Chapter 79:Brokehaven

Days blurred together in a haze of movement, hunger, and the constant need to stay ahead.

The car lasted as long as it could, devouring miles of cracked pavement and empty roads, until the gas gauge dipped into nothing and sputtered them to a stop in the middle of nowhere. Eric barely reacted. He simply pulled the keys from the ignition, pocketed them as if they were still useful, and stepped out into the night air without a word.

After that, they ran.

It was easier in some ways—faster than being trapped behind a windshield, no longer bound by roads. Alaric didn't know where they were going, and that pleased Eric more than it should have. Every time Alaric asked, Eric only smirked and said, "You'll see." He liked holding the knowledge over him, liked knowing that—for once—Alaric had to follow his lead.

But the sun was still a problem.

When dawn threatened the horizon, Eric took charge again, weaving through empty towns and farmhouses until he found a place to hide. Alaric compelled strangers at their doors, his voice slipping into their minds like a sharp whisper, twisting their will like thread around his fingers.

"Let us in. You won't remember us when we leave."

And just like that, they had shelter.

Alaric would disappear into the morning, leaving Eric in a windowless room, waiting out the sun. Sometimes he slept. Sometimes he didn't. But always, there was the quiet hum of Alaric nearby, a presence that Eric found himself gravitating toward—even when he didn't mean to.

When night fell, they left no trace behind—only blank spaces in the minds of those who had unknowingly harbored them.

Hunger was a constant thing, gnawing, growing. When Eric was starving, Alaric would press a wrist to his lips, letting him drink until his head was light and his limbs buzzed with stolen strength.

They existed in this cycle—running, hiding, feeding, moving—until time itself felt like a forgotten concept.

Eric didn't mind.

He liked the way Alaric's attention never drifted too far from him, how he had no choice but to rely on Eric to lead the way. He liked being the one with answers, the one Alaric had to ask, the one who knew exactly where they were going while Alaric was left guessing.

At first, Alaric seemed amused by it. But over time, that amusement shifted.

Eric only smiled.

And they kept running.

---

The signs started small.

At first, it was just Eric's gaze lingering a little too long, watching Alaric when he wasn't looking. He had always been attentive—always hungry for Alaric's focus—but now, it was different.

When they ran together, Eric was always just a step ahead, forcing Alaric to follow. He would glance back constantly, grinning, but his eyes held a certain intensity, like he was cataloging every movement, every expression, every breath Alaric took.

Alaric didn't think much of it.

Eric had always been odd—always a little too eager for approval, always smiling in a way that never quite reached his eyes.

But then, Eric started getting restless.

If Alaric spoke too much about anything else—other places, other people, plans beyond this endless journey—Eric's expression would tighten, just for a moment. He would hide it quickly, laugh it off, but there was always a delay.

And then came the memory.

It had been creeping in for days now, slipping between Eric's thoughts like smoke. It surfaced in the quiet moments—when Alaric slept, when the world blurred past in streaks of empty roads and abandoned towns.

The man.

The one who had let him go.

At first, it hadn't seemed important. Eric had been weak, his mind hazy with hunger. But now, with new strength and the chaos of their journey settling into routine, the details grew clearer.

The man had looked at him with something close to recognition. Had spoken his name like he knew him.

And then there was the voice.

It started subtly—a whisper in the back of his mind, curling at the edges of his thoughts.

"Viktor."

Eric's fingers twitched slightly at his side.

The name felt familiar, but not in a way he understood. And then there was Killian—Killian, who had always been a part of him, always lurking just beneath the surface. But lately, something had changed. Killian felt different. Stronger.

Like something inside him had shifted.

Or worse—like he had become someone else.

Eric didn't tell Alaric. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Then, after nearly a week of endless travel, they saw it.

A sign.

Weathered and rusted at the edges, standing crooked by the roadside.

WELCOME TO BROKEHAVEN.

Eric slowed to a stop, staring at the words as something cold slithered down his spine.

The voice in his head whispered again.

"Viktor."

Eric swallowed hard, gripping his arms as his gaze darkened.

______

Alaric's eyes widened the moment he saw the sign.

Brokehaven.

The name was wrong—weathered by time, twisted into something new—but the bones of it remained.

His home.

His pace quickened.

Eric noticed immediately.

For the first time in days, Alaric wasn't watching him. He wasn't following. Wasn't teasing, wasn't amused by Eric's little games. He had turned away without hesitation, chasing something that Eric could not see, something more important than him.

Eric frowned.

Something cold settled in his chest, gnawing at the edges of his hunger, though it had nothing to do with blood.

"Alaric," he called, his voice sharp against the quiet night.

Alaric didn't answer.

Eric's jaw tensed as he followed, his boots crunching against the gravel path, his gaze locked onto Alaric's back.

It was the way he moved—like he was no longer here, no longer with Eric. Like he had already stepped into the past, into memories Eric had no place in.

Eric hated that.

He quickened his steps, falling into stride beside him. "What's got you so eager all of a sudden?" His voice was light, teasing, but his fingers twitched at his sides.

Alaric barely glanced at him, his lips parted,

He was looking at it.

The past.

And Eric was just a shadow trailing behind.

Alaric sensed that something was different

His footsteps slowed, his excitement dimming just slightly as the air around them thickened with presence. He could feel it—thousands of heartbeats, the slow hum of breath and life that had no right to be here.

This wasn't a forgotten village.

It was full.

Alaric's stomach twisted.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"Alaric?"

Eric's voice was closer now, laced with something unreadable. Alaric barely registered him, his senses stretching over the town, taking in every heartbeat, every whisper of movement. It was suffocating. Overwhelming.

Wrong.

"It changed," Alaric murmured, his voice barely above a breath. His hands curled at his sides, his mind racing.

Eric watched him carefully, eyes narrowing. He had seen Alaric amused, bored, irritated—but never shaken.

A small smirk tugged at Eric's lips.

"I thought you were happy to be here," he said, his tone teasing, but his gaze sharp, searching.

Alaric didn't answer. His focus remained locked on the road ahead that lead to the village.

Because beneath the hum of life, beneath the unfamiliar structures and modern streets, something old still lingered.

His home was here.

And so was everything that had belonged to Killian.

Brokehaven's Edge

Alaric moved forward, his stride determined, gaze locked on the village ahead.

But the moment his foot touched the village line, an unseen force seized him.

A shock ran through his body, cold and violent, as if he had stepped into a wall of pure energy. His limbs locked, his breath hitched—and then it threw him back.

Alaric hit the ground hard, a sharp crack splitting the air as his spine collided with the earth.

Eric was at his side instantly, his voice urgent. "Alaric!"

But Alaric didn't hear him.

Strands of dark hair had fallen into his face, shadowing his expression as he lay motionless for a moment, his chest rising and falling in controlled, measured breaths. Then, with slow precision, he lifted a hand and pushed his hair away.

His eyes—were now black, bottomless voids that swallowed the light.

A low growl vibrated from deep within his chest, his lips parting just enough to reveal lengthened, razor-sharp fangs. His fingers curled, nails sharpening as rage coursed through him.

Eric, crouched beside him, hesitated.

Alaric's head snapped up, his gaze locked on the invisible barrier.

He lunged.

His hands struck the unseen force, palms pressing flat against it. Power surged through his arms, his muscles tensing as he pushed. The barrier resisted, humming with a pressure that sank into his bones, repelling him like a force of nature itself.

His snarl deepened. His teeth gnashed.

And then it threw him back again.

This time, he was airborne before he even registered the impact. The force slammed into his chest, launching him across the dirt road, his body twisting midair before he crashed down, skidding against the ground.

Eric was already moving before Alaric had fully stopped. He rushed to him, his hands hovering just above Alaric's shoulders. "What the fuck was that?"

Alaric ignored him.

His hands dug into the dirt, his breath ragged as he pushed himself up, strands of dark hair falling messily across his forehead. His chest rose and fell in sharp, seething exhales, his black eyes locked onto the invisible force that had dared to defy him.

Something inside him snapped.

He bared his teeth, his growl deepening into something almost inhuman. His muscles tensed, his claws pressing into the earth beneath him.

And then, with no hesitation—no thought beyond sheer fury—he was tired of constantly being stopped by chains or barriers.Thats all he'd been faced with since he came to this god forsaken world.

Alaric slammed into the invisible force again.

And again.

Each time, the barrier met him with brutal resistance, shoving him back like a ragdoll. His body hit the ground with heavy thuds, dirt kicking up around him, but he didn't stop. His rage was blinding, his instincts screaming at him to tear through whatever force had the audacity to bar him from his own home.

His breath came in sharp snarls. His claws scraped at the air, his teeth bared, his fangs elongating past the point of reason. He struck the barrier again, his hands splaying against it, pressing, pushing—but it was like trying to move a mountain.

And then it threw him back harder.

This time, his body twisted midair before crashing into the dirt, rolling once before coming to a stop on all fours. His hair fell into his face again, his chest heaving, his black eyes glowing in the dim light. A deep, guttural growl rippled through him as he clenched his fists against the earth.

Eric watched.

He stayed where he was, crouched low at first, but then something shifted. Slowly, he lifted his head, tilting it toward the unseen barrier. His smirk was small at first—barely there—but it grew.

His eyes flickered.

Red.

Then blue.

The shift was subtle, but unmistakable. He felt it immediately—the weight of another presence coiling around the edges of his mind, a whisper that wasn't quite his own.

Killian was watching.

Eric's smirk widened. He could feel the way Killian's awareness stretched through him, threading into his thoughts, his vision. It was a strange sensation—like seeing through two sets of eyes at once. Like knowing exactly what this place was, even if Eric himself did not.

Interesting.

His gaze drifted back to Alaric.

The vampire had pushed himself upright again, his stance unsteady, his rage a living thing. He was breathing heavily now, nostrils flaring, his fingers twitching at his sides. His black eyes burned with something dangerously close to desperation, his entire form coiled with barely restrained violence.

Eric tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering beneath his smirk.

Alaric was angry.

More than that—he was losing control.

And Eric liked that.

Alaric let out another low, guttural snarl before lunging forward again, his rage overriding all sense, all patience.

Eric exhaled a quiet laugh.

Alaric's patience snapped.

With a roar of frustration, he slammed his fists against the invisible force, his claws dragging uselessly through empty air. His teeth gnashed, his breath coming in sharp, seething gasps.

"Why isn't it working?!" he bellowed, his voice raw with fury.

His hands curled into fists, his claws digging into his palms as his chest heaved. A witch. It had to be a witch. Some pathetic spellcaster had locked him out of his own home. His own land.

He would kill them all.

His head snapped toward Eric.

"Did you know about this?"

His voice was low, but sharp as a blade. There was accusation there. A threat simmering beneath the words.

Eric's smirk faded.

His expression went blank, his usual amusement slipping away as he met Alaric's glare. For a moment, he didn't speak—just watched him. Studied him.

"Alaric," Eric finally said, his voice smooth, calm. A careful contrast to the fury unraveling before him. "You need to—"

"Don't tell me to calm down." Alaric's voice was a growl now, dangerous, unstable.

Eric exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking back toward the barrier.

So he took a slow step forward, careful, measured.

"I didn't know, Alaric," Eric said smoothly, his voice like silk. "But getting yourself worked up won't solve anything."

Alaric was still breathing heavily, his entire body coiled with tension, but he didn't strike again.

Not yet.

His eyes flicked toward Eric's, still black as the void.

Eric held his gaze. Steady. Unshaken.

Alaric took a long, steadying breath, his chest still rising and falling sharply with each intake of air. Slowly, he lowered his hands, the claws retracting as he forced himself to relax.

He stepped back from the invisible barrier, the anger still bubbling beneath the surface but more controlled now. He turned his face toward the village, his sharp senses extending outward.

He could hear the gentle rush of the waterfall from a distance, the rustling of leaves in the forest, the movement of small animals weaving through the brush.

The rhythms were there. Numerous, scattered across the village. But something felt… off. A strange layer of tension hung in the air, and his heightened senses felt it more than anything. The hearts were too steady, too even, as if they weren't quite… human.

"Werewolves," he murmured under his breath, the words coming out in a tone of revelation.

Eric blinked, caught off guard by the sudden declaration. He furrowed his brow, confusion flashing in his eyes. "Werewolves?" he echoed. The thought of werewolves was foreign to him—he'd never encountered them before, and the mention of them caused a ripple of hesitation within him. "You've... met them before?"

Alaric's eyes flicked back to Eric, his gaze sharp, cold.

He inhaled deeply, letting the surrounding scents fill his senses. There was something else, too—a familiarity in the air, a cold, distant pull that tugged at him in the back of his mind. His fangs ached in response, his instincts gnawing at the edges of his control.

"Just be careful," Alaric warned, his voice soft but heavy with meaning. "These wolves are unlike anything you've seen. And they'll know we're here.A vampire's greatest foe."