Oath of Blood, Price of Lies

My tribe was facing ruin, pushed to the brink by a relentless logging corporation.

Desperate, I turned to the only person powerful enough to help: Caleb Thorne, the man I once loved.

He welcomed me, listened to my pleas, and for a fleeting month, he gave me hope.

But it was all a cruel illusion.

One night, he cornered me, his eyes blazing with fury, and accused my people of murdering his sister years ago.

He knew our secrets, our sacred blood.

My oath, meant to protect my tribe, sealed my lips, even though I knew the truth-we had saved his sister.

So, he made me his slave.

He drained my blood monthly, used my bone marrow, and made me serve his cruel "wives."

I was a ghost, dying slowly, my very essence being consumed for a crime I didn't commit.

He watched me endure unspeakable pain, never once believing my innocence.

How could the man I loved, the boy who once saw wonder in me, become such a monster?

Would his thirst for vengeance truly consume me before the truth ever saw the light of day?

The cold metal bowl bit into my wrists as Caleb Thorne held them steady.

His touch wasn't gentle. It was a brand.

"Just a little more, Elena," he whispered, his voice a low growl that was meant only for me.

The silver knife he held was small, wickedly sharp, and familiar. He drew it across the inside of my forearm, a practiced motion that was neither too deep nor too shallow. Just enough.

Blood, dark and rich, welled up and dripped into the bowl. One drop. Two. A steady stream.

This was the monthly ritual. My payment. My prison.

I stared at the wall, at the ridiculously expensive wallpaper, and tried to remember the forest. The smell of damp earth and pine. The feel of moss under my bare feet. The faces of my people.

It was all so far away.

A month ago, I had come to him for help. The logging corporation was closing in, their chainsaws a hungry roar at the edge of our sacred lands. I knew the world had changed, and I knew we needed a weapon from that world to fight back.

Caleb Thorne, the powerful U.S. Attorney, was that weapon.

He was also the boy I had loved, the hiker who had stumbled into my life years ago, his heart full of passion and wonder. I thought I saw that boy again in his eyes when I found him. He welcomed me, listened to my plea, and held me with a tenderness I had almost forgotten.

For a month, he gave me hope. He made me believe.

Then the trap snapped shut.

He cornered me in this very room, his face a mask of cold fury. He told me he knew my tribe's secrets. He told me he knew we were murderers. He said we had sacrificed his sister, who had disappeared near our lands all those years ago.

My oath, the sacred promise to protect my tribe's location and the secret of our blood, sealed my lips. I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't tell him we had saved her.

So he made me his slave.

Now, he watched the bowl fill, his expression unreadable. Once it was full enough, he released my wrists.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered, his tone flat. "They're waiting."

He left the room, taking the bowl of my blood with him. I was left with the sting in my arm and the emptiness in my chest.

I walked to the small bathroom connected to my sparse servant's quarters. I ran cold water over the cut, watching the sink turn pink. The water was a shock against my skin, but it was a feeling. It reminded me I was still here.

When I finished, I put on the plain grey uniform he made me wear. It was time to serve his wives.

The main hall of Caleb's mansion was a spectacle of wealth and decay. Crystal glasses clinked, and shrill laughter echoed off the marble floors.

His "wives," a rotating collection of beautiful, cruel women, were gathered for their party. They were vultures, and I was the carcass they fed on.

I carried a heavy tray of champagne flutes, my arm throbbing with every step. My head was down, my eyes fixed on the floor. Looking at them was a mistake.

"Look, the little savage is here," one of them, a blonde with a surgically perfect face, sneered.

"Hurry up, girl. My glass is empty," another demanded, snapping her fingers.

I moved from woman to woman, filling their glasses, my hands shaking slightly. They wore expensive dresses and glittering jewels, their skin glowing with a youth that wasn't entirely their own. It was my youth. My life force, mixed into their lotions and creams.

Caleb stood by the fireplace, watching me. He held a glass of whiskey, his eyes cold and detached. He made me watch him with them, made me see him kiss them, touch them. It was part of the punishment. He wanted to break not just my body, but my spirit.

One of the wives, a redhead named Amber, deliberately stuck her foot out. I stumbled, and the tray went flying. Champagne and broken glass sprayed across the floor.

"You clumsy bitch!" she shrieked.

The room fell silent. All eyes were on me.

Caleb didn't move. He just watched, a flicker of something dark in his eyes.

"Clean it up," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

I knelt, my knees pressing into the wet, sticky mess. I picked up the shards of glass one by one, my fingers trembling. A piece sliced my thumb, and a fresh drop of my own blood mixed with the spilled champagne.

The wives laughed. It was all a game to them.

Later that night, after I had scrubbed the floors and taken out the trash from their debauched party, Caleb called me to his study.

His newest wife, Scarlett, was there. She was a former pageant queen, younger and more manipulative than the others. She was his favorite. And she was pregnant.

"The doctor says Scarlett needs to be in perfect health," Caleb said, not looking at me. "For the baby."

He gestured to a cold, sterile-looking medical kit on his desk.

"He's going to take some of your bone marrow. He'll make a tonic from it. To ensure the baby's vitality."

Scarlett smiled, a slow, venomous curve of her lips. She placed a protective hand on her small, barely-there bump. "It's for my baby's health, Elena. You understand, don't you?"

I stared at the needle, long and terrifying. I understood perfectly. This was a new level of violation, a new depth of hell. I had nothing left to give but the very marrow of my bones, and he was going to take that too.