thin.
Vanilla’s gaze shifted to Mério. “It requires an anchor. A tether to humanity strong enough to hold you through the process. It requires a pact. Two pacts, actually. And they both involve him.”
Mério looked up, his blue eyes clear and steady. “What do I do?”
“The first is a Mate Pact,” Vanilla said, her clinical tone belying the intimacy of the words. “The wolf and the human must both claim the same mate, separately and willingly. The bond has to be undeniable, a choice made in both forms.” She glanced at Scarlett. “From the sound of it, that part might already be… initiated.”
Scarlett felt her cheeks burn, but she held her sister’s gaze. Mério just nodded, as if being told he’d already successfully stacked firewood. “Okay.”
“The second is harder,” Vanilla continued. “A Blood Pact. It’s more symbolic, but it has to be timed perfectly. Before the moon rises on the next transformation, you,” she said to Mério, “have to give her a part of yourself. Something that carries your essence. Blood, usually. A few drops in a drink, something like that. Then, when she shifts, the pact is sealed. Your blood will be in her wolf’s veins, a constant reminder of the bond. It’s what tells the beast that you’re not prey. You’re pack. You’re family.”
Mério absorbed this, his brow furrowed in concentration. “So… I give Scar my blood before she turns into the wolf. Then, when she’s the wolf, she has it inside her. And that makes her… calmer?”
“It makes her yours,” Vanilla corrected gently. “And in being yours, she remains her own.”
Scarlett stood up, pacing now herself. “Vanilla, this sounds like desperate folklore. What if it doesn’t work? What if it makes things worse? What if it hurts him?”
“What if it doesn’t?” Vanilla countered. “What if this is the only chance you ever get? Silas isn’t going to stop. You can’t live in hiding forever. Either you control the wolf, or it, and men like Silas, will control you.”
Mério stood and walked to Scarlett, placing his hands on her shoulders. She could feel the solid strength of him, a rock in her churning life. “I’m not scared, Scar.”
“I am,” she whispered. “What if the wolf hurts you during the blood part? What if I lose control and—”
“You didn’t lose control in the tower,” he said simply. “You knew me.”
The truth of it hung in the air. The beast had been frantic, powerful, but it had recognized him. It had claimed him, not killed him.
“The next full moon is in three weeks,” Vanilla said softly. “We have time to prepare. To be sure.”
Scarlett looked from her sister’s hopeful face to Mério’s unwavering one. The fragile dream of a normal life, one where she didn’t have to fear the moon or herself, shimmered just out of reach. It was a terrifying risk. But staying as she was felt like a slower, more certain death.
“Okay,” Scarlett said, the word leaving her lips in a rush. “Okay. We try.”
Vanilla let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for years. “Good. Then we start now.” She turned to Mério, her expression turning serious. “The Mate Pact needs to be conscious, Mério. It has to be a choice you make with Scarlett, the woman. The wolf’s claim was instinct. Hers has to be your choice.”
Mério looked down at Scarlett, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face. He cupped her cheek. “That’s easy.” He leaned down and kissed her, a tender, promises-filled kiss that was nothing like the frantic passion in the woods. It was a vow.
From the window, a flash of movement caught Vanilla’s eye. A crow taking flight from a nearby branch. Or something else. She walked to the window and peered out into the deepening twilight, her face grim.
“We’re safe here for now,” she said, mostly to herself. But her fingers tightened on the windowsill. “We have to be.”
The silence after Vanilla’s words was thick with unspoken fear and a fragile, terrifying hope. Mério’s hand found Scarlett’s, his calloused thumb stroking over her knuckles. “It’s just us now, Scar,” he said, his voice a low rumble that steadied her racing heart.
Vanilla cleared her throat, the practical sound shattering the heavy quiet. “I’ll take the first watch outside. You two… you need to talk.” She moved to the door, pulling a heavy wool cloak from a peg. “The Mate Pact isn’t just about the act. It’s about the intent. You both have to mean it.”
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving them alone in the flickering firelight.
Scarlett stared into the flames, watching them consume a log. “What if it doesn’t work, Mayo? What if I’m just a monster, and this is a fairy tale?”
He turned her to face him, his big hands framing her face. His blue eyes were utterly clear, reflecting the fire. “Then you’re my monster.” He leaned in, his breath warm against her lips. “And I’m yours.”
That simple, unwavering declaration shattered the last of her resistance. A low growl rumbled in her chest, not fully human, a sound of pure want. She kissed him, not with tenderness, but with a desperate, claiming hunger. Her tongue plunged into his mouth, and she tasted the bitter tea and the essential, solid flavor of him.
Her hands clawed at his shirt, yanking the rough fabric over his head. He responded in kind, his own movements urgent, tearing her clothes away until they were both naked and bathed in the orange glow. The cold air pebbled her skin, but the heat coming off him was a furnace.
“I need to feel you,” she panted, her nails scraping down the hard plane of his chest. “All of you. I need you to fuck me like you mean it. Like you’re claiming me.”
“I am,” he grunted, his hands grabbing her ass and lifting her effortlessly. He carried her to the thick bear rug before the fireplace and laid her down. His gaze burned over her, taking in every curve and shadow. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He didn’t gentle her. He covered her body with his, the weight of him a delicious anchor. His mouth found her breast, his tongue lashing her nipple before he sucked hard, making her cry out and arch against him. One hand slid between her legs, his thick fingers sliding through her wetness with a rough, possessive stroke.
“So wet for me already,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. “My Scar.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against her slick folds. He looked her directly in the eyes, his expression fierce. “This is me choosing you,” he said, and drove into her with a single, deep, filling thrust.
She screamed, her back bowing off the rug. He was so big, stretching her to the limit, the feeling of being utterly filled a blinding relief. He didn’t pause, setting a brutal, pounding rhythm from the start. Each slam of his hips was a punctuation to his vow, a physical seal on the pact.
“You’re mine, Scarlett,” he growled into her ear, his breath hot. “Human. Wolf. All of you. Mine.”
“Yes!” she sobbed, her legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper. Her fingers dug into the powerful muscles of his back, surely leaving marks. The pleasure was a sharp, coiling wire inside her, tightening with every raw, grinding thrust. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting filled the cabin, a primal music.
He shifted his angle, hooking her legs over his shoulders, and the new depth made her see stars. He was hitting a place deep inside her that felt connected to her very soul, to the wild thing that lived in her blood. “Come for me, Scar,” he commanded, his voice a ragged gasp. “Let me feel you.”
The command, the overwhelming sensation, the sheer rightness of his body joined with hers, broke her. Her climax detonated, a silent, seizing explosion that clenched around his cock in relentless waves. Her vision whited out, a raw, guttural cry tearing from her throat.
Feeling her convulse around him was his undoing. With a final, deep plunge, he buried himself to the hilt and roared her name. His release pumped into her, hot and endless, a flood of life and promise. He collapsed atop her, his full weight pressing her into the fur, both of them slick with sweat and breathing in shattered gasps.
For a long time, they lay entangled, the only sound their slowing breath and the crackling fire. He was still inside her, softening, but he made no move to withdraw. He nuzzled his face into her neck, his lips brushing her skin.
“I choose you,” he whispered again, the words a sleepy murmur.
Scarlett held him, her eyes on the flames. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach. But beneath it, something new stirred—not just hope, but a fierce, protective certainty. She had something to fight for now. Something more than just survival.
A sharp, rhythmic tapping came from the window. Three taps, then a pause, then two more. Vanilla’s signal.
Mério was on his feet in an instant, his body tensed. Scarlett scrambled up, grabbing for her clothes, the post-coital warmth vanishing.
The cabin door opened and Vanilla slipped inside, her face pale. She didn’t look at their state of undress. Her attention was fixed on the dark window. “We have a problem,” she said, her voice low and tight. “The crows have been restless for an hour. Something is moving out there in the trees. Something that doesn’t sound like an animal.”
She looked directly at Mério, her silver eyes grave. “It sounds like men. And they’re getting closer.”