Chereads / Eternally Bound by Blood(Dark Bl) / Chapter 69 - Chapter 69:Unseen Bonds

Chapter 69 - Chapter 69:Unseen Bonds

The training facility was in ruins ,just like all the other facilities as prisoners ran rampage . In the center of the room, Grayson sat at a steel table, one leg lazily propped over the other. A half-empty bottle of whiskey rested at his side, the amber liquid catching the light as he lifted it to his lips for another slow sip.

Without turning around, he smirked.

"Took you long enough." His voice was smooth, laced with amusement. "I was starting to think you lost your nerve."

Behind him, the sound of boots against the floor halted. A slow exhale followed. The figure remained in the shadows, just outside of Grayson's peripheral vision, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Grayson finally turned his head slightly, just enough to glimpse his visitor. "You gonna stand there brooding all night, or are we getting to the fun part?" He swirled the whiskey in his glass before downing the rest, then slammed the glass onto the table with a dull thud.

Silence stretched between them. Then, the figure stepped forward.His gaze was unreadable, but there was an edge to it, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

Grayson's smirk widened. "Oh, this is gonna be interesting, isn't it?"

Eric stepped out of the corner. His usual frail demeanor was gone. The prison scrubs were nowhere to be seen; instead, he wore the uniform of a fallen guard, the dark fabric fitting him almost too well, as if he'd always belonged in it.

A slow smile stretched across his lips as he approached the table, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. He looked down at Grayson, who hadn't moved, merely tilting his head in mild curiosity.

"You made me do it," Eric finally said, voice soft yet cutting. "Made me kill all those innocent people. Made me do things I never wanted to do."

Grayson arched a brow, unimpressed. He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table. "And yet, here you are. Free, breathing, standing in front of me in that uniform like you own the damn place—was it really all that bad?"

Eric let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no humor in it. His fingers twitched at his sides, like they were still stained with blood he couldn't wash off. "You know what?" He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Maybe not. Because at least I got something out of it."

Grayson lifted the bottle again, taking another sip as he waited for Eric to finish.

"I got practice." Eric's smile widened, but his eyes remained cold. "Practice to survive in the new world I was thrown into."

Grayson chuckled, setting the bottle down with a soft clink. "Now that," he said, finally meeting Eric's gaze, "is the spirit."

Grayson took another swig from his bottle, the amber liquid burning his throat as he swallowed. His gaze flickered to Eric, who stood there in silence, waiting. Grayson scoffed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I've always hated you," he said, voice thick with contempt. "From the first moment I laid eyes on you in that house, to this very moment. And I don't think I'll ever not hate you."

Eric didn't react. He remained still, his expression giving nothing away. Only his voice broke the silence, soft ."Why?"

Grayson exhaled heavily, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't answer. But then, with a bitter chuckle, he leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling before finally admitting it.

"I was jealous." The word hung in the air between them. Grayson rolled the bottle between his fingers, refusing to look at Eric. "Jealous that he picked you."

Eric's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted.

Grayson laughed again, but there was no amusement in it—just something exhausted, something resentful. "A being so great that even the world still whispers his name, centuries after his imprisonment. And he chose you."

Silence stretched between them. The bottle clinked softly against the table as Grayson set it down. He finally looked at Eric, his gaze dark and unwavering.

"And that's something I'll never forgive."

Grayson's fingers drummed against the bottle before he shoved it aside with a clatter. He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"I hate vampires." His voice was low, but there was a venom in it, a deep, gnawing disgust. "I hate werewolves,demons,faes. I hate everyone."

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward on the table. "All I ever trained for—all I ever lived for—was to eradicate, to imprison, to control the monsters that walk this earth. And now?" He scoffed, a patronizing smirk twisting his lips as he gestured vaguely at the air. "Look at me."

His laughter turned bitter, cracking in his throat. He looked down at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time, then clenched them into fists.

"Is this all my life has amounted to?" he asked, more to himself than to Eric. His voice wavered, though not with regret—just exhaustion. "A man drowning in his own hatred? A relic of a dead world?"

He let out a slow, shaky breath and finally lifted his gaze back to Eric. His eyes were sharp, gleaming with something unreadable.

"But I suppose you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

Eric remained silent for a moment, the air thick with Grayson's bitter confession. Then, with an eerie calmness, he spoke.

"Yes," Eric said, his voice as smooth as silk. "I enjoy watching you suffer."

Grayson stiffened, the muscles in his back tensing. The realization that he had bared his soul to someone who reveled in his misery only seemed to deepen the lines etched into his face.

Eric took a step closer, the soft thud of his boots echoing in the hollow room. His eyes, once a muted shade, began to shift—pools of crimson seeping into the irises, glowing with a malevolent light. His lips curled into a slow, wicked smile as his fangs lengthened, the sharp tips glinting under the harsh fluorescents.

"All the time we had spent together," Eric continued, his tone dripping with quiet malice, "you made my life a living hell. Chained me, beat me, watched as I lost every shred of my humanity."

Grayson didn't turn around. He stared ahead, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. But there was no denying the fear that slithered down his spine, coiling tight in his gut.

Eric was closer now, his breath ghosting over Grayson's ear, icy and unnatural.

"But here we are." Eric's whisper was a serpent's hiss, slipping into Grayson's ears and wrapping around his mind. "And now, you're the one chained by your hatred. Broken. Lost."

Eric chuckled, the sound vibrating with cruel delight. "I think it's poetic," he said, his red eyes narrowing with satisfaction. "To watch the great monster hunter reduced to nothing more than a bitter, hollow man."

The fangs in Eric's mouth gleamed as he grinned, his face a mask of vengeful joy. "I should thank you, Grayson," he whispered. "If it wasn't for you, I'd never have become this."

Grayson's hand shot toward the gun tucked in his waistband, but Eric was faster.

In a blur, Eric's fingers wrapped around Grayson's throat, lifting him off the chair with effortless strength. His nails had elongated, razor-sharp, pressing dangerously against the flesh of Grayson's neck. A single movement, and he could carve through skin, through muscle, through the fragile thread of life that still clung to the man before him.

Grayson let out a dry chuckle, his hands raised in surrender. His voice was hoarse but laced with amusement. "You've learned so much."

Eric's crimson gaze bore into him, unyielding, filled with nothing but cruelty. "I need to finish this," he murmured, his grip tightening. "Alaric is waiting for me."

He pressed his free hand to his chest, fingers curling against his shirt as if trying to claw at something beneath. His voice softened, almost aching. "And even if he isn't… I don't want to leave him alone. Not even for a second." He exhaled sharply, as if the admission had cost him something. "It pains me."

Grayson's lips twitched, a glimmer of understanding flickering in his dark eyes. "You like him."

Eric scoffed, the sharp sound filled with irritation. His grip didn't falter, but his expression twisted, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. "Alaric is my greatest friend. Nothing more."

And that was it.

Eric didn't hesitate.

With inhuman precision, his hand drove forward, fingers like daggers piercing deep into Grayson's neck. Warm blood spilled over his knuckles, the scent rich and metallic, filling the air. Grayson's eyes widened, a strangled sound escaping his lips as Eric twisted the blade of his fingers deeper, cutting through flesh, silencing whatever words might have come next.

Grayson's body jerked, then slumped.

Eric didn't move for a moment, watching as the life drained from the man who had once held him in chains. His expression remained cold, detached, even as blood dripped down his arm in thick rivulets.

Then, without another glance, he released Grayson's lifeless body, letting it collapse onto the floor in an unceremonious heap.

Eric wiped his hand against his stolen uniform, already turning away.

Alaric was waiting.

Eric closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling as he reached out—not with his hands, but with something deeper, something that had awakened after Killian took over.

It was strange. Before, he had struggled to track Alaric, even with his heightened senses. But now? Now it was easy. Alaric's presence called to him like a beacon, a soft pull in the back of his mind, like a thread weaving through the chaos, guiding him exactly where he needed to go.

He followed it.

Moving quickly through the facility, Eric's boots barely made a sound against the cold floor. He passed empty corridors, darkened rooms, remnants of struggle, and the occasional fresh corpse still warm, the blood not yet congealed. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and pungent.

Then he reached a lab.

Eric paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before him.

Alaric stood in the center of the room, completely at ease, a pleased little smile playing on his lips. Before him lay the mangled corpse of a pudgy man, riddled with wounds. A thick metal rod jutted out of the dead man's chest, skewering him like a piece of meat. Deep gashes marred his arms and neck, one eye was missing, and his stomach had been cut open, intestines spilling messily over the table.

And Alaric—Alaric was happy as ever.

He hummed under his breath, tilting his head as he examined his work, his fingers idly pressing against a particularly deep wound as if testing its depth. His expression was one of quiet amusement, like an artist admiring a finished masterpiece.

Eric didn't say anything at first. He simply leaned against the doorframe, watching.

Then, finally, his voice broke the silence.

"Having fun?"

Alaric looked up at Eric, his bright eyes gleaming with excitement. His face was partially obscured by a doctor's mask, and the scrubs he wore were smeared with blood—none of it his own.

Eric approached him carefully, his fingers moving to the edge of the mask. Slowly, he pulled it down, revealing the face beneath—beautiful, striking, untouched by time.

Alaric's lips curled into a soft smile, his expression warm despite the carnage surrounding them.

Eric reached out, his palm cradling Alaric's cheek, feeling the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. "Are you ready to leave?" His voice was quieter now, lacking the cruelty and sharpness he reserved for others.

Alaric's smile widened, his excitement barely contained. "Yes," he answered, nearly breathless. "I can't wait to see how much has changed. Humans advance so quickly—cities, weapons. I want to see it all."

Eric chuckled, his thumb lightly stroking Alaric's cheek before he dropped his hand. "They've done a lot," he admitted. "I'll show you everything. Every single place worth seeing."

Alaric's eyes sparkled at that, his excitement genuine.

Behind them, the corpse on the table lay forgotten, its glassy eyes staring at nothing.