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Behind him, a harsh human shadow looms. The boy’s father. The stench of stale beer and rotting rage rolls off the man. “Bellamy!” he rasps, but the boy doesn’t hear, lost in his thoughts.
His father raises a glass bottle, his voice loud and jagged as he sneers down at the small boy. His heavy hand rises, aiming for the boy’s small shoulder.
Inside the beast’s chest, something savage snaps violently.
Threat. Danger.
The urge to paint the forest floor in blood surges through its limbs. The bound magic roars to protect what belongs to the blue demon, to protect what belongs to them.
Slowly, deliberately, the Devil Dog steps out of the darkness. Its massive frame is silent as it moves. Its glowing blue eyes flare to life.
The beast expects the boy to scream. It expects fear and terror. It expects the little human to run.
Instead, ten-year-old Bellamy turns his head. The small boy looks directly at the beast, his pretty eyes catching the glowing blue light.
Bellamy holds his ground, completely calm. His father gasps, his heavy hand still hovering high in the air, frozen mid-strike.
The beast growls, a low vibration. Silently perched among the high, shadow-draped branches, Vesper watches, his crimson gaze drinking in every detail of the scene.
Bellamy’s father drops the bottle and sprints back toward the campfire.
Bellamy blinks. Small fingers loosen their tight grip on his jacket. A quiet, breathless hush settles over the child as he stares into the infernal eyes of the monster in the dark. In those blue flames, the boy finds something the Devil Dog doesn’t understand.
Bellamy smiles.
The Devil Dog’s tail brushes the dirt, its chest rumbling with a primal resonance that vibrates deep in its chest. Thoughts flatten into single, unshakeable demands.
Mine.
The hound takes one slow step closer, locking eyes with the fragile child. The child lifts his palm.
Protect.
Keep Safe.
Ours.
The memory fractures into pure light.
I bolt upright with a harsh, ragged gasp, my lungs burning as if I’ve been drowning. Sweat clings to my chest. My pulse hammers against my ribs. I blink through the dark, the lingering scent of campfire smoke slowly.
Those eyes.
My hand goes straight to my throat, right over the stinging mark of Vesper’s bite. It’s hot to the touch. Fragments of the dream I was just experiencing come to mind until they solidify into full images.
The realization hits me with the force of a physical blow. I gasp.
That night at the campgrounds. I remember trying to impress my friends, the raised voices, my dad, the cold terror creeping into my ten-year-old chest right before those beautiful blue eyes emerged from the dark.
I never knew why I felt so calm looking at that monster in the woods. Or if the memory was even real. I never understood why those glowing blue eyes made me feel so fucking safe. But now, things fall into place like tiny puzzle pieces.
They were there. Both of them. They protected me that night on the campgrounds, guarding me long before I even knew Vesper’s name.
My fingers fly instinctively to the side of my neck, pressing against the sensitive brand of Vesper’s mark. It pulses with a warm thrum, perfectly matching the frantic beat of my heart.
Tears spill from my eyes. My chest heaves as I stare into the shadowy corners of my room, the emotional weight of Vesper’s memory blending together with the memory from the Devil Dog.
Trying to adapt to this bond mark is going to take time. The bite still hums against my throat, a thrumming, possessive pulse that bleeds Vesper’s dark magic straight into my blood. The dreams still echo through my mind’s eye, fresh like they’re memories of my own.
